Andante: Falling in and out of (the) sync
she watched the soft lavender
light on the floor
her body a corvette
as the muscles shifted
to the rhythm of the piano
her hands fell like soft snow
her eyelashes,
delicate daisies
as she peered through
them with cinnamon eyes
turning toward the mirror
****
My arch nemesis Myrtha hasn’t been in class lately so that’s been nice to not get knocked out of the way in center and grand allegro etc.
My technique is still garbage but hopefully will improve one day.
I think running is helping me with balance and core work.
I finally didn’t have to go with the worst dancers across the floor in my Sunday ballet class. Praise God. Have I advanced?
***
Our teacher, Ms. B told us that the famous dancer Tommy Rall used to come dance with them in Irene Duffy’s classes (she was a kid at the time, Irene was referred to as Ms. Larsson) and they used to call him “soooo old” and he was only 40 and he would do all of these amazing grand leaps and jumps around the classroom and then go outside the classroom and smoke cigarettes.
***
We had this amazing dancer join us for class who could effortlessly pirouette six times in a row and I hear a student make fun of this dancer by loudly saying she’s falling out of balance. “I’m sorry you can’t even do a single pirouette and you are tearing this girl to pieces who is an amazing dancer.” I thought. Her and another awful girl stood in the corner laughing and critiquing her and I hated how ugly they were.
10/20
Back to ballet today. I went Friday morning to Ms. B’s class and did better than I thought because my core was a lot stronger from running. I think I have been out of class for a total of 2 months before I went back. I still have a tummy and still need to get into major shape. I’m going to go back to class tomorrow as well to stay up on my A game.
I still struggle with turns (especially multiple) opening hips (stilllll after alllll this time)
Pique turns
Arabesque to back stretching on barre
** **
Our teacher was a professional student from the ritzy school, about 19 years of age. He was so kind and made us demonstrate on our own and he pulled me aside after class and told me not to doubt myself.
Typical ritzy school technique: lots of hard petite allegro and grande allegro that was intricate.
10/28
Today we worked on pirouettes from 2nd (oof) and use of epaulement with barre exercises. Building strength in one leg. And entrechacat with adagio center as well as brisse?
12/9
Ms. B’s night class. Went over a lot of things I forgot about. Like glissade jete, assemble tour jete as one combination. Also we worked on pirouettes from 5th. And a lot of barre work from second en face( I.e passé extend, passé extend, etc etc.) I thought my technique looked better. Some people are really getting strong in class however despite their increase in strength, they sometimes lose most of their technique!!!!! Like alllll of it.
****
Headed to the posh school and missed the early first bus I was supposed to take. I let out a sigh as it left me in the rain and decided to go get a coffee instead and catch the later bus that might actually make me almost miss class, but it was my day off and I didn’t care. I wanted to feel relaxed because every time I go to this school, I am a nervous wreck.
***
I relate more to the five year old’s at this school with their elastic on their shoes tied all wonky and hair kind of a mess prancing down the hallways then I do the students my age lol
Update: Forgot my water bottle and just about everything else I need
*****
When the studio closed in downtown I panicked. I knew it would reopen somewhere not as close for me and that would entail more travel and commuting and more time I couldn't afford to take off work for classes. I also knew that meant I wouldn't be able to go to class as much and I would suffer in technique work. I always worked so hard and yet could hardly get ahead. Now this roadblock?!
And I turned out to be right. The classes were much further away for me and I barely made it once a week. Also the tight camaraderie we had at the old studio was lost in the magic of the old studio. Even though the first class I ever took downtown, I thought the studio seemed sparse compared to some of the studios I have been in but the more I took classes with Ms. B the more I understood the magic of the studio.
Once I started understanding the magic, boom it was gone and boarded up overnight thanks to the ridiculous rising cost of rent and then, what really killed my soul, is that the contractors never started work on the building. We had painted and autographed the walls at the closing of the studio, a bittersweet goodbye for us all. A week later, the window was smashed in and all of the walls graffitied over and the mirrors smashed.
A year later I walked by and the entire building was boarded up with plywood, I would assume due to many break ins, there were tents pitched out front and the studio looked as if it was never there. And the contractors had yet to tear down and start building on that block.
That was a year longer we could have stayed there! A year longer we could have danced in that space that was centrally located and had a certain "je ne sais quoi"
So the new studio held its own magic and we got to change rooms every class and some had a nice piano with crappy floors and no space and other rooms had a crappy piano with huge space and okay floors.
I noticed most of the students never quite advanced "enough" so to speak, once we got to the new space. They would always show up, very dedicated but I don't know if they were not doing enough studying of technique on their own or if they needed to take other classes, but I only noticed about three students who had overall progressed.
******
I just HAD to stand on my bathroom sink with wet feet. I had one moment of hesitancy as if I had a premonition about what was about to happen. But instead I validated it with "It's fine, I do ballet and have great balance." (For your reading pleasure, every time in my life I have said something along those lines, the situation always backfires).
I was already feeling a little sorry for myself anyway, not having the greatest night at work and trying to push it out of my mind. But I slipped off the counter in less than a fraction of a second, while innately and stupidly grabbing onto the vanity mirror while letting out a gasp in a tone of voice that I hardly recognized as coming from me. A gasp laced with "I'm not immortal" and also "I am alone, at my home."
I continued to fall, slipping hazardously sideways and ripping the toilet paper holder off as I came crashing down onto the top of the toilet lid. All the terrible injuries I could have, flashing before my eyes. The internal panic of what if I am unable to work? Unable to go running or dance again?
I landed, alive and with no broken bones, as I saw a large layer of skin shaved freshly off my right bare leg. My leg turned deep bloodshot strawberry, from my ankle to my knee, the burst capillaries spreading wildly as I felt my eyes starting to mist childishly up. I wanted my mom. I wanted my boyfriend. I wasn't exempt from unfortunate circumstance or injury like I so haughtily would think every now and then.
I said "holy shit" or something of the sort, that I was major-injury free and how stupid of an idea that was. I tried to mount the toilet paper holder back on to no avail. The vanity mirror hung a little askew. "My guardian angel must be exhausted." I thought.
The shock starting to reside and my burn starting to sting.
Another day of discovering myself in my thirties.
********
Stay positive
Don’t get in your head
Go with the last groups lol
***********************
A near month and a half off of ballet coincided with the darkest and rainiest of the Seattle winter. It also coincided with my relationship going through a rough patch. It also coincided with after I fell off my bathroom sink and even in ballet if I pointed my toe even close to my right knee, the-injured-from-the-sink-knee, I could feel my lip quiver. I got another infection in my right toe and my "amazon ordered" too small ballet flats, which I thought would stretch out but didn't. My toe turned beat red and I did this limp walk at work and even worse during ballet. And if I even touched it, I could pass out. To compensate, I cut the foot out of all of my black tights of the right leg. I was a mess. It seems I needed a break. Nothing seemed right.
I stopped running four times a week. I stopped obsessing about the commute to certain studios, during certain days of the week. I ate in rich amounts and tried whole heartedly to enjoy the holidays, although they seemed lackluster and layered in stress.
I took hot baths with Epsom salt and some with bath bombs and some with tears due to my life being hard and overall deep healing. My leg muscles actually even relaxed after a few weeks...which stunned me! I don't think I have EVER felt my legs relax. I felt a bit like a sloth but I needed this. My year had been fucking stressful and I felt pretty darn alone in such a big city.
I did not enjoy relaxing, at first. I had to force myself to read books and not go anywhere. I cancelled appointments I could easily make up in two weeks. I strolled the streets and stared at people and wondered about their life story. I wondered about my own. I did a lot of self-reflection, watered my plants, made phone calls, wrote letters, wrote in my journal, thought about my future, I prayed and watched inspirational movies, and went to the grocery store not in a rush and tried to call my family more.
But classes started back after the snow and I was so dying to get back at it. Well, not really at first because I knew I had put on a few pounds and my teachers would notice but I didn't care.
My first class consisted of the other adults bitching in class, that the progression was too advanced and they want a slower class. I bit my lip. I listened to them complain the entire hour and a half. My teacher looked stressed. After class one of them asked if we could go slower, overall. The other girl agreed. If we went any slower, we would literally be undoing progress, I thought.
I looked at her like "Girl, if I didn't work the past four night in a row, I would tell you how I really feel." I glanced at my teacher and gave her a reassuring look even though the adults were acting like children.
After class I stayed and talked to my teacher about how great her classes were, ran home, got in the shower and then went to a second class where I made an actual effort to talk to students after class instead of just leaving like I normally do.
This brings me to my next point: YOU don't get to tell the teacher what to do. YOU have to put in effort and STUDY and practice in your own free time. You do not get to demand an almost private lesson because you aren’t getting it yet. WE ALL GET UNCOMFORTABLE. WE all think we suck. There isn't a free skip button on this part of adult dance. You must discipline yourself to become stronger and work through issues. You must go to extra classes and get feedback from other teachers. You must eventually wear the proper attire and put your hair in the proper style and put your best foot forward (literally). You must find the books (yes books, not videos) that tell you how to advance, how to carry yourself, how to listen to rhythm, etc. It doesn't fly to you overnight in a dream. YOU must break your old muscles down and build up new ones. YOU MUST HUMILIATE YOURSELF TO INSTILL MUSCLE MEMORY. Extra extra side note: You have to look up how muscle memory works in regard to dance. You must not always show up to class defeated, hungover or complaining, these all are okay sometimes, I suppose. We are so fortunate to have the teachers we do, who were actual students who worked under prodigies, teach us!!! Do you know how rare this is? How they could go live on an island in the tropics and actually enjoy their retirement? Or teach only children?
With the amount of students to teacher ratio now a days, the teachers of the original dancers are all getting older. The original technique is becoming saturated and forgotten with new choreography getting infused and the dance world ever changing.
****
I naturally went a little overboard and went to three classes in twenty four hours, and my teacher gave me this look of "Slow down, girl" after my third class the next morning where I couldn't remember the simplest combination, due to over exertion and having too much on my mind and the girl who has only been dancing for two weeks showed me up in front of everyone. My hamstrings are so tight right now that if you bounced a quarter off my hamstring, it would ricochet back at and cause a potential open wound.
All of this to say DANCE IS ********* HARD!!!
******
"Pique turns? Chaine turns? We haven't done these in ...six months?!" I thought to myself as I haphazardly spotted and spun out of control.
I noticed myself in the mirror, to the right, no technique or control. To the left, more put together, at least a little. "Attack!!" Ms. B yelled and I pulled my pique tighter and remembered to spot over my 'second' shoulder.
We moved on to fouetté jump, chasse tour jeté, chasse saut de chat, glissade grande jeté.
We also practiced plié pique arabesque turns (which I'm not the greatest) and when attempting to turn with my upper back I would feel out of control."PLIE INTO THAT CHASSE, THEN GO UP!" Ms. B shouted. As soon as I registered what she said, boom, my plié provided a launching platform for my arabesque turn and I could do it better.
"Mm hmm, see?!" Ms. B said with a ballet teachers haughty-all-knowing-air mixed with delight. I understood what she meant, for .5 seconds, then lost it again.
Ms. B called to me after class, in front of everyone. "Hey girl, it is an extreme improvement when you come more than once a week." "But, I thought to myself, I’ve been coming once to three times a week for years and I'm not getting any better?!"
"Thank you," I said. "If only I had tons of money so I can come every class," I said and laughed. Everyone looked at me with a touch of relatable humor and compassion.
"Keep it up girl." She said and I almost fell over. MRS. B gave ME a COMPLIMENT in ballet class. I would never forget it.