more excerpts...

Dancing in Red Shoes Will Kill You by Dorian Cirrone
A Dance of Sisters by Tracy Porter
A Company of Swans by Eva Ibbotson
The Ballet Companion by Eliza Gaynor Minden
I, Maya Plisteskaya by Maya Plisetskaya
Theatre Street-the Reminiscences of Tamara Karsavina by Tamara Karsavina
Nureyev by Rudolph Nureyev
Once a Dancer by Allegra Kent
Ballet Mystique: Behind the Glamour of the Ballet Russe by George Zoritch
Dance to the Piper by Agnes De Mille
Baryshnikov in Russia by Nina Alovert
Fonteyn and Nureyev by Alexander Bland
101 Stories of the Great Ballets by George Balanchine and Francis Mason
Ballerina-The Art of Women in Classical Ballet by Mary Clarke and Clement Crisp
The Red Shoes Directed by Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger
The Company Directed by Robert Altman
Save the Last Dance Directed by Thomas Carter
Step Up Directed by Anne Fletcher
Center Stage Directed by Nicholas Hytner
Fame Directed by Alan Parker

more pictures...

"The Star" Edgar Degas, 1871-81, France
"Dance Lesson" Edgar Degas, 1872, France
"The Dancing Class" Edgar Degas, 1873-75, France
"The Star (Dancer on Stage)" Edgar Degas, 1878, France
"Dancers in Pink" Edgar Degas, 1880-85, France
"Blue Dancers" Edgar Degas, 1899, France
"Two Dancers in Blue" Edgar Degas, 1899, France
"Ballerina and Lady wiht a Fan" Edgar Degas, 1885, France
"E'cole de Danse" Edgar Degas, 1873, France
"Ballet Dance" Edgar Degas, 1877, France
"Four Dancers" Edgar Degas, 1899, France
"Ballet Dancers in the Wings" Edgar Degas, 1900, France
"La Classe de Danse" Edgar Degas, 1871, France
"Dancing Examination" Edgar Degas, 1874, France
"Dancers Practicing at the Barre" Edgar Degas, 1877, France
"The Rhearsal of the Ballet on Stage" Edgar Degas, 1874, France
"Dancers Backstage" Edgar Degas, France
"Dancer Posing at the Photographer Studio" Edgar Degas, 1875, France
"The Dance Lesson" Edgar Degas, 1879, France
"The Rehearsal 01" Edgar Degas, 1873-78, France
"Dance School" Edgar Degas, 1874, France
"Seated Dancer" Edgar Degas, 1879-80, France
"Marianela Nunez-The Lilac Fairy and Tamara Rojo-Princess Aurora (Vision)" John Ross, 2008, England
"Iohna Loots as White Cat and Ricardo Cervera as Puss-in-Boots" John Ross, 2008, England
"Alina Cojocaru in Diamonds" John Ross, 2007, England
"Odette-Sofiane Sylve, The Prince-Friedmann Vogel and Swans" John Ross, 2007, England
"Odette-Sofiane Sylve and Prince Sigfried-Friedmann Vogel" John Ross, 2007, England

Exisiting Critique

"Four Dancers"

This painting is brilliant in its composition, color, perspective. The four dancers are slowly backing out of the picture. Degas's positioning of figures, in the bottom left corner, creates a strong sense of movement in the painting. The background diminishes through perspective techniques. The unbalanced arrangement of subjects is balanced by the repetition of vibrant colors. The warm tomes in the women's costumes reappear in the background of the opposite corner. This image is typical in Degas's reoccurring theme: that "the stage is at all times artificially lit and our distance from it makes the colors become both loud and blurred, creating an impression of distance and glamorous dazzle." Degas doesn't give personality or expression to the faces of the dancers. To him, they are only and image prancing on the stage, they are their to entertain. He outlines the form and beauty of the dancers of the Paris Opera House. Because of that, the freedom of his brushwork is not tied down by detail, but he expresses only the glamour at the ballet.

Critique 3

"The Ballet Class" was one of Edgar Degas' earlier ballet paintings. It depicts an ordinary ballet class; however, there are some elements which seem out of place for a regular class. This oil on canvas was created in 1881 and now hangs in the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York.
Degas' "The Ballet Class" illustrates a ballet class, apparently, somewhat not according to regular etiquette. There are three girls in the upper left corner who are dancing in juxtaposition. Two seem to be watching the third, which seems somewhat disoriented. There is a man who seems to be the teacher watching the three girls. There is another grouping of dancers off to the right, standing behind the teacher. They are standing, stretching, and not completely paying attention to their surroundings. There is also an old woman who is reading a newspaper, closest to the viewer. The positioning of the characters in the composition is proportional throughout and creates a balance. There is a sharp contrast between the dancers and the woman and teacher because of their colors. The dancers are in light shades, while the others are in much darker values. The light source appears to be natural and coming from the lower right corner because it casts shadows to the upper left of all of the figures. The color scheme of the composition seems to be shades and values of yellows and browns. Mostly earth tones are used in addition to these colors. The perspective of the composition is from the side of the class, viewing the entire studio. The focal point appears to be the seems to be the old woman who is reading the newspaper, most likely because her whole figure is shown and her attire contrasts the brightness of the rest of the composition.
This composition depicts a class, during center, but some elements do not seem right. For example, why is there a woman reading a newspaper? Why isn't she watching the class? Who is she? Also, some of the dancers pose questions that are not answered. For instance, why does one girl have her hair down? The girl that is currently dancing seems as if she is off balance or going to fall, is she? "The Ballet Class" uses sharp contrasts between colors, the curiosity of the viewer, and the dancers' disobedient characteristics to attract the eye.

Narrative 3

It’s a day before the show. Actually, 25 hours, 37 minutes. Trust me, I’ve counted. My first opening evening performance of Romeo & Juliet. The thick crimson curtain rises at 8:21 sharp, on the dot. Rises to ten thousand microscopic faces staring down upon me, beating down on me, watching my every move. I have to admit, I am more nervous than I have ever been in my life. This even beats out the time I auditioned for my favorite company, my dream company, Bolshoi. Legs shaking, nerve stricken face, sweating palms, and this is worse. I’ll have to admit, standing here, looking out into the enormous house that will look back at me tomorrow night, it’s kind of relieving. The shadowy, muggy darkness and almost eerie silence calms me. I run through my intricate steps during the Party Scene of the first act for the last time in my raggedy tattered dress and my sweater made from old ripped tights. The difficult steps frustrate me to no end. I can’t get the timing right; I could never get the timing right. A wetness streams down my face as I fall apart in front of those thousands of seats all gawking at me. I wipe this wetness away from my eyes and off of my already dewy face. Why can’t I get it right? Now with only 24 hours, 56 minutes and decreasing. Rapidly.
My long, delicate legs bring me to the front of the raked stage as I once again look out into the house. It’s so huge. I don’t remember it being so big. I must become accustomed to it. I run through ever part, every phrase, every second of it in my head. My emotion, my steps, what I should be feeling, what I want to say to people. My legs are about to give in for some unknown reason, so I sit on the rough marley that covers the stage. It’s cold and slick, yet sticky with rosin. I continue running through the steps, but with my arms this time. They seem frail and small, but for tomorrow they need to be big and projected. Right now it feels like everything is going wrong and nothing is going how I want it to. Nothing works, my arms ache, my legs weaken, my back wants to give into the weight of my body, my head is racing, and I don’t know what to do.
Now 22 hours, 17 minutes, and I don’t think I will be ready. Every doubt I have ever had, every insecurity comes into play in my mind. Why now? Why me? I don’t think I can do this. I really don’t. My director walks in. I can tell. The sudden stench of tobacco, scotch, and cologne fill the stage. I don’t mind it but I know it means one thing. “Go home. Get some rest. You must be ready for tomorrow night.” But I can’t. I begin to cry. This time more tears flow and they come more rapidly. He keeps repeating, “Do not cry. You mustn’t. There is nothing to worry about. You will be perfect. Trust me.” I know I want to but I still can’t bring myself to believe that.
I arrive at my apartment; comfort and warmth overwhelm me once I walk in. I don’t have the strength to continue doing anything so I surrender to my welcoming bed. 7 hours, 53 minutes. Time is ticking. Class flies by with the blink of an eye, and I feel like I’m trapped in a bubble. I work as hard as humanly possible to prepare for tonight. We run through the pas de deux’s once more before heading to the theatre. Surprisingly, everything goes according to plan. In the blink of an eye its 5:59. 2 hours 2 minutes. I warm up one more time, already in my pastel yellow, silk and chiffon Juliet dress. I clutch the rusting iron bars in the wings carefully doing plies and tendus. I take a deep breath then let it out. I'm ready. 43 minutes.

~

I take my place on stage and the curtain rises to those ten thousand faces I was fearing. But now it seems like instead of gawking in disgust and criticisms, they are staring in awe. It feels good. Now I know what I have been waiting for my whole life. It makes sense. I don't want it to end. I'm fearing the end.

Community Project

For my community portion, I was thinking that I might ask people at my dance studio why they like ballet in particular. I would ask them why they started ballet and what keeps them going. I would ask our students of all ages in order to be able to compare young dancers to older ones.
I also might create a "workshop" for my friends. We could take a class taught by myself, then I could teach them a variation that I personally like. I think that would be a fun way to incorperate our community into ballet.

Narrative 2

Hours of classes. Hours of rehearsals. Buckets of tears. Buckets of sweat. Blistered toes. Bloody feet. Hurting feet. Strained muscles. Shaking legs. Weak arms. Desire to give up. Desire to continue.

Pain, sweat, tears, blood, all leading up to three hours of showing people. Showing everyone what I love, what I dedicate my life to. I strive to make an impression after countless hours of working until I could not possibly work anymore. Until my muscles give in and my toes can not take anymore. I kill myself everyday and wake up the next to kill myself again. I perfect my art for an unmeasurable amount of time in preparation for what? An evening performance of The Sleeping Beauty, Chroma, Don Quixote, Romeo & Juliet, or Giselle. As a corps danseuse, a soloist, or a principle. Three hours that make me feel like I'm on the top of the world. Like I could do anything.

My life is dedicated to what I love. If I didn't love it, I wouldn't do it. Wake up every morning, and each day is the same. Go to class, then rehearsal. Evening performance. Sleep, start over. We're lucky to get a vacation after a tour. Two weeks at most, of course, never more. But it is worth it. To feel that important. To feel that beautiful. To feel immortal. To feel young. To feel like someone other than yourself. To feel in love.

The characters I play, each so simple, yet so complex. One is a young girl in love, a forbidden love that is never to be. Another, a fireball on her wedding day. And yet another, a sweet peasant who dies of a falsely broken heart. Eager to show all their dimensions, all their characteristics, every last detail of their being, without speaking a single word. Portraying the most difficult people for an audience of critics who will nitpick my simplest mistakes. Their applause, their "bravo!"'s, their flowers, their curtain calls. I rely on them to better myself.

It is a treasure I hold deep in my heart. Taking my last bow for an audience cheering my name. Screaming for more. It feels amazing how one small girl, barely clearing five feet, from a small town can change so many lives. Make so many heads turn. Be an inspiration for so many people in only a short, sweet, simple time. It will never cease to amaze me, as long as I live. As long as I perform. As long as I dance. As long as I love. It is BALLET. My only life, my only love.