Less daring but more delightful was Balanchine's Square Dance. It shows his gift for fiendishly fast footwork and sharp shapes. The original version (1957) whooped it up with dancers in Western garb and a dance caller. Balanchine later stripped these elements, leaving formal patterns, the sharpness of little steps and leg beats, and an air of excited energy.

Wearing just the briefest of pale-blue and white dress, six couples crisscross stage in symmetrical formations, with little jumps and a flurry of beats. A couple (Mariya Kudyakova and Mr. Prikhodko) appear from opposite sides of the stage, each offering a hand and bowing with the formal gravity of royalty. The corps returns, and the movement grows larger, with flying leaps and fancy gargouillades. That's where the women jump with one leg at a 45-degree angle, and, before it lands, the other leg shoots up.

Mr. Mejia provided a surprise, too, in Webern Pieces, taut and angular. Balanchine's Agon must have been an inspiration. Anton Webern's no-nonsense music, with every note distinct, suited Mr. Mejia's purpose beautifully, aided by the emotionally cool performances of pianist Lowell Liebermann, violinist Eric Grossman and cellist Eugene Osadchy.

And cool was the word for Ms. Pavlova, whom this work fit to a T. She stands beneath a golden light in a black-velvet leotard and dark tights. For a long while, all she does is stretch out her arms, wrap them around her waist as though they were entangled, and lean back and forth. Almost hidden from view is a man (Yevgeni Anfinogenov) crouched behind her legs. Suddenly, he falls to the side.

When he stands, his job is to show in how many angles he can manipulate her long limbs, with the detachment of a watchmaker. The end is a stunner: He lifts her coiled body up toward the descending golden light – a talisman, a sacrifice, a work of art.

© Copyright 2006 The Dallas Morning News Co.