Listen! Listen! Do you hear that? That sweet chirp-chirp-chirruping over the wind rustling the graceful leaves? Could it be my handsome prince come to have long random conversations with me in the form of a bluebird? Yep. That'd be him all right.
How surreal can fairy tales get? Think beautiful princess, locked in tower, prince not allowed to court her, he gets transformed into a bluebird, flies to visit her in the tower nightly until more obscure events occur, then years later Princess Florine tracks him down and they end up getting married. Throw in some sparkly voodoo by fairies and you've got yourself a century old story that could have been (maybe should have been) lost in history. Mix in 2 parts more popular fairy tale, add some obligatory celebration dancing and you've got yourself The Sleeping Beauty Ballet. Leave it to Vsevolozhky and good ol' Petipa to re-incorporate these random characters like Bluebird and his lady love Princess Florine into the ballet version of Sleeping Beauty. I'm sure it was considered turn of the century marketing. Is that like the modern day equivalent of cameo appearances and product placement?
I admire Princess Florine's tenacity. Because of her determination and commitment, I decided that I would represent her this Friday by dancing her variation from The Sleeping Beauty ballet. It seemed fitting that, despite all the pitfalls of taking on ballet at such a late age and still plodding on, I should choose to dance her variation. That's right.. Go Florine! You're dedicated and fabulous, you raised your hand to your ear each depressing night in that tower - waiting, listening, resigned to be with your bluebird prince. That's the kind of ballet heroine I want to be!
Of course it was natural when Jeff, our awesome teacher from Ballet Hispanico, asked "What variations are you each choosing for Friday?" I would chirp first, before everyone, loud and clear, "Bluebird, Princess Florine!"
The kids and Jeff considered my choice for a second, as he nodded approvingly. Then the grumbling and complaining swept through the young group of dancers as some moaned, "Aww man. That was the shortest variation on the list. I wanted that one."
Monday, June 29, 2009
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
Wk II, SF Ballet's Tiit Helimets arrives
"Hey, I'm from California too! Do you ever eat at La Jardiniere? It's the place to go when I'm feeling spendy and in the mood for some sultry jazz. Yeah, but I still go to my mainstays like Panta Rei for down-home Italian trattoria cuisine. We should hang out sometime when I'm back in SF visiting my dog. My husband and I'll come see you onstage, afterwards, you and your wife should come have a drink with us."
That's the kind of dream talk that I imagined I'd say to our guest teacher, San Francisco Ballet principal, Tiit Helimets. After a week of 4 hour daily classes with him, I managed on Friday to say, "You like the Giants? Me too. *awkward pause* Thanks for tolerating me in class. Uh, have a safe trip back."
Remember how good it felt as a kid when your parents or teacher, any authority figure, would compliment you over the most mundane thing? "Oh, Matt! Good job, you didn't walk yourself into that glass wall again! Good work!"
It felt awesome. In retrospect, I kind of realize that the compliments didn't always warrant the puffed up pride I had as a kid. Perhaps they were even kind reminders like, "Great, you missed the wall this time! Once out of five... hope you don't make it six! Concussions hurt!"
Still, I delighted and exulted in every compliment Mr. Helimets had for us, even the remarks like, "There's no excuse for dropping her, she's tiny!" Did I hear that right? Did Mr. Helimets just call me tiny? Hee hee hee! Even if I had to have some say.. unexpected dental work from face planting into the floor, I would probably still be enthused over a non-compliment like that! Fortunately, Isaac caught me right before the floor rose up to hit my face, but still! Tiit called me tiny!
I'm not sure what makes me happier after that week with Mr. Helimets. Maybe it was the fact that I learned new lifts, that I overcame a lot of my reluctance in partnering, gained confidence in triple and quadruple pirouettes on flat, learned two variations (one of which I thought I would never be able to even attempt), and worked with a dancer I'm star-struck by from one of my favorite companies. Maybe I was equally ecstatic when my partner caught me mid-fall during some un-choreographed flailing; Tiit Helimets would glance over and say, "Good work."
I done good! Yay!
That's the kind of dream talk that I imagined I'd say to our guest teacher, San Francisco Ballet principal, Tiit Helimets. After a week of 4 hour daily classes with him, I managed on Friday to say, "You like the Giants? Me too. *awkward pause* Thanks for tolerating me in class. Uh, have a safe trip back."
Remember how good it felt as a kid when your parents or teacher, any authority figure, would compliment you over the most mundane thing? "Oh, Matt! Good job, you didn't walk yourself into that glass wall again! Good work!"
It felt awesome. In retrospect, I kind of realize that the compliments didn't always warrant the puffed up pride I had as a kid. Perhaps they were even kind reminders like, "Great, you missed the wall this time! Once out of five... hope you don't make it six! Concussions hurt!"
Still, I delighted and exulted in every compliment Mr. Helimets had for us, even the remarks like, "There's no excuse for dropping her, she's tiny!" Did I hear that right? Did Mr. Helimets just call me tiny? Hee hee hee! Even if I had to have some say.. unexpected dental work from face planting into the floor, I would probably still be enthused over a non-compliment like that! Fortunately, Isaac caught me right before the floor rose up to hit my face, but still! Tiit called me tiny!
I'm not sure what makes me happier after that week with Mr. Helimets. Maybe it was the fact that I learned new lifts, that I overcame a lot of my reluctance in partnering, gained confidence in triple and quadruple pirouettes on flat, learned two variations (one of which I thought I would never be able to even attempt), and worked with a dancer I'm star-struck by from one of my favorite companies. Maybe I was equally ecstatic when my partner caught me mid-fall during some un-choreographed flailing; Tiit Helimets would glance over and say, "Good work."
I done good! Yay!
Monday, June 22, 2009
Excuse me, I don't speak Ballet.
Everyone knows the story of the ugly duckling, right? Whatever happened to the other egg? You know, the actual ugly duck; did it get adopted and accepted into its graceful surrogate swan family? Or is it still blundering over its webby feet, getting equally teased by the swans the same way its pseudo duckling switch was abused by the duck family on the other side of the lake?
If I am that bad egg, or ersatz swan, I'm happy to admit that at least my swan family in Utah is treating me well. Maybe it's not unlike the special student in class that everyone likes, but the teacher insists that if you point out their limp or speech impediment you'll surely burn in detention. Frankly, it's quite the opposite in my classes. In this case, it's the teacher pointing out my flailing while the students rally around and encourage me to flail on.
I'm not sure how I made it this far since February 2007 in Rome. Walking into IALS (Istituto Addestramento Lavoratori dello Spettacolo) beginning ballet class was the first step, not understanding the language and the potential sarcastic self-esteem crushing jabs was the second. I remember being given the schedule of classes by the receptionist the first time Chris took me to visit. The next day, I showed the foreign list of teachers and hours to some of my friends with dance experience at the National Film School. Determined to try and make some sense out of it, I disregarded the fact that my friends didn't speak much English either. Picking classes from the list soon turned into pointing at certain names on the crumpled paper with one of two motions: 1.) *point into open mouth* Gag, barf noise, or 2.) two thumbs up and a big grin and nod.
I squinted at the the names and times, repeating outloud, "Marcello Raciti, Danza Classica, livello principianti" and flashed the same thumbs up. Little did I know that he was only the start of my first physical introduction to the world of Russian/Vaganova ballet.
If I am that bad egg, or ersatz swan, I'm happy to admit that at least my swan family in Utah is treating me well. Maybe it's not unlike the special student in class that everyone likes, but the teacher insists that if you point out their limp or speech impediment you'll surely burn in detention. Frankly, it's quite the opposite in my classes. In this case, it's the teacher pointing out my flailing while the students rally around and encourage me to flail on.
I'm not sure how I made it this far since February 2007 in Rome. Walking into IALS (Istituto Addestramento Lavoratori dello Spettacolo) beginning ballet class was the first step, not understanding the language and the potential sarcastic self-esteem crushing jabs was the second. I remember being given the schedule of classes by the receptionist the first time Chris took me to visit. The next day, I showed the foreign list of teachers and hours to some of my friends with dance experience at the National Film School. Determined to try and make some sense out of it, I disregarded the fact that my friends didn't speak much English either. Picking classes from the list soon turned into pointing at certain names on the crumpled paper with one of two motions: 1.) *point into open mouth* Gag, barf noise, or 2.) two thumbs up and a big grin and nod.
I squinted at the the names and times, repeating outloud, "Marcello Raciti, Danza Classica, livello principianti" and flashed the same thumbs up. Little did I know that he was only the start of my first physical introduction to the world of Russian/Vaganova ballet.
Sunday, June 21, 2009
The second weekend
My two blisters have just started to heal, but remain sensitive to the touch still. I can't believe that I'm still awake at 11:10 PM. Let me rephrase that, I can't believe I'm going to be back on the dance floor at 9:00 AM tomorrow. I have a feeling that the blisters aren't about to disappear anytime soon.
I'll try to be as organized as possible on this site, but there's a creeping sensation that tells me the posts here are going to be random and not in chronological order. I've realized after reading my husband's old travel journals that recording experiences, past and present, should be important to everyone. It's so easy to lose track of daily life, and even easier to file your old memories away and eventually forget them entirely.
I'll try to be as organized as possible on this site, but there's a creeping sensation that tells me the posts here are going to be random and not in chronological order. I've realized after reading my husband's old travel journals that recording experiences, past and present, should be important to everyone. It's so easy to lose track of daily life, and even easier to file your old memories away and eventually forget them entirely.
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