Yesterday, I received word from a colleague of the death of Alexandra Tomalonis. Perhaps known best in the online world as the founder of Ballet Alert/Ballet Talk, she was a dance critic for the Washington Post, and my editor at both the print version of Dance View and the online magazine danceviewtimes.
She was also a mentor. I’ve been very lucky that I’ve had a few godmothers in my career in dance. Alexandra was one of the most important. She invited me to write for her more than twenty years ago. When she felt it was clear that I could get a newspaper job, she had several lengthy phone conversations with me going over how I could best adapt to the job, both basic and tricky situations I might come across and how to best handle them. When I did get my first newspaper job, it should have been terrifying: it was at The New York Post, one of the city’s main newspapers as their sole dance writer. But Alexandra had already made sure I was ready.
She was dogged, passionate about ballet, funny and firm in her beliefs. Artistically a conservative in its literal meaning, she loved classical ballet and wanted it preserved, perhaps none of it more than that of the Royal Danish Ballet. Her knowledge of the company and the works of August Bournonville was encyclopedic: her biography of Henning Kronstam was an important and in-depth monument – and defense – of him as an artist. That says something about Alexandra as well. She was passionate about things she felt were right.
We hadn’t spoken in a while. After 13 years at danceviewtimes, I realized we were having continuous small frictions that could have been – and often were – patched over, but the underlying problem was going to remain. Like an adolescent, I needed, metaphorically, to move out and get my own apartment. This is how the Log came about. The separation was amicable, but I handled the aftermath poorly by not maintaining contact, and that hurt her. Not a shining moment for me, alas.
We had about ten years working together at Ballet Talk and more than a decade of good, slightly overlapping years at danceviewtimes. I enjoyed being her right-hand man, her counsel on thorny issues, as we joked, her consigliere. We had conversations for hours about ballet that generally began with her breathy voice on the phone, “Good evening, Mr. Witchel.” Her knowledge was both broad and deep. I learned immeasurably from her.
Rest in peace, Alexandra, and thank you.
