I always read every word of every review written by Alastair Macaulay, chief dance critic for The New York Times. Macaulay came to the Times from London in 2007*. He writes primarily about ballet and from a standpoint that's not just knowledgeable and experienced but deeply passionate and revealing. Often, Macaulay's writing and his observations remind me of how I think about and write about wine, particularly in the sense that the physicality of ballet and its relationship to music and the physical and sensuous nature of wine and its relationship to the vineyard whence it originated involve paradoxes of the most minute and complementary sorts.
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