Hollering about Texas with a perfect Southern drawl. My Pillow peers claimed that I mentioned Texas once every 31 minutes (yes, they kept track). It was my only retort to the “There's art in Texas?” question.
In Texas, as in most other regions, funds for contemporary dance are spread thinly, even across companies considered to be the toast of the state’s dance scene.
The house lights dim. Whispers slowly die; phones are finally stowed. A faint swish of brocade or the tap-tap of high heels against the stage herald the show to come.
