Ballet...Declaration

Ballet is one of the most misconceived art forms that exists today’s world. Many think it is just another one of those types of dance where one would just prance around and try to look pretty. No one can really understand the hard work, dedication, long hours, and pain that goes into this art form to make it look so easy. As a student of ballet, I have experienced and seen the blood, sweat, and tears that goes into ballet.

When I was presented with the opportunity to expose others to my world of ballet in the form of a concept-folio, I knew I had to take the chance. It has proved to be more difficult than I had anticipated, but it poses as a good challenge. I enjoy the chance to write about ballet and find beautiful pictures of ballerinas and every aspect of ballet. It is my love and my life and I would not change that for the world. I want to use this concept-folio as a way to show everyone how much I love ballet and how much work goes into my art form to make it look beautiful.

More Pictures...

Narrative

“No! You’re doing it all wrong; I don’t know why I chose you for this part. Again, from the top, and please try not to look like a dying cat.”
There was no end to my constant torture. I came to the studio everyday, day after day, to do the same barre, same center adage, same variation, and same ballet. Nothing changed. And everyday of my continuous torment, I was yelled at, screamed at, at the top of his lungs, bellowing so loudly that my eardrums hurt. It seemed like he was never satisfied by what I did, no matter how hard I tried. I put my soul into each rehearsal, but it was never enough. He was never through with me until he made me cry so much that I could never shed another tear even if my life depended on it, until tomorrow.
Once he let me leave, I ran out of the studio, and up the stairs. My aching feet, blistered heels, and bleeding toes crammed into tiny shoes carried me up them, and my wretched strait jacket stopped my breathing. I stood, clutching the building, thinking about what had occurred after yet another seven hours of suffering. I gathered myself and asked myself, “Why do you put yourself through this everyday?” I answered in a heartbeat. “Because I love it.” Everyday I woke up to put myself through another nightmare, but for some reason, even though I have the freedom to leave, I kept coming back to repeat this wretched dream. Hanging onto the building, looking down at the small city, dressed in the shoes and pannier that make me a goddess, I felt like it is alright. Everything in the world made sense on top of that building. My hopes, dreams, and wishes all became clear as I stared down at the rushing city beneath my feet. I regained the courage that I never thought I would have; enough to build confidence and return to my studio.
As I walked back through the heavy, gray double doors to the academy, I no longer felt the weight on my shoulders that I usually felt. Everything looked lighter, more vivid and colorful. When I walked into the studio, the other girls whispered and pointed and laughed, but I tried hard to ignore it. “Has the crybaby decided to grow up yet?” He’d ask, just like every other day. Instead of turning around and leaving once again, I nodded. He acknowledged my courage and demanded the pianist to begin his accompaniment. I danced the steps, performed them to death, used every inch of my body to express myself, using every drop of my energy. I felt lighter, like I had lifted some weight off of myself: no guilt, no sadness, no pain, no anything. Just a sole feeling of accomplishment, like I had done something, and now my life was complete. When the music ended and I dancing ceased, he stared at me for a while, long and hard, like he was trying to see through me or see what was inside of me. After what felt like centuries, he finally said, “Good. We will continue tomorrow.” I could have sworn I saw him smile at me with a twinkle in his eye.