The Curtains Fell

A red spotlight lit the red velvet curtains hanging from the ceiling high above the stage. People settled into their seats -- seats that stretched back into dim shadows far in the back. The lights dimmed. The crowd hushed. Not a sound was heard. The glowing curtains lifted.

A spotlight shined down on a white bench in the center of the dark stage. A woman in black and white sat up and turned around and rolled on the floor and held up her hands and threw back her head and jumped and fell and turned some more. And she ended up under the white bench when the spotlight faded to black. The curtains fell.

A woman with long dark hair stood in the center of the stage in a green striped dress that fit tightly to her legs. She could only take quick, small steps. She jumped into the air. She threw her hair back and swung it in front again. She smacked her hands on her hips as she smiled. And then she jumped and hopped some more. The curtains fell.

A single woman sat alone on the stage. Grief radiated from her before she began to move. Her legs and arms were webbed to her. She held them in misshapen angles. Her face was distraught. Her movements were agonizing and mournful. The curtains fell.

Then there were some men on the stage -- men in tight, bronze pants and women in loose, flowing skirts. And there was a woman in red and a woman in yellow. The curtains fell. There were women in black. The curtains fell. There was a woman and a beast. The curtains fell. There was a penitent man and a black-veiled woman and a man with thorns. The curtains fell. There was a woman in black and red sitting on a pedestal. The curtains fell. There were marching women, victorious, defeated, dead. And there was hope. The curtains fell.

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The Martha Graham Dance Company performance at UT Bass Concert Hall, Austin TX

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