I do not live alone. I have a cat, and two kids still (or again) at home, and a partner. Our house is not large, and it has a nice, open plan (e.g. not a lot of privacy). So, that’s my situation, along with a space about 6 feet long and 20” wide for practicing ballet, doing my Pilates workouts, and stretching. As winter grudgingly gives way to spring, there are sunny days, sometimes, and I get out for walks when I can. Eventually, I’ll probably take my bike down and start riding it for exercise, something I haven’t done regularly since we moved to Utah (weird, I know, but I sort of gave up mountain biking when I had young kids, and then I developed a hip thing, and then… well, you get it).
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| pas de chat |
I’m really very fortunate, and I am grateful and humbled about this daily as I watch the news or read stories about people living on the streets, being forced to go to their Amazon warehouse jobs, or to work extra shifts as EMTs without even having health insurance. Last week, I had to have an outpatient surgery, nothing major, but just being at a hospital, and seeing all those people hard at work after several weeks of working from home myself was food for thought.
The ballet community continues to cohere and persevere – all kinds of opportunities are out there, and some are even for people like me, enthusiastic and not particularly talented adults. Some women I met last summer at the Artémotion adult ballet intensive are involved in this cool, international adult ballet intensive online:
That said, I haven’t taken a single live class since my last post. I don’t know, I’m just suffering a bit of Weltschmerz if Weltschmerz is something you can experience in “bits.” I am basically an introvert, but when I move, I like to move with people around; whether it’s rowing, yoga, ballet, hiking, I just prefer to do it in company. Dancing by myself is not all that entertaining, contra Billy Idol.
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| Too cool for me. |
Part of my lack of motivation has to do with the weather, which has turned cold and grey again. Part has to do with the aging body I inhabit, I suppose. And part has to do with the webcam on my electronic devices. I had been filming myself taking class, so I could provide myself with some feedback that I’m not getting when I’m following a live class with a world-class dancer somewhere in their glam apartment in Paris or whatever. And I did not like what I was seeing. I won’t bore you with the details, but whereas I’m pretty critical of myself in the mirror when I’m in the studio, I can also sometimes see something that looks good. The video recordings I made of myself were not that forgiving. NOTHING looked good. Literally, nothing.
To make matters worse, I was going on Instagram or whatever and seeing people I knew – other adult ballet people, posting videos of themselves doing the same classes, and they looked great. High extensions, nice turnout, pleasant and appropriate facial expressions, non-awkward seeming port-du-corps… something nice. Some of them even put on real ballet clothes, or pointe shoes, and still looked impressive, not lame. I haven't put on a leotard in weeks. Last time I did, I made the mistake of taking a picture of myself in it, in my bathroom, and it was not flattering.
I literally haven’t spent this much energy thinking about how much I suck at ballet since I was a teenager.
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| This studio will never seem small again. |
As a grownup, I realize this is completely unproductive and ridiculous. I stopped (mostly) filming myself and started doing the easier online classes I found on Kathryn Morgan’s and Lazy Dancer Tips’ YouTube channels. This has helped a bit. But I don’t have a mirror, and it really is hard to do things right or even sort of right when you can’t check your form from time to time. I also don’t have a barre, just a chair, and my floor is very slippery and small, and a million other things, wah, wah, wah. I just want to get back to the studio and be in that happy place, where the walls are pink (why?), the floor is Marley (yay), and I know which mirrors to avoid (funhouse effects).
Before I “saw” how really bad I actually am (and please, this is not an invitation for contradiction, because it’s not about facts one way or the other, just the psychic damage of watching videos of myself), I had this idea I wanted to choreograph a short piece to a piece of music I really like, a Monteverdi aria called “Si dolce é’l tormento,” and I thought I would perhaps set it on myself. The lyric, by Francesco di Leonardis, is about the pain of loving an unobtainable beauty, which is pretty much my relationship to ballet, come to think of it. Now, I’m thinking perhaps I need a more lithe and accomplished body to work with, since what I want to say is how very sweetly agonizing it is to desire the beautiful that is out of reach, or, to throw another German word in there, Sehnsucht. Hard to say that when it looks like you're holding hamburgers in your hands, you have a dopey, yet intensely concentrated expression on your face, and you are two beats behind the music.
Here is the lyric:
Si dolce è'l tormento
Ch'in seno mi sta,
Ch'io vivo content
Per cruda beltà.
Nel ciel di bellezza
S'accreschi fierezza
Et manchi pietà:
Che sempre qual scoglio
All'onda d'orgoglio
Mia fede sarà.
La speme fallace
Rivolgam' il piè.
Diletto ne pace
Non scendano a me.
E l'empia ch'adoro
Mi nieghi ristoro
Di buona mercè:
Tra doglia infinita,
Tra speme tradita
Vivrà la mia fè.
Se fiamma d'amore
Già mai non sentì
Quel rigido core
Ch'il cor mi rapì,
Se nega pietate
La cruda beltate
Che l'alma invaghì:
Ben fia che dolente,
Pentita e languente
Sospirimi un dì.
So sweet is the torment
that lies in my heart,
that I live happily
because of its cruel beauty.
May beauty's fury
grow wide in the sky
without compassion;
for my devotion shall hold
like a rock against
pride's unrelenting wave.
False hope,
keep me wandering!
let no peace
nor pleasure befall me!
Evil woman, whom I adore,
deny me the rest
that compassion would give;
amidst infinite pain,
amidst broken hopes
shall survive my devotion.
There is no rest for me
in the warmth or the cold.
Only in heaven
shall I find rest.
If the deadly strike
of an arrow injured my heart,
I shall heal still,
and change my destiny,
death's very heart
with the same arrow.
If the frigid heart
that stole mine
never has felt
love's ardour;
if the cruel beauty
that charmed my soul
denies me compassion,
may she die one day
by me pained,
repenting, languishing.
(1624)
And here’s a link to a performance by Philippe Jaroussky, a fabulous countertenor; I think it’s my preferred version, played on “period” style instruments, and so haunting (I saw him perform it in Paris once, and it’s not something one easily forgets). https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=woh1d7QxIKA
I have some vague sketch in my mind of what this might look like, but I won’t commit anything here. I think instead, I’ll just make some notes (not videos!) and when I can, I’ll set it on someone with some actual grace and poise. But it is definitely a solo dance, a pas d’une (or in the case of Jaroussky, d’un), the ultimate vehicle for Einsamkeitserleben.
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