The Leaves Are Fading

Politicians and pundits warn of an impending Social Security crisis due to aging of American society and the retirement of the Baby Boomers. These doomsday predictions claim that the Social Security trust fund will run out of money in about thirty years as the number of retirees greatly exceeds the number of workers. Workers will shoulder tremendous tax increases to fund these retirement payments, and Social Security may not

exist when younger workers retire.

These scare tactics can cause resentment among younger workers. However, members of my generation must pause and think. My parents, aunts, uncles, and many of my teachers are Baby Boomers. Many are approaching retirement age, some have retired, and some have reached retirement age but are still working. The Boomers in my life are healthy, active adults with no plans for retirement at age 65. They intend to continue working and paying Social Security taxes for as long as their health permits. If this is also true of many Boomers, will this “crisis” really be as bad as predicted?

At family gatherings, I listen to conversations between my parents and my aunt and uncle. Though they are aware that retirement is just over the horizon, they seem reluctant to speak about it, preferring to focus on their own activities, their adult children, and concerns about their aged parents. They also enjoy reminiscing about their youth. The strong bonds holding their relationships together through decades of marriage are quite evident. Together they have faced joy and sorrow, and success and failure.

These family conversations remind me of Anthony Tudor’s ballet The Leaves are Fading which is about people about to pass into the autumn of their lives. It was choreographed in 1975 for American Ballet Theatre (ABT) and kept in their permanent repertory. This is one of Tudor’s last ballets and one of his most beautiful. Unlike other Tudor ballets which tell a clear story, The Leaves are Fading is basically abstract. It creates a mood and a feeling, leaving it up to the viewer to form a personal interpretation. The title describes the time of year when summer is ending, and the trees have lost their rich, green hue. The leaves hold the memories of warm, sunny days as the trees prepare for a colder, bleaker season. The choreography captures this idea of memories very well. There are many instances where the dancers appear to be nostalgic, but also intent on moving forward.

The Leaves Are Fading

This clip features Amanda McKerrow and John Gardner of ABT.  The deep commitment between them is evident from the moment they step onto the stage.  They are almost always in constant contact with one another, each reacting tenderly to the other’s touch.  This is a mature love, very different from the frenzied, passionate love seen in younger couples. Instead, the dancers show a relaxed ease and a complete trust like that of couples who have been together for decades. One can easily imagine one partner finishing a sentence for the other.

The opening is very poignant. Holding hands, the couple enters without any music (1:08). The man looks off into the distance deep in contemplation. The woman slowly releases his hand and with deliberation walks around him in a circle. The music begins playing (1:21) as she steps in front of her partner, he gently takes her hand, she turns to face him, rising up on pointe, battement front followed by a quick fouette into arabesque, all the while holding onto her partner’s hand.  She again turns to face the man and again to the front, develope side, and then both walk diagonally to downstage right. He lifts her up carrying her tenderly toward the front of the stage. She does a simple rond de jambe after being set down, rises up on pointe in fourth position and falls back into her partner’s arms who then gently sets her back up on pointe in a low arabesque. This beautiful sequence is repeated near the end of the dance as well (4:25).

Tudor excels at depicting the many facets of a love that has survived the test of time. There are simple, quiet moments of tenderness: holding hands while walking (1:06); the man’s hand  placed lightly on the woman’s back to guide her (1:47, 1:56); the woman’s  arm around the man’s neck (4:15); the woman’s hand stroking her partner’s cheek (5:14).  Tudor also inserts several playful moments where the man appears to be teasing the woman by touching her arm (2:35), and another where the woman leads the man in a series of lighthearted attitude turns circling the stage and culminating in a grand jete overhead lift which drops into a supported backbend (3:27-3:59).  

The music for this piece has several climaxes (2:44, 3:01, 4:00) which Tudor uses to highlight how the man’s strength lifts the woman, appearing to carry her away from difficult times. In each lift, the woman arches back to gratefully accept the man’s support.

Again, this is reminiscent of a long-married couple who has experienced both joy and sorrow during the course of their relationship.

The last diagonal (4:50) features the woman very softly jumping into a kneeling position on the man’s legs which also are in a bent position. He then lifts her into an overhead arabesque with her torso bent over him so she can look down at him. He sets her back down into the kneeling pose and repeats the lift. The use of the kneeling position is especially compelling. Traditionally, kneeling has symbolized respect for a superior power such as a king or lord. In this diagonal, both dancers appear to be kneeling, indicating mutual respect and equality. A wistful tender series of supported turns follows ending with the man tenderly carrying the woman offstage.   

This clip showed only the central pas de deux from this beautiful ballet for nine women and five men. One day, I hope to see the entire ballet. Sadly only this clip is available on video.

Perfection

Americans are obsessed with perfection. We want perfect hair, perfect teeth, and a perfect body. Students want perfect grades and perfect SAT scores. Adults want the perfect spouse, the perfect family, the perfect home, and the perfect job. Magazines bombard us with images of celebrities who have perfect spouses, perfect children, and perfectly decorated mansions. This makes us ordinary, imperfect people feel even more imperfect.

Ballet is an art obsessed with perfection: perfect positions, perfect placement, and perfect bodies. A thin body with long legs and arms more easily creates beautiful ballet lines than a muscular body with short limbs. In a quest for ballet perfection, many young ballet dancers develop eating disorders.  I know several young dancers who needed hospitalization for anorexia and bulimia for that very reason. Neither girl is dancing today.

Ballet schools under the Soviet system only accepted students with perfect bodies. Hundreds of children auditioned for a handful of openings, but only those with correct proportions, beautiful feet, good turnout, and ample flexibility were admitted. Victor Gsovsky, the choreographer of Grand Pas Classique, was rejected by the Mariinsky School because he was too tall. I too, would have been rejected for the same reason. At 5’8” tall, I am too tall for the corps de ballet and too tall to be partnered by most male dancers. So, my choice was clear:  go to college rather spend a year auditioning in vain. 

Fortunately, Gsovsky found an excellent teacher in St. Petersburg. He became a renowned teacher and choreographer who worked in Germany and France during the 1930’s and 1940’s. He is best known for Grand Pas Classique, a fiendishly difficult pas de deux, which he choreographed in 1949 for the Paris Opera Ballet. It is still performed today and is in the repertoires of many ballet companies.

It is ironic that a man rejected for having an imperfect body, created a dance about perfection: perfect poses, perfect lines, perfect transitions, perfect men’s technique, and perfect women’s technique. While this pas demands exceptional classical technique, strength, and endurance, the dancers must also maintain the fluidity and effortlessness which is the goal of every ballet performance.

Grand Pas Classique Pas Deux

This clip shows Sylvie Guillem and Manuel Legris of the Paris Opera Ballet (The clip incorrectly credits Petipa with the choreography). It follows the Petipa format of entrance, adagio, variations, and coda. Unlike a typical Petipa pas de deux, the dancers in Grand Pas Classique do not interact:  there is virtually no eye contact between them; they are exquisitely, but coldly perfect. The dancers remind me of celebrity couples on the red carpet, elegantly coiffed and dressed; carefully maintaining the illusion of perfection created by couturiers, make-up artists, and hair stylists. In the adagio, this feeling is particularly evident in the diagonal that begins at 1:45. The man lifts the woman and drops her into a fish dive. Then keeping her in the fish position, he makes a 360 degree turn, as if to show everyone the perfect woman he has snagged. A series of supported turns follow, ending with the girl balanced in passe while the man executes a double tour. Both dancers gaze off into the distance, completely oblivious of the other dancer. They are here to be seen; not to interact with one another.  The diagonal ends with both dancers croise on one knee, arm outstretched, as if acknowledging their fans.

The ballerina uses her arms in the adagio to emphasize the perfection of the poses (0:41, 1:01, 2:26, 2:37, 3:08, 3:19, 3:52, 4:20). Her arm motions remind me of how models on game shows use their hands to highlight the qualities of the featured product.

The variations show the athleticism of the man and the femininity of the woman. The man’s variation (4:25–5:20) has virtually every jump and turn that comprises men’s technique. Gsovsky’s perfect male dancer must be able to jump, turn, and beat. He only gets a two minute break before he returns for the coda which opens with brise voles (7:25-8:22) and ends with turns a la seconde. Not only does the dancer need to be athletic, he must also execute these extremely difficult steps with the grace and effortlessness of Fred Astaire.

The woman’s variation (5:25–7:25) is every bit as difficult, but quite different: no big jumps, no beats, and no displays of athleticism. Gsovsky’s perfect female dancer is refined and polished. She is a steel magnolia:  appearing very feminine and demure, while executing steps that require extraordinary strength and control (6:30–7:03).  After completing several killer diagonals, she has a very, very delicate, feminine passage (7:04–7:11) with graceful changements and emboites en pointe, showing off perfect feet and perfect pointe work. The variation ends with a manege of pique-chaine turns.

Many have criticized this pas as being sterile, but these critics are missing the point. Perfection is sterile. Factories churn out perfect items, but without the charm of handcrafted goods. Perfectly shaped fruit fills our supermarkets, but lacks the flavor of misshapen heirloom varieties sold in the farmer’s market. Hothouse roses look perfect, but lack the heady perfume of the garden rose.

I think this pas was Gsovsky’s tribute to the academic tradition of classical ballet. Each ballet student aspires for perfection in every class, even though that perfection is rarely achieved. It is the idiosyncrasies and imperfections of each individual dancer that give life to ballet and make each performance of the same choreography unique.

Take a look at this video of David Hallberg in Grand Pas Classique. This is the best interpretation of the male variation and coda that I have ever seen. Not only is Hallberg technically excellent, but he also has the Fred Astaire quality of effortlessness and floating that is rarely seen in ballet dancers. Sylvie Guillem shares that quality. Hallberg and Guillem are my dream couple for this piece.

Hallberg’s variation: (0-0:56) coda: (3:52-4:44).   Michelle Wiles, his partner, has good technique, but lacks the femininity and the Astaire quality of Guillem.

David Hallberg's Variation

The Graduator

In my last performance with my ballet studio, I portrayed the Queen in Sleeping Beauty, which has a great deal of pantomime, but very little dancing.  In ballet, the King and Queen dance very little, leaving the dancing to the Prince, the Princess, the fairies, and the guests. My role consisted of majestic walks around the stage, gracious sweeps of my arms, and regal nods of my head. I wore a beautiful gold brocade gown elaborately trimmed with lace and pearls. A sparkling rhinestone tiara rested on my head, and a large faux ruby ring decorated my finger. Most of my time was spent sitting on my throne, observing the dancing, and occasionally interacting with the King.

This was my friend Isabel’s graduation performance, and she was dancing Aurora. Every inch of her looked like a fairy-tale princess, from her sparkling crystal tiara to her pink satin pointe shoes. Tiny rhinestones and pearls edged the bodice of her pale pink tutu, and delicate iridescent flowers were scattered over the skirt. Despite her beautiful appearance and bright smile, I could see the pain in Isabel’s eyes. She had injured her ankle, but was determined to perform. She did not want to disappoint our teacher, Ms. Svetlana, who followed the Russian ballet school tradition of a graduation concert to demonstrate what the graduates have accomplished.

While watching Isabel dance, I thought of my graduation concert the year before. Like Isabel, I was dancing with an injury, and I did not want to disappoint Ms. Svetlana.  I concealed a knee brace under my pink tights, and had a cooler filled with flexible ice packs waiting backstage.

Instead of a full-length ballet, my graduation show opened with “Class-Concert,”  a demonstration of a traditional ballet class progressing from barre to center work, all performed en pointe.  Next, individual students presented an assortment of Petipa variations. Because I was graduating, I danced two variations:  Gulnare’s Pas d’Esclave variation from Le Corsaire and Gamzatti’s variation from La Bayadere.  

Gulnare is a slave girl dancing one last time before she is purchased for a sheik’s harem. This is my favorite Petipa variation. I love the opening diagonal: cabriole devant, chasse, jete, renverse, emboite, pique develope front. It combines my favorite steps: big jumps and quick foot work. The music is lilting and while the steps themselves are quite challenging, the sequencing of the steps makes this variation very danceable.

Fortunately, my knee brace was concealed because Gulnare’s variation is often performed in harem pants. However, Gamzatti is a tutu variation. I hoped my elaborate headpiece and the glitter from  my rhinestone-studded tutu would keep the audience from noticing my brace.

As the daughter of the Rajah, Gamzatti is a very different girl from Gulnare.  Gulnare is a slave girl; Gamzatti is a slave owner. Petipa’s choreography shows that Gamzatti is confident, proud and imperious. Before the music even starts, Gamzatti takes a huge preparation upstage left as if to let the audience know that her variation is something very, very special. Petipa fills this variation with cabrioles, grand battements, grand jetes, and turns of various kinds. As soon as one diagonal is completed, another one begins. The final manege features soaring grand jetes and pique arabesques, ending with a triumphant final pose. 

I did not feel particularly triumphant or imperious or proud as I entered and began the huge preparation. For the first time, I didn’t worry about the diagonal with the attitude turns; I worried about my knee remaining stable during the jete take-offs and landings. This would be my last performance as a L’Etoile student; I wanted Ms. Svetlana and Mr. Vadim to be proud of me. The theater filled with applause as I assumed the final pose. My prayers were answered; my knee did not buckle, and I ended on my feet.

At the end of the show, I was presented with a diploma and two-dozen red roses. Afterwards, I looked at the program and saw “Graduator 2009” after my name.  I couldn’t help smiling. My Russian teachers have created many interesting variations of English words. Sadly, they stop using these charming variations when someone corrects them. However, I am very happy that they no longer use graduator because now it is mine alone. It has become my nickname at L’Etoile.

Here is one of my favorite ballerinas, Anastasia Matvienko, performing Gamzatti’s variation. I am grateful that there is no video of me dancing Gamzatti. 

Anastasia Matvienko performing Gamzatti

Fouettes, or expressed more precisely, fouette rond de jambe en tournant!

Fouettes, or expressed more precisely, fouette rond de jambe en tournant! 

There is no middle ground on this step – you either love ‘em or hate ‘em.  Fouette means whipped, and not all fouettes are turns; however, the turning fouettes are for many dancers among the most dreaded turns asked for in class or in choreography. It is a display of virtuosity for a ballerina, and Petipa’s choreography requires 32 fouettes in the coda for many of his pas de deux.

I happen to love fouettes, so when Runqiao called for them, I eagerly stepped forward. The key to executing fouettes is finding a rhythm and sticking with it. Once the rhythm is established, you can execute 8, 16, 32, 48, or until you get dizzy, your supporting leg gives out, or the teacher says, “Stop. That’s enough!” It is always important to keep your back straight, your shoulders down, and your arms strong because they control the speed of the turn. Your working leg must be straight and strong – it is the whip that propels the turn.  I concentrate on staying in one spot and not traveling, particularly when doing fouettes in a group. One traveling dancer can create havoc in class if she strays into space where another dancer is working. It is best to stop and regroup if you find that you are traveling out of your area.

The Russian pianist played the coda from Don Quixote pas de deux, music that is almost always used in class for fouettes, no matter what city or country you happen to be taking class in. Sometimes the pianist mixes it up with Corsaire or Black Swan, but Don Q is the usual accompaniment. This regularity and tradition is something I love about ballet. No matter where you go, no matter who is teaching, class will follow a pattern set down over a hundred years ago. Even if the teacher doesn’t speak your language, you can still take class and learn because the language of ballet is universal and transcends all verbal languages.

I sometimes stop and think that the steps that I am doing today, are also being executed by thousands of other dancers across the United States, and in many countries throughout the world. For the last hundred years, ballet dancers have been doing the same steps we are doing at TU, most likely to the same music that our pianist played for us today. Legendary ballerinas like Plisetskaya and Maximova did these very same fouettes, probably to the Don Q coda. My friends dancing in ballet companies or studying in other schools are also doing fouettes to Don Q. It is a link that binds all ballet dancers past and present.

A day in the life of a TU commuter dance major.

Deep in sleep, I hear a bell ringing. It is 4:30 AM, and my first alarm is sounding. I hope I am dreaming and the bell will soon stop, but this is not a dream. With eyes still closed, I stumble across the room, arm outstretched, and fingers clawing to find this persistent alarm clock. Finally my fingers grasp it, and I fumble to find the off switch. Silence at last. I dive back under the covers to get a little more sleep.

Soon, a second alarm sounds. This is not a bell or another mechanical sound, but a sound that is a cross between an angry Donald Duck and a bark. It seems to be saying “Let me out!  Bwah! Bwah! Bwah! Bwah! It is our Pomeranian dogs, Roxie Hart and Betty Boop, announcing that morning has come, and they need to go outside.  I hear my parents getting up to take them outside while I hunker down for another 15 minutes of sleep.

The third alarm sounds at 6 AM. Now my day really begins. Reluctantly, I get out of bed and turn on my computer to check for any new announcements concerning my classes. I get dressed and hurry downstairs to be greeted by Roxie and Betty, tails wagging, begging to be picked up. They shadow me as I prepare my breakfast and lunch, waiting for the stray crumb to drop to the floor.

At 7 AM, I head out to my car for the twenty mile commute to TU. Fortunately, I travel on the inner loop of the Baltimore Beltway. The outer loop is so congested, in places it looks like a parking lot.  Finally, I arrive and pull into a fairly empty parking garage.  I take a few minutes to stretch my arms and legs which are stiff after driving. Birds are chirping as sunshine streams into the garage. I feel its warmth caress my face when I step outside for the short walk to the Center for the Arts. The building is quiet and still; it is early, and only a few people are inside. I love this quiet time. I unwind, eat my breakfast, and mentally prepare for class.

My only class today is one of my favorites: Ballet III taught by Runqiao Du. I especially love his grand allegros which are filled with big jumps and expansive movements. The TU studios are spacious, bright, and airy – the perfect place for grand jetes, saut de basques, sissones, glissades, chasses, and assembles across the floor. Because I don’t need to worry about running into a wall, I can cover more ground and make my movement bigger.

Today I particularly enjoyed dancing the petite allegro combination. It was simple, but very effective: four chasse sissone arabesques traveling in a diagonal and ending with two sissone glissade jetes. I went with the two guys in our class and pushed myself to match their strides and their elevation. I love jumps because they give me a sense a freedom and exhilaration. It is the closest man can come to flying without assistance from another source.

Class ends and I am free until Dance Company rehearsal, which today is for Swan Lake.  I relax on one of the Dance Department’s couches, enjoying the fruit cup I have brought for lunch. The sound of musicians practicing echoes through the hall as I read my psychology book. Occasionally, a voice interrupts my reading. I look up only to see someone talking on a Bluetooth headset.  I return to my reading.

Finally it is time for Swan Lake. I can’t believe I am Odette. A Russian teacher I had when I was twelve called me her “ugly duckling” because I did not have a good ballet body: short arms, short legs, long torso. Now, this ugly duckling must become a swan.

Ballerina Erin Mahoney is teaching us this role. I watch her beautiful arms undulate as if they had no bones in them. I try and try, but I cannot achieve her effortless motion.  Maybe, if I work every day, I can master it.

Rehearsal ends. I take off my pointe shoes and notice a blister on my bunion. I didn’t even feel it because I was concentrating so hard on the arms. This blister will take a long time to heal because my bunion always rubs against the pointe shoe, and I can’t protect it.

I walk to the garage with other dancers. We are all tired and can’t wait to get home.

I feel as though I am on automatic pilot driving home. Rush hour is over and traffic has lightened. Before I know it, I am home.

 Again, I am vocally greeted by Roxie and Betty who become spinning balls of fur when they see me come through the door. It’s been a long day and it’s good to be home.