Ever have one of those days when seemingly unrelated events wind up being about the same thing?

Last night we went to see The Suzanne Farrell Ballet at the New Jersey Performing Arts Center (a gorgeous theatre, in case you’re wondering whether it’s worth the trek out to Newark). An all-Balanchine program directed by Balanchine’s premier ballerina who, for whatever reason, has almost nothing to do with Balanchine’s company. And since many people worship the marley [MS Word tried to make it “Marley,” as if I meant Jacob or Bob], Balanchine choreographed on, it becomes a much bigger question than “Did you like it?”

I did like it. But then again, what do I know? I’ve never been a Balanchineophile. I’ve always been more interested in watching dancers dancing than in reading the choreographer’s mind. So I sat there, on October 11, 2003, and saw a marvelous, stylistically-cohesive performance by a group of intelligent, mature soloists who appeared not to struggle with the Ghost of the Dead Master.

But some of my companions (and I’m certain, many other members of the Ballet Police) wondered whether it was “authentic” Balanchine or if Miss Farrell “got it right.” Is this what Mr. B intended Divertimento No. 15 to look like? What are the pros and cons of the 1957 version of Apollo versus the 1979 version?

Oy.

Whichthis brings me to the other event. This morning I got on a train headed in the other direction and went out to MOMA QNS to see Ansel Adams at 100. (Coincidentally, this year New York City Ballet is celebrating Balanchine’s 100th birthday.) For the sake of this discussion, I think it’s fair to say that Adams is the Balanchine of photography, or that Balanchine is the Adams of ballet. But the interesting thing about photography in comparison to ballet is that one can take many many photographs of the same scene (either different times of day on the same trip, or twenty years apart); or one can make many many prints from the same negative. So, for instance, we see side-by-side two Mount McKinley and Wonder Lakes: same negative, same artist, the first printed in 1949 (one year after the image was originally made), the second printed—by Ansel Adams himself—in 1978. They are like night and day: tones, contrast, mood, message, all completelycompletelycompletely different.

So, which is the “authentic” Ansel Adams work? Am I to assume that he lost his mind at the end of his life? Or had his outlook on life at 70 evolved from what it was at 40? Well, Geez! I hope it’s the latter! As MOMA’s curator of photography writes, “Those who view art as self-expression might view these [later revisions] as the last testament of an artist whose view of the world and the future had darkened.” It's a genius' prerogative to change his mind.

Is the direction Suzanne Farrell has taken her company what Balanchine intended? Hell if I know; and hell if you know, either, what was going on in the old guy’s mind. But she was his Muse, many of his greatest ballets were created—and often recreated—on her, so I’m just going to go with her on this one and assume that, like it or not, Suzanne Farrell Ballet is “authentic” Balanchine.