Breathing Light into the Ballet

IT was another evening at the ballet three weeks ago when the Kirov presented an evening of works by William Forsythe. As the audience members settled into their seats and looked at their programs before the first piece, a dancer appeared on the stage. His presence and his cryptic, telegraphic gestures seemed to indicate the start of Mr. Forsythe’s “Steptext,” but as the house lights remained on, the audience only gradually quieted its chatter, a little unsure about exactly what was happening.

This ambiguous moment at the beginning of “Steptext” is Mr. Forsythe’s sleight-of-hand demonstration of how unquestioningly we accept the laws of theatrical lighting and illusion. The auditorium dims; we are in the dark. They — whoever they are, the purveyors of magic and art — are in the light.

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