In the wings a piano played softly Ponchielli's Dance of the Hours. A squatty ballerina in pink & white tarlatan waddled across the broad, bare stage with the grace of an angry duck, poised herself on her toes in the manner of Alicia Markova and executed a series of shaky pirouettes. To no music at. all she leaped through the air and beat her chest in an athletic agony that was unmistakably Martha Graham.
A young and mischievous dancer named Iva Kitchell had rented Manhattan's 2,700-seat Carnegie Hall with considerable misgivings last week. But dance fans almost filled the place. Wrote the...