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Without trying to sound like Pollyanna, I'm grateful to be here, 3,000 miles away from New York City, which must strive, like Atlas, to carry the dance world on its back. There's a great deal to be said for not being responsible for the health of the whole community. Dances and dancers here can be judged for themselves, rather than as canaries for the "big picture." And our littler picture is looking pretty well.
The calendar for the upcoming season is full, with some new works by seasoned veterans as well as promising newcomers. Rehearsal and performance space is always a scarce commodity, but so far we've been spared most of the displacement that visual artists have been struggling with. A year from now, the PNB will move back into a refurbished opera house, and studio theater spaces such as Velocity continue to offer a generous variety of programs.
I don't want to jinx anything—these are precarious times—but right now, I'm glad to be here, in the upper left-hand corner of the map, watching dancing get done, rather than in the upper right, worrying about the fate of the universe.