frankkrenz
CHEROKEE ROSE
photo by LOIS GREENFIELD
New York Times
query.nytimes.com/gst/fullpage.html?res=9E06E5DF173FF937A...
Deborah Jowitt
Village Voice
April 5 - 11. 2000
Cherokee Rose, Feld's wonderful 1999 solo for Patricia Tuthill to recorded songs and guitar tunes by Jerry Douglas and Peter Rowan, is as private as nodrog doggo is confrontational. The choreographer explores Tuthill's vivid sensuality, but she doesn't try to impress us with it. Frank Krenz has dressed Tuthill in a midriff-baring top and long, full white skirt with a border design resembling fir trees. Tuthill is also garbed in images that surface through the dancing. Swishing her skirts and prancing from foot to foot, she's at a hoedown. Lifted, her skirt becomes a fence around her, and, in the end, she's framed in it like a Madonna in a shell. When she kneels (black kneepads complete the costume), she might be a mythic Indian maiden mourning beside a river. But nothing in the solo is this literal. Tuthill explores her terrain, rendering familiar Feld motifs—slow circles of hips and torso, one foot darting out and pulling in while she bounces up and down on the other leg, shoulders wrangling (now me forward, now me)—fresh, personal, and profoundly alluring.
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CHEROKEE ROSE
photo by LOIS GREENFIELD
New York Times
query.nytimes.com/gst/fullpage.html?res=9E06E5DF173FF937A...
Deborah Jowitt
Village Voice
April 5 - 11. 2000
Cherokee Rose, Feld's wonderful 1999 solo for Patricia Tuthill to recorded songs and guitar tunes by Jerry Douglas and Peter Rowan, is as private as nodrog doggo is confrontational. The choreographer explores Tuthill's vivid sensuality, but she doesn't try to impress us with it. Frank Krenz has dressed Tuthill in a midriff-baring top and long, full white skirt with a border design resembling fir trees. Tuthill is also garbed in images that surface through the dancing. Swishing her skirts and prancing from foot to foot, she's at a hoedown. Lifted, her skirt becomes a fence around her, and, in the end, she's framed in it like a Madonna in a shell. When she kneels (black kneepads complete the costume), she might be a mythic Indian maiden mourning beside a river. But nothing in the solo is this literal. Tuthill explores her terrain, rendering familiar Feld motifs—slow circles of hips and torso, one foot darting out and pulling in while she bounces up and down on the other leg, shoulders wrangling (now me forward, now me)—fresh, personal, and profoundly alluring.
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