elena

The shows this weekend went wonderfully -- everyone stayed on their feet, Nanette was happy, the principals were all beautiful, I felt good.  The theater was in a casino, so slightly smaller, and outside of the city unlike our other two theaters, but still very nice, just modern.  There was a really nice sense of camaraderie among the dancers, and lots of people made sure especially to say "merde" and "toi toi" (the French equivalent) to all of the new dancers before the shows.  Performing again is fun, and feels like a nice little night cap on my return to the daily routine of dancing;  I love getting to see the little kids in the first few rows of the audience, getting to channel characters that I don't normally embody, getting to share my art for a few hours... It feels good.

Doing Giselle has such a lovely tradition behind it, a weight of years that is almost palpable once you've put on the costume and painted yourself into a pale pale ghost.  And there are actions required of you in the true classical ballets, like standing perfectly still on the side of the stage for thirteen minutes, with the exception of getting to switch the one foot you're standing on every few minutes, that create a) lots of muscle pain, b) an effect that's magical to watch, and c) lots of time to be held slightly hostage to your thoughts.

Sunday was the two year anniversary of the day that Elena Shapiro was killed by a drunk driver, three weeks after I joined Carolina Ballet.  There are many people who knew her and loved her better than I did who can speak to her loss better than me, but losing someone always leaves a mark.  I've been thinking about her a lot this past week, remembering the Sunday two years ago after we found out about the accident when we had to run Swan Lake twice with no one to dance her spot, where all of the swans were actually crying during the "Sad Song" and where the act of dancing while feeling that emotional was both heartbreaking and cathartic.  Somehow that afternoon broke an artistic barrier inside of me, and tied my grief to dance on an almost subconscious level -- one that I wasn't quite aware of doing happy children's ballets or Balanchine.  But these tragic classics... Putting on the white practice tutu even, narrating a story of loss and tragedy and magical powers controlling the fates, it brings me right back to when it was all fresh.  Not so hard to cry over Giselle's body in the first act, or to become a man-hating Wili when I start thinking of the idiot who killed her.

More happier thoughts soon -- I've been doing lots of thinking this week, had a couple really wonderful conversations about saving the world and what is going to be necessary to change the collective consciousness to one that appreciates quality over quantity and how to really truly create beauty... My kind of lunchtime small talk ;) More on that next time, and on La Reine Morte, the new Kader ballet we're working on for October's program :)