Plié…pas de bourée??
If you are confused by this title, congratulations! So is most of the world. These are frequently used dance and ballet terms and it took me literally forever to understand what these meant. (I am not even diving into technicality, because let’s be real here dancers, that is at least one hundred more blog posts, am I right?)
The beginning of my dance classes were sparsely documented (which can be read about here Raising The Barre), marked by aggression, confusion and wonder. I wish I could turn back time to document them more in depth, but c’est la vie, that is not what happened. Dance is too complicated to simply document with words anyway, as you can imagine. Even if I did document every thing, I wouldn’t have understood what I was writing about, sort of like learning a complex new language while balancing on one leg.
So here lies more of the beginning of my journey, in no particular order, truly. I will say I was already dancing a few years on and off of beginning ballet at this point mixed with “beginning intermediate.” Although I will state, my school was small enough to let me flail around in intermediate, normally, this isn’t the case and you must have danced at least 3-5 years of beginning to move onto intermediate, at bare minimum.
I hope you continue to enjoy reading about my journey and please feel free to comment at the bottom!
Today I woke up completely feeling like shit. But I forced myself to get in the cold shower, go get some black coffee, and take the city bus down to the ballet school.
After all, I hadn’t danced in so long, I was dead set on going.
The school was just as beautiful as I remember. There were boxes of brilliant gold garland, Christmas trees, glittery snowflakes and sparkly costumes everywhere as the school was getting ready for the Nutcracker season. All the company dancers were nowhere in sight, I’m sure they were all in rehearsal until the big day.
A few people ran around frantically, trying to organize everything.
I headed up to studio six, and laid motionless in my hoodie and sweatpants of the ground, trying to feel better and trying to lose the nervousness of being gone for so long.
Class started and I took a deep breath, as the piano rang out into my reflection in the mirror. My legs were trembling, my balance was off, and a looked a bit like Casper the ghost as a struggled to pretend I wasn’t getting sick and that I hadn’t danced in over a year.
My muscle memory kicked in as the steps were demonstrated:
pas de cheval, developpe, degage, degage, as I struggled to not look winded.
But 50 minutes into class I was seeing double, so I decided that was enough as I excused myself without reason. I pulled on my sweats, and beanie and headed out into the winter air.
I am so happy to be back dancing again.
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I’m caffeine free…mostly, busting out green tea instead of espresso. I’ve had lots of new idea’s and energy whirling about in my head.
I’ve had lots of sleep, lavender bubble bath’s and time to unwind and focus. My teacher today was a stern one. She stretches us into impossible angles, and her center work is always inconceivable, complex and quick. And there is an edge in her voice that lingers, a distinct inflection that I can’t quite figure out, like maybe a particular man broke her heart, and never said he was sorry.
*****
(took a month off because I was feeling like I couldn’t do it)
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I traced my steps back into beginning ballet yesterday. The feel of the brick building, the dancers all around, it felt so good to be back. The company dancers stretching and giving me the eye, like they always do, like I’M competition, hah!
I actually got a shout out in class (my first?!) for remembering a complex combination, and she did it mid combination so I couldn’t react or smile but I knew I was advancing. The pianist played so beautifully I almost just stopped dancing entirely to listen. It was the best pianist I ever had class with. I could hardly remember what we were doing because the notes were killing me with such beauty. I looked at the pianist out of the corner of my eye. I looked around the room. Didn’t anyone else hear this? It gave me the chills and made my eyes water. I remembered every beautiful feeling I have ever felt all at once.
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This week has been really rough, per say. Everyone has been yawning in class, and my teachers have seemed to reach the end of their patience with most students. Also, I have been getting multiple corrections lately, about my feet, and leg muscles…*sigh*. One of the girls in my classes is constantly picked on, because she never shows up on time, and never has the right clothes on. I’m bringing her a leotard and tights tomorrow because I’m tired of the other students and my teacher hounding her. I think it’s a bit ridiculous. It’s been so dreary here, that I think everyone is ready for sunshine, tulips, and fresh inspiration and for the snow to melt away. I feel like I haven’t had any time for friends,or anything I used to be able to do. I have been in a cycle of classes, work, studying, coffee, baths, hot tea, rest, and repeat.
Today, a lady in one of my classes gave me a bottle of perfume. She said, I told her a long time ago, she smelled like Paris. This perfume made my entire day because now I smell like Paris and dreams, life, sunshine, gold, and ballet, and it’s unlike anything I’ve ever smelled before.
I then went to intermediate ballet today where I suffered the worst kid in class syndrome. I shocked myself by keeping up with a lot of it, but I was sandwiched between two company dancers whose pointe shoes rhythmically clopped out a faster pace than I dare to keep, their backs resembled rippling desert sand.
Center work consisted of quick arm transitions, combined with dizzying turns and complex jumps.
I kept up with most of it. I refused to pirouette from lack of being out of the game for so long, and just pléid-passéd-relevéd. I could feel how self conscious I was being. Now it’s spring break. So I won’t be back into the studio until next week.
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After one week of spring break, my teacher was extremely harsh critiquing and pushing us all class. She reiterated that she could tell we weren’t practicing in our free time, and I was scared for my life, because I could have sworn fire was about to come out of her mouth.
“Your core is not engaged, your coordination is off, why are you bending that leg, you are not putting everything into every move….” on and on, each word like a rock being thrown at glass, and making the classroom full of awkward glances and sweat. Woof! What a long class. But glad to be back to at it! Guess I have a lot of studying to do.
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I swirled the ballerina around like a tiny toy top. The music clinked, off key, sounding hauntingly beautiful. The top of the sage velvet box held an outline of an old mirror, it smelled of my grandma and pearls. I sifted through the jewelry, all of in invaluable to me only.
I was beginning to feel unearthed.
The pieces of myself slowly cracking off, an old statue decomposing. This world was slowing falling away from me, a sacrifice one remembers from dreams. Giving up the ghost of themselves for unfiltered eyes.
The Kauffman Center of Performing Arts opens today. Only the white-collar, black tie and silver spooned will attend. I shuffle around a restaurant serving them what they desire, dressed in black, perhaps a bit envious.
Intermediate ballet kicked my…quads. The hardest ballet class I’ve taken to date. I was overwhelmed with the complexity of the combinations. One of the company dancers stood next to me on the barre. She was doing the combinations times ten: Extra ronde de jambes, extra beats, extra counts, extra emphasis on port de bras.
On one hand it challenged me to watch a professional dancer do everything on pointe and to challenge myself, on the other hand it was killing me because I couldn’t even understand the combination to begin with, so I felt like I was spinning in circles.
We also did exercises on the barre that we haven’t went over yet: Fondu developpe to 45 degrees, enveloppe to attitude then extend to 90 degrees. Also, attitude en cloche instead of degage en cloche.
I hung in there for most of center work.
I died during the traveling combinations.
D.i.e.d.
It was all so rapid. I got shuffled to the front of our group. That meant I had to remember and not cheat by watching someone else. Oof! The torture!
I tend to shut down when I feel like I can’t hang in ballet. So I did. My teacher said something about at least trying. I can’t even bring myself to do a single pirouette yet!!! Let alone a double/triple!
I just got red in the face and reveled…again. I felt her staring at me. I was actually looking forward to jumping (which has never happened) because I could at least do that decently.
I also realized during class how many negative things I say to myself , in my head.
Its a lot.
Rough. Class.
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Feeling conflicted has been the theme for this week. I have had some reaffirmation that I am on the right path, today, after spending much of the week questioning what I’m doing. My (physical therapist/former dancer) teacher for Pilates told me not to give up, and that what I was doing was wonderful and smashed every doubt I had. She loves her job so much, it kind of makes me jealous and her energy is like fireworks at all times. I always have to pry myself away from talking to her after class. Also, I just had this really positive unexplainable feeling all day today, that I can’t shake. I worked really hard on stretching my Développé position and front splits, and 2nd position. All which seem terribly hard for me.
In terms of other things in my life, work has been exhausting mixed with dance (is it me or am I always eating, sleeping, or in the shower?) and I had the grueling task this week of returning things to someone I once dated. It’s as if I was hanging onto something selfishly, instead of letting it go. So I did what any girl would do, I put on a sob song, put together all of his things in a crappy walmart sack (hey I had to get in one last jab) and dropped it off on his porch with a letter I once wrote to him. I felt like crying the entire process of this, but once I dropped off the stuff, I felt like I did the right thing, even though it probably hurt both of us in some way to do so. He did teach me how to open up, in turn, making me follow my dreams and becoming a better dancer in the long run. Ugh, somehow dance and love always coincide.
(Side note:I later found out this guy and his NEW GIRLFRIEND read my letter out loud, laughing as they went through the bag and I was so humiliated. This guy was a Class A douchebag.)
So I ask you, how can you ever dance great if you don’t know how it feels to find love and lose it, and find it again??
You have to know how to lose yourself completely, to find yourself again.
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I made it through Intermediate Ballet class today.
Holy hell.
What a rush.
Also, I also almost started crying during warm ups, because the guy playing the piano was amazing, and he loves music so much, that you can tell by the way he closes his eyes and gets all caught up. And for whatever reason, I was stretching backwards watching him in a peculiar way, up side down, and I shut my eyes like blinds closing, and I could feel silver tears starting to sparkle in my eyes. And he then opened his eyes, and I shut mine so no one could see… and for a second, I forgot where I was.
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