When I arrived in Boulder, it was gray and cold and spitting rain. I'd been warned so I brought warm black turtlenecks—and one fancy dress (okay, not entirely practical—but if you're going to fly in for one night to attend a performance, you might as well do it up at least a little bit).
Here is the marquis.
The Dairy includes a lot of visual art space, including a hallway lined with pictures of photographers. No lie! When you walk through the hallway, their cameras follow you. Their whole bodies follow you. How does the brain do that?*
Sunday, the mountains began to emerge from the clouds.
We took a quick drive up to Chataqua to see the Flatirons.
I had thought that the dance was about Eliot's poem. It was, and so much more. The poem was the scaffolding on which the choreographer explored themes of history and now, the transition from the Belle Epoch to Post World War I and the change in our understanding of the world and of our elected leaders after September 11, 2001. It covered birth and pain and healing and solitude and solace.
I could feel the dance happening inside me. I could feel the words inside me.
It was amazing.
*Loren Donner, Blind Act