Twyla Tharp

A successful day begins with a purposeful morning. A lot has been written about the power of your morning routine to set
De Mille signed a photograph for Bhargava with a personal message. Photo courtesy of Girish Bhargava.   His crowning accomplishment
Somewhere among the late responders stands the choreographer. While the dancer can improvise her response to a cataclysm on the spot, the choreographer must devise a language of movement that must first be conveyed to a dancer who in turn must convey it to an audience.
It is one of the most pressing questions of American dance: how should we preserve the work of great 20th-century choreographers who glued their style to a generation distinct and removed from our own?
You want to celebrate an artist who, after such a long and storied career, has no interest in a mere retrospective. It might have been fun -- for the audience -- to see historic dances like "Tank Dive" and old favorites too numerous to mention.
In his warm-up speech on Saturday night, Ballet San Jose's new CEO, Alan Hineline, alerted the audience to the "superhuman level of athleticism" on display in the third and closing piece of the evening, Twyla Tharp's In the Upper Room.
I love dancers' parties. The floor's full and no one's drunk, with every style and move you can think of unleashed, celebrated, spun, from electric boogaloo to sixties go-go to glam jazz to the running man.
On a recent, chilly winter afternoon, the three of us met at Grace's magical home. Clay, concrete and painted steel spheres dotted the landscape as though they had rolled down the hill in some prehistoric era, settling in gentle clumps.
What would you do should you one day find yourself stuck with a member of the opposite sex on a raft floating out at sea, with no visible rations or other means of survival?