For several weeks I've been seeing advertisements for Twyla Tharp's 50th Anniversary show and thinking that even if there were still tickets, likely they would be far too expensive for me to dream of buying them. But realizing that this was the very last weekend (after a 17-city tour) that they would be performing the works, and that I had also failed to secure tickets to see the Berlin Philharmonic play Beethoven weekend, I thought I should buck up and at least check the website. Not only were there still seats, but they were good ones and affordable. There should have been more people fighting for $200 tickets for this performance, but I'm not going to complain.
And so this afternoon, we went to Lincoln Center and saw the miracle of modern dance. It was refreshing to see the body conceived in so many new ways; to see an interpretation of rhythm and harmony, of a piece as familiar as Bach's Well-Tempered Clavier, in movement. I always feel like I grow in a very undefinable way from watching dance performances, trying to grasp something as the magic flies by, trying to remember a scent or an essence. The lighting, the space of the stage, the space of the dancer's body, a sense of time and tempo, and the raw emotion of the body as it moves without a voice.
And afterwards we walked to and through Central Park, seeing the glow of the reddish, yellowish trees take over the glow of the sun as it left the sky with vibrant pinks and oranges. We watched its light fade behind the sky scrapers, watched groups of people watching it, perched on the giant bedrocks above the ice skating rink, huddled in the late afternoon darkness.
We walked on the east side, looking at the opulent Christmas displays in Swarovski and Coach and marveled at the dearth of restaurants, until a clearing past Grand Central Station, where the Hunan Restaurant filled us and then quickly scooted us out. Chinese food in New York.
It was a colorful, late autumn day in New York.
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