I first became aware of modern dance companies by the publicity shots I’d see in newspapers. Women with their hands apart pointing to Casper the Ghost or other imaginary diety. Men, wearing only white gauze, cantering over another dancer in crouch pose eating a daisy. They had me. And then when I started actually attending dance performances, it sealed the deal.
S called me up and said, “I’ve got a spare for tonight if you want to come to St Sauveur.” Continue reading “Modern Dance: Elvis or Johnny Cash”