Taexalia

wild.life

I Always Cry…

...at the Ballet.

The casual observer (and let's face it anyone observing my tears in a darkened theatre during a ballet can't really be considered casual) might think that I am just caught up in the story, touched by the emotions of the dancers or whatnot. The truth is that some wounds don't heal, and perhaps they are just never meant to. One of the most tender parts of my Bone Song is What To Do With My Inner Dancer.

Before I go on, I'm not looking for advice or "you shoulds" - and this post isn't all about navel gazing, it's just that I cannot write about a visit to the ballet without writing about the fact I cry. Crying at the ballet is just part of the performance for me - and that's just the way it is. Oh and I'm not talking boa flouncing, wide mouthed bawling here, I'm talking eyes going a little blurry, lump in the throat minuscule grief.

OK the grief is not minuscule, but the demonstration of it is quite low-key. Mostly.

Anyway, I have been to the ballet twice this year and that's twice more than last year. There's no excuse for not going to the ballet since I live in one of the arts capitals of the world, but @ and I have now pledged to add ballet to our calendar of life (a nice contrast to evenings spent with Hanoi Rocks, Motley Crue and New Model Army)...

Our first trip was on @'s birthday/Valentine's Day. @ had surprised me at Yule with tickets to see Swan Lake. He scored large numbers of brownie points since the St Petersburg Ballet Theatre were only dancing in Edinburgh for one night and the show sold out in January.

I cried. It was a beautiful, technically perfect, virtuoso performance. And it's all about true love. I whooped during Odile's solo (Irina Kolesnikova) because basically she spins quite a lot and spinning that much is no easy feat. This is ballet at its best.

Last night, we went to the ballet again. This time to see Northern Ballet Theatre's A Midsummer Night's Dream. You may have guessed that a ballet about dreams and the Otherworld is kind of a perfect night out for me. So I cried.

I cried much earlier than usual because I cried before the curtain had even gone up. You see we arrived at our seats and the curtain was up and it appeared that the dancers were still warming up, or finishing class. I don't want to spoil it if you haven't seen it, but it soon became clear this was part of the performance. I could practically smell the class and despite not having been in a ballet class for 20 years, I ached to be stitching my pointes and bending myself inside out. And there's the rub - I spent most of my childhood and teenage years in dance classes. I spent most of my childhood and teenage years dreaming about being a dancer. And I never made it. I failed. My knee failed. And to this day there is a part of me that sneaks onto the stage and becomes the music and gets to spend all day in legwarmers and look cool.

So I cry.

I doubt I am the only one.

So having gotten the crying part out of the way, the curtain came down and then went up again and I adored their interpretation of the story. I can also now say I have witnessed scenery getting a round of applause - I clapped too. The whole thing was innovative, different, entertaining and the choreography and the dancers were stunning. I laughed quite a lot - the spirit of Puck, the lovers flouncing, rough and tumble fights and the superb inflection of human sexuality free from patriarchal limitations was right up my street.

I'm not good at writing reviews or being a critic - I got so caught up in it all that the best I can do is give you a flushed cheeked sparky grin and say "It was totally gorgeous!"

Don't tell anyone, but I'm typing this wearing my secret stash - a pair of pointe shoes I own just because I love pointe shoes.

Oh and I couldn't find a relevant picture in my own folders, so I chose the painting above from Suzanne Gyseman's website - check her out for some beautiful paintings from the realm of faerie.