Get ready, audiences. It's that time of year when, as we head speedily downhill to the year's inevitable demise, there are some major holidays that attract the attention of a lot of folks, young and old.
Way out west on Ina Road, clear past the freeway, Pat Frederick has spent the past year making jaguars.
One may be born with a gift, but one must be made an artist.
The ballet-infused, pop-tinged modern dance of the legendary Twyla Tharp rolls into Centennial Hall Sunday, in a 50th anniversary concert performed by her international dancers.
The Something Something Theatre Company (I don't understand the allure of the name either) has done itself proud with their production of Body Awareness.
Fifty-two years ago, in the Space Age-era of astronauts and pillbox hats, Sambo's Pancake House wanted an up-to-minute look for a new restaurant on Tucson's Sunshine Mile.
According to Barbara Seyda, for whom all this actually happened, just about the best part was being able to enter Lincoln Center through the backstage door.
An Irishman, name of Coleman, fell in love with a woman from Finland.
In the opening show of the 50th anniversary season of the theater-that-almost-wasn't a few months ago, we are treated convincingly to the delight and weight and luminosity of what a really good theater can do and why our citizens came to the rescue of the Arizona Theatre Company when it announced it was on the brink of closing its operations.
One amazing thing about Tony Kushner's Pulitzer Prize winning Angels in America is that somehow the playwright has been able to create a colossal experience, tackling so many ideas that could easily lose us with overreaching, but doesn't.
Tim Mosman and Hank Tusinski have the same philosophy of painting but you might not guess it by looking at their works.