The Two of Us
When I think of the desert, the first impression that comes to mind if of unrelenting heat, stark shadows, the solitude of vast space, occasional winds, and slowness.
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World-class review of ballet and dance.
Two performers crawl in on hands and knees wearing neon green, hooded coveralls—the lightweight papery kind made for working in a sterile environment—and clusters of balloons pinned to their backs. They unzip the suits and step out, leaving the coveralls to hover midair. Skinned of their protective coverings, the two face off as if wrestlers sizing up their opponents. She moves in closer, seeming friendly, then surprises by slapping his face. He recovers only to slap her back—and they’re off in a madcap clash of slapping and falling, rising to slap again, set to the galloping strains of Wagner’s “Ride of the Valkyries.”
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When I think of the desert, the first impression that comes to mind if of unrelenting heat, stark shadows, the solitude of vast space, occasional winds, and slowness.
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