Word: tutus
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...music styles, giving even the most dance-illiterate audience member a general idea of the broad scope and long tradition of dance. "Pas de Quarter," the first piece on the program, spotlighted a lovely quartet of rose-bedecked ballerinas drenched in amber light and shimmering in pale pink tutus. To the lilting, romantic strains of Cesare Pugin's 18th century composition, four renowned (and infamously conceited) ballerinas of the past were recreated in all their beauty and gracious snobbery on the stage by four equally-beautiful Harvard undergraduate ballerinas. On Saturday night, Elizabeth Darst '99, Allison Lane '02 , Liz Santuro...
...representing both the betrayal of the past and the perpetual sadness of the present and future. The backdrop of dead and broken trees matched the single wooden cross marking Giselle's grave at the front of the stage. The simplicity of the sets complemented the pure white long tutus of the wilis and the bouquet of white lilies that Albrecht let fall one by one over Giselle's grave...
...charged onstage. One of them was a 25-year-old whiz kid from Weehawken, N.J., starring in the premiere of his first ballet, a breezy tale of girl-crazy sailors on shore leave that he called Fancy Free. At a time when most Americans thought ballet meant women in tutus pretending to be birds, Fancy Free looked more like Fred Astaire than Swan Lake, and the music, a raucously jazzy score by another boy wonder named Leonard Bernstein, had MADE IN THE U.S.A. stamped on every page. Jerome Robbins took two dozen curtain calls that spring night...
...swans appear during the young man's turbulent dream. No tutus, no toe shoes, no hand flutters. These are robustly built men, clad in feathered trousers and wearing black makeup on their foreheads that suggests a swan's beak. As a signature move, the men use a wholly mesmerizing gesture coming from the torso up through the shoulders out into extended arms...
...been the name for the retrospective of her work that runs through Jan. 5 at the Whitney Museum of American Art in New York City. Romantic melancholy is Goldin's true north, the mood she always returns to. Her friends laugh and party. They show off their tattoos and tutus. But they also brood and question the dead air with their eyes. They die from AIDS. In her self-portraits Goldin shows the injuries of a serious beating at the hands of a boyfriend--bruises are the regalia of romance here--and follows herself through drug and alcohol rehab...