ARTS & LEISURE
DANCE VIEW
NEW YORK TIMES SUNDAY
Why Certain Performers Are a Breed Apart
By Jennifer Dunning
Published: September 3, 1989
Thom Fogarty walked across Lincoln Center Plaza one recent afternoon and took his place behind a battered clothes rack, playing portly dresser to other dancers. The piece was ''The Angle of Ascent,'' created by Tamar Rogoff and Anthony Tsirantonakis. Before it was finished, Mr. Fogarty had served as neatener of the universe, straightener of costumes and comforter of the troubled. His chores were never done, though he did steal time to smooth his disheveled hair into a bun and do weighty yet graceful barre exercises with a typically earnest, knowing air.
Then came Mr. Fogarty's chance to shine. Struggling to the top of a tall wood tower, he scattered bright costumes to the winds and lay down for a brief rest. Gloatingly, he patted his suddenly pregnant-looking belly. All was right in the cosmos, and soon Mr. Fogarty's earth mother-goddess would descend to begin it all once more. It was a moment that summed up a world - and a performance whose sweetness and serene theatrical daring were characteristic of Mr. Fogarty.
He belongs to a breed that has been well represented this year in dance, those performers who bring extra color to whatever they do by the sheer force of their distinctive stage presence. All seem willing to abandon themselves to their heightened, separate onstage lives. It is not a matter of what they dance or create for themselves, or of their skills as performers, or of entertaining quirks. They give themselves wholly to the work, yet are a transforming element, often flying in the face of accepted norms.
As a dancer, Mr. Fogarty is a curiosity. He does not have a sleek, muscularly resilient dance body, a fact he himself acknowledges with comfortable amusement. Yet, he not only looks utterly at home in all his roles but is able to suggest innate manliness and womanliness without seeming overtly male or female.
Vibrant stage personalities were necessary staples of the burgeoning American ballet and modern dance of 50 years ago. But as technique grew more polished, ideal dance bodies and highly developed technical skills took precedence over theatricality or individualism. There were exceptions, of course, but individualism of Mr. Fogarty's sort began to raise its unruly head more confidently in the free-wheeling performance art of this decade, with post-modernist dance paving the way by giving the dancer permission to be mortal.
Perhaps because dance has traditionally idealized women, men seem to have a corner on this virtue. Yet, this year has seen a return to the stage by Allegra Kent, a ballerina who long personified that kind of individualism. Last winter, it was clear in her performances with the Los Angeles City Ballet at the State University College at Purchase, N. Y., that Miss Kent, now 50, has lost none of the elusive perfume that characterized her 30 years with the New York City Ballet.
Stories abounded of her charmingly daffy backstage exploits and comments. Her friendships with people outside the inbred world of ballet - like Joseph Cornell, the artist, and Paul Scott, the novelist - bespoke a hungry intelligence. What happened on stage was perhaps a reflection of that. Miss Kent has been an artist who knows how to make the most of each moment without at all violating the spirit or letter of the choreography. Indeed, she was considered a gifted interpreter of the Balanchine repertory.
One major role in a Balanchine ballet, ''Ivesiana,'' suggested much about this musical, perceptive dancer. As the woman in white in the section of the ballet called ''The Unanswered Question,'' Miss Kent was carried aloft, raised and lowered, her feet never touching the ground. Her skills as a dancer may have been seen to better advantage in other parts, but this role captured a kind of wanton innocence, a pliancy - up to a point - and a delicate sensuality.
Those qualities could be seen in her performances with the Los Angeles company in two ballets by John Clifford, as a swooning ballerina to whom all pay homage and as a lonely voyager through life. In the closing moment of the latter work, ''Songs of the Wayfarer,'' Miss Kent was by herself, her neck and back registering a kind of exalted resignation that she alone could define so subtly yet with such potency.
Mr. Fogarty and Miss Kent are best known as interpreters of other people's dances. Earlier this year, Janet Panetta presented work of her own that reinforced the strong impression she has made in pieces by other choreographers. She is quietly indelible on stage, intense and sharply focused, with a smoky, smoldering aura. The dances were not mirrors of that theatrical presence, although her witty attitude toward the contemporary dance scene illuminated ''Two Short Girls With Crooked Noses and Girdles.'' Instead, in ''The Man Who Washed His Hands,'' Miss Panetta's characteristic darkness glinted like mica as she wove through this haunted yet wry look at compulsion.
Individualism of this sort was evident this season in other performers as well. There was Robert Kovich's skittery, ironic persona, enhanced by the laconically outgoing John King, the composer with whom Mr. Kovich collaborated on ''The Dialogues.'' Lowell Smith fused passion with reserve in his dramatic portraits as a member of the Dance Theater of Harlem. And a new young individualist was revealed in Javier de Frutos, a brooding, Nijinsky-like messenger from a mysterious inner world in Nuria Olive's ''Asiaris'' and a lithe standard-bearer in Ruby Shang's ''Tales of Exile.''
None of these six performers has much in common. Some have had lengthy dance training and experience in major companies. Others perform with a variety of experimentalist choreographers. What they do share is the ability not only to leave a personal imprint on a role but to make the stage come alive simply by virtue of their presence.
Photo of Thom Fogarty, who recently appeared in ''The Angle of Ascent'' at Lincoln Center Plaza (Jack Mitchell) PHOTO UNAVAILABLE.
DANCE VIEW
NEW YORK TIMES SUNDAY
Why Certain Performers Are a Breed Apart
By Jennifer Dunning
Published: September 3, 1989
Thom Fogarty walked across Lincoln Center Plaza one recent afternoon and took his place behind a battered clothes rack, playing portly dresser to other dancers. The piece was ''The Angle of Ascent,'' created by Tamar Rogoff and Anthony Tsirantonakis. Before it was finished, Mr. Fogarty had served as neatener of the universe, straightener of costumes and comforter of the troubled. His chores were never done, though he did steal time to smooth his disheveled hair into a bun and do weighty yet graceful barre exercises with a typically earnest, knowing air.
Then came Mr. Fogarty's chance to shine. Struggling to the top of a tall wood tower, he scattered bright costumes to the winds and lay down for a brief rest. Gloatingly, he patted his suddenly pregnant-looking belly. All was right in the cosmos, and soon Mr. Fogarty's earth mother-goddess would descend to begin it all once more. It was a moment that summed up a world - and a performance whose sweetness and serene theatrical daring were characteristic of Mr. Fogarty.
He belongs to a breed that has been well represented this year in dance, those performers who bring extra color to whatever they do by the sheer force of their distinctive stage presence. All seem willing to abandon themselves to their heightened, separate onstage lives. It is not a matter of what they dance or create for themselves, or of their skills as performers, or of entertaining quirks. They give themselves wholly to the work, yet are a transforming element, often flying in the face of accepted norms.
As a dancer, Mr. Fogarty is a curiosity. He does not have a sleek, muscularly resilient dance body, a fact he himself acknowledges with comfortable amusement. Yet, he not only looks utterly at home in all his roles but is able to suggest innate manliness and womanliness without seeming overtly male or female.
Vibrant stage personalities were necessary staples of the burgeoning American ballet and modern dance of 50 years ago. But as technique grew more polished, ideal dance bodies and highly developed technical skills took precedence over theatricality or individualism. There were exceptions, of course, but individualism of Mr. Fogarty's sort began to raise its unruly head more confidently in the free-wheeling performance art of this decade, with post-modernist dance paving the way by giving the dancer permission to be mortal.
Perhaps because dance has traditionally idealized women, men seem to have a corner on this virtue. Yet, this year has seen a return to the stage by Allegra Kent, a ballerina who long personified that kind of individualism. Last winter, it was clear in her performances with the Los Angeles City Ballet at the State University College at Purchase, N. Y., that Miss Kent, now 50, has lost none of the elusive perfume that characterized her 30 years with the New York City Ballet.
Stories abounded of her charmingly daffy backstage exploits and comments. Her friendships with people outside the inbred world of ballet - like Joseph Cornell, the artist, and Paul Scott, the novelist - bespoke a hungry intelligence. What happened on stage was perhaps a reflection of that. Miss Kent has been an artist who knows how to make the most of each moment without at all violating the spirit or letter of the choreography. Indeed, she was considered a gifted interpreter of the Balanchine repertory.
One major role in a Balanchine ballet, ''Ivesiana,'' suggested much about this musical, perceptive dancer. As the woman in white in the section of the ballet called ''The Unanswered Question,'' Miss Kent was carried aloft, raised and lowered, her feet never touching the ground. Her skills as a dancer may have been seen to better advantage in other parts, but this role captured a kind of wanton innocence, a pliancy - up to a point - and a delicate sensuality.
Those qualities could be seen in her performances with the Los Angeles company in two ballets by John Clifford, as a swooning ballerina to whom all pay homage and as a lonely voyager through life. In the closing moment of the latter work, ''Songs of the Wayfarer,'' Miss Kent was by herself, her neck and back registering a kind of exalted resignation that she alone could define so subtly yet with such potency.
Mr. Fogarty and Miss Kent are best known as interpreters of other people's dances. Earlier this year, Janet Panetta presented work of her own that reinforced the strong impression she has made in pieces by other choreographers. She is quietly indelible on stage, intense and sharply focused, with a smoky, smoldering aura. The dances were not mirrors of that theatrical presence, although her witty attitude toward the contemporary dance scene illuminated ''Two Short Girls With Crooked Noses and Girdles.'' Instead, in ''The Man Who Washed His Hands,'' Miss Panetta's characteristic darkness glinted like mica as she wove through this haunted yet wry look at compulsion.
Individualism of this sort was evident this season in other performers as well. There was Robert Kovich's skittery, ironic persona, enhanced by the laconically outgoing John King, the composer with whom Mr. Kovich collaborated on ''The Dialogues.'' Lowell Smith fused passion with reserve in his dramatic portraits as a member of the Dance Theater of Harlem. And a new young individualist was revealed in Javier de Frutos, a brooding, Nijinsky-like messenger from a mysterious inner world in Nuria Olive's ''Asiaris'' and a lithe standard-bearer in Ruby Shang's ''Tales of Exile.''
None of these six performers has much in common. Some have had lengthy dance training and experience in major companies. Others perform with a variety of experimentalist choreographers. What they do share is the ability not only to leave a personal imprint on a role but to make the stage come alive simply by virtue of their presence.
Photo of Thom Fogarty, who recently appeared in ''The Angle of Ascent'' at Lincoln Center Plaza (Jack Mitchell) PHOTO UNAVAILABLE.
