Everything truly is beautiful at the ballet. I digress from my search for the perfect margarita and guacamole to talk about one of my other favorite things: dance in New York City. American Ballet Theatre opened its spring season at the Metropolitan Opera House in Lincoln Center earlier this week, and it is definitely one not to be missed.

Having studied dance steadily for 18 years of my life, I take every opportunity I can to see dance in performance. When I recently found myself with a free evening (a true rarity for a girl on the go in NYC), I decided to embrace spontaneity and head over to Lincoln Center. I hoped to snag a ticket for La Bayadère, ABT’s first ballet in repertory this season. That’s one of the phenomenal things about New York City—anyone craving a live performance will have many choices within reach on any given night.
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I saw the Alvin Ailey American Dance Theater perform several years ago and never forgot it. The African American dance troupe—which was founded by dance great Alvin Ailey in 1958 and is considered one of the best modern dance companies in the world—was incredible. Its jaw-dropping athleticism, thrilling choreography, and a palpable passion courses through every piece they perform.

So a few weeks ago, in a spring-induced moment of culture craving, I e-mailed a dance-minded friend of mine and told her we were going to see Alvin Ailey. Turns out what I actually got were tickets to Ailey II—the Ailey School’s company of its most promising scholarship students. But let’s just say “promising” is an understatement. These students can dance, and are no doubt headed for very big things.
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My friend Greg, a lighting designer, called out of the blue to ask me to come see some dancing. The chance to watch a dance performance is something I can never refuse, so off I went on a Sunday night. This particular performance, produced by NYU’s Tisch School of the Art’s Second Avenue Dance Company was part of their Spring Concert Series. Needless to say, by the end of the night my love for dance was re-ignited.

The show showcased a mix of contemporary and modern pieces conceived by both student works and guest choreographers. The dancers were strong, the music, at times, very powerful, and the student-designed lighting scheme a delight to take in. On the whole the show boasted tremendous variety. I was especially excited to watch “Vespers,” Ulysses Dove’s mind-blowing piece originally choreographed in 1986.
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The French Guinea beat-boxed a rhythym with his barefeet, echoing electronically to silence the crowd. Every so often, Tamango’s focused, balancing gaze would raise toward the rafters and smirk suspiciously. The kind of look a child makes before they paint on the wall. That’s when you knew the troupe of artists from Guadeloupe, French Guiana, Haiti, Cote d’Ivoire, Jamaica and France was about to do something just as unexpected as it was phenomenal.

The performers built off of each other as if in conversation - first “speaking” one at a time, then “talking” over each other and after time harmonizing together. Elaborating on his signature style, the freestyle tap dancer pontificated, “Tap is a language. We can tap it, so it becomes a voice. It is articulated. And it becomes more than just the dance.” This common language was apparent when the dancers improvised with musicians and in battle with Tamango.
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A performance art program by a company I had never heard of in a faraway land called Flatbush? Indeed. As New Yorkers tend to do, I trusted my instinct that this was an event I didn’t want to miss. I jumped on the downtown 3 train in a blind leap of faith.

Thankfully, the L.A.-based troupe Diavolo was on my schedule and began just as I arrived right on late at the Brooklyn Center for the Performing Arts. They performed three dances, gracefully climbing, flipping and stunting on each other atop three different six-ft high structures. The first structure, a variety of tall doors that acted as props in a musical of a couple chasing after each other and finally falling in love. Cute and whimsical, the abstract movements provoked thought among audience members. Joy quickly transitioned to defeat as the next piece began. The conditioned athletes sprinted vertically up the second structure, a spiked wall, then slinked down grimly as morose music played.
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Art has the power to make viewers smirk, feel anxious, cry, even question life itself. Contemporary art, in turn, frequently makes them put their elbows on their knees, lean forward and wonder, “What the fuck are you doing?”

With this in mind, I made a cameo at the White Waves Dance Festival in DUMBO, Brooklyn, this weekend for some good old-fashioned “What the fuck?”-ing. As my friend and I walked shoulder-to-shoulder, passing body heat from one to another amid fall’s wind-tunnel effect, I realized the show fit perfectly into the neighborhood’s sophisticated, artsy vibe.
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