This evening was pointe night. What makes pointe difficult in the beginning is that there is an added dimension to be mindful of: to the usual flat and demi-pointe positions of the foot is added a third possible position called 'pointe', which we must now take into consideration in the combinations.

In the old world of ballet, we hopped from plié to pointe. In the modern world, we draw in, or roll through to pointe. From plié to soutenu, the trick is to slightly lift the tendu foot, hit it against the floor, and drag the floor, which draws your body into sus-sous. This motion of the tendu foot ensures that you are not hoisting yourself up solely from your supporting leg, rendering your working leg lifeless. It also ensures correct alignment and pull-up.

In general, draw-- or better yet, skim feet lightly and smoothly over the floor rather than hopping from point to discontinuous point.

This evening was also rehearsal night for the Philadelphia Gay Men's Choir. They hold their rehearsals across the hall from us inside the old church. Hence, every Wednesday evening, our tinkly piano music mingles and meshes with the heavenly voices of Philadelphia's gay male population. It is a beautiful tapestry of human activity. I spotted my friend today! He was wearing bright orange, and that was all I could see before I returned my focus to the combination being given. 

Strengthening your rotators begins with each tendu; show your instep with each slide of the foot.

-advice for training to hold your leg to your ear

-Ballet Hopscotch: avoiding the wet spots after the mopping
-hip-to-leg and hip-to-shoulder connection is of paramount interest ITAF ("in this art form"); essentially: bring the energy down into the pelvic floor region; eg: soutenu entournants, pirouettes
-how many ballerinas does it take to make a sound like a herd of elephants? 5. Doing jumps from first to second.

What is Heaven? Streets of gold and endless praise

What is Hell? Fire and brimstone; torture and pain

What is Church? Interminable, ceaseless vacuuming

Today is Friday the 13th. The black cat awaits my arrival by the mirrors. She paws away and makes her bed on my plush winter coat. I give her another hour-and-a-half before I gently pull the coat away. I am brimming with luck tonight.

Mid-march, 2012. It is a positively balmy 70 degrees this evening. I just got my hair cut at the ritziest salon in Philadelphia. Where to take my new bob? I bobbed down to the Schuylkill River waterfront, lay on a giant boulder and stared at the sky through the pages of my book. I was situated near the beginning of the path, and so the dozens of runners taking advantage of this incredible weather flew by at a strong finish as they neared the end of their run. Part of me wanted to join them, but I had not gone running since the Broad Street Run in May 2010. The combination of running and ballet had been too much for my knees, so I chose one over the other, and here I was now, two years later with split-sole dance sneakers on my feet and lazing around off the path rather than running it.

Eventually, the sky grew dusky and the breeze turned chilly for my still bones, and so I climbed off the boulder and began to head home. Under the Walnut Street bridge, however, I was drawn by the rail looking over the water. What a great barre it would make! I thought. I wandered over and facing it (and the water) did a deep plie to stretch out my achilles and loosen my hips. I thought back to yesterday's class and in particular the tendu exercise and wondered if I could still remember the tendu combination. Turning at an angle into the barre, I began to do a few tendus. After a few tries, I was able to recall the tendu combination, and began to venture into the rond de jambe combination-- my favorite of the essential barre exercises...

And so on. I got so into my attempt at recalling the entire class that I was starting to sweat slightly under my poofy red winter coat, so I took it off and hung it on the rail. For the rest of the time, a small part of my brain was praying that my keys would not fall out of the pocket and into the river. With every move, with every turn, I could smell the Aveda shampoo that had been massaged into my scalp. I could smell summer coming and all its happy associations-- ballet, late nights, vanilla scented lotions, sweat, sweat, sweat, hippie guitar sessions, gelato, the sultry air...

February 29th, 2012: Happy Jeté Day! This morning, I leaped! toward the door to let in the muffin man. 

In place of mirrors hang three windows:

-a view into a monet-like garden bursting with pastel flora
-a scene into Giselle: fourth arabesque, scenic pose, a million dollar scene scavenged from Goodwill
-a last glimpse into the studio on Chestnut street stripped bare: a tennis ball rolling along the back wall; shadows dancing on the dismal gray walls; a reflection of the self

A logical argument:
What count did the promenade* start on? 1
What count should the promenade have started on? 5
Therefore (repeat first question), what count did the promenade start on? 5

*Referenced combination (across the floor) is the basic pas de vals step: {sweep, hold, step, step}x4, step out of it, lift into 1st arabesque, full promenade finishing with allongé, sweep forward, and repeat; arms gesture toward audience as if in the act of offering, or giving

We reverance in farewell to the studio above the bike shop. 

Full recall of combinations for this class:

This evening, ballet class takes place in jail...

-prison-gray walls freshly coated;
-a ghostly white tutu hangs from a wire;
-hands latch onto barres as the bodies
-bend and extend upon command

After class, I incarcerated myself in the dressing room and practiced fourth port de bras while facing the mirror. In the middle of one, I wondered suddenly how differently I would go about my day, should I be stuck in a real prison. The walls do not matter. Should they fall away, I would still stand here doing fourth port de bras. Should they become jagged cliffs, I would do the same. Should all matter go away and I be stuck in deep space nothing, I would keep bending and extending until even I have gone away.

Morning ballet warm-up:

-fouettes: with working leg prepped in front tendu en l'aire, compress and coil inner thighs together, then spring out
-tendu: in a microscopic dissection of this move, the last point of interest would be the push of the top of the ankle out
-in transfer from two legs to one leg: do not dislocate the body parts; maintain the alignment; move all as one

Evening ballet class:

-I taught it.

Ballerina Turns Bunny

ie: Angelina ventures into hip hop land

-up! and up! and up! find the groove
-hovering foot move: the walk that gets you nowhere
-the shamrock: pivot pivot up!
-the teacher's positive attitude is contagious

The style is foreign; for the ballerina, it takes almost the whole class to finally feel comfortable in it.

-ballet is not about elevation; it is about lengthening/extending
-hold the positions; enjoy the positions
-renversé: do not think about turning; hook back leg
-chainés: using forceful tombé to mount into chainé
-the overpowering aroma of curry wafts in with curls

I've got fouettés and beets on my mind.

-fouetté: literally meaning "whipped", in which both the working and supporting legs work in concert to make a quick rotation of the hips; allows changes of internal leg-to-body* relations (eg: from "front tendu" to arabesque) via movement of the hips rather than of the working leg; not to be confused with fouetté turns
-beets: a strange bulbous root vegetable that is more fun to take pictures of than to cook and eat; not to be confused with beats

*where the body is a manifestation of the self; (eg: in "front tendu" position, the leg is extended to the front with respect to one's self, or body**)

**the other case in which we speak of directional relations is with respect to the audience (external); ie: self-to-audience relations (eg: croisé, in which the legs-- and thus the self-- are closed/crossed w.r.t. the audience)***

***the next level of complexity in conceptualizing directions in ballet would be to compound the two basic types of directional relations (eg: "front tendu croisé", in which the leg is in front wrt the self and the self is "closed" wrt the audience)

In summary, there are two basic types of directional relations in ballet: internal (leg-to-self) and external (self-to-audience). The two types may be compounded into a complex directional relation. Internal directional changes are provided by movement of either the working leg or the hips (ie: fouetté). Oh, and beets.

The Kostrovitskaya manual revealed some critical training tips, but not enough to encourage progress. And why would it? During the Cold War, information was at a premium. Ballet was just another area in which Russians could (and did) outdo the West.

On day 3 of the year 2012, an adagio declassified: grand pas de basque

Part I:
(from corner 8) grand pas de basque to piquE attitude (to corner 2; arms either immediately to 3rd upon developpE, or 1st to 3rd to 2nd); promenade enveloppE to passE/high arm (to corner 8); lower to pliE-tendu-croisE (arms low/open); 1/4 pivot (to corner 6) bringing arms to 2nd (still in pliE), lift leg & 1/2 fouettE into attitude (to corner 2); pas de bourEe (to corner 8) and lower to 5th; forward cambrE bringing arms to 3rd; back cambrE with audience arm high, away arm in 1st;

Part 2:
(from corner 8) pas de basque en l'aire to piquE attitude (to corner 2); 1/2 pirouette en dehors (arms in 1st) to corner 8; repeat

My Time in Russia

More than two months have passed since my return from Russia, but I have yet to write about this very personal journey of mine to the Mecca of ballet. Only two months have passed since my return from Russia, but now the very streets that I walked in Moscow and Saint Petersburg, are "occupied" by hundreds of thousands of Russians protesting against election fraud and general corruption. The passage of time is and will forever be a mysterious duality: A blink of an eye feels like ages ago.

It is amazing how quickly matters can change. It is amazing how two months ago, I left Russia with the impression that politics was dead, and the culture of corruption so entrenched that the belief in the people's power to effect change had been extinguished into indifference. Now, while watching the action from the sidelines, I realize this indifference, or lack of desire, was in actuality a latent desire-- asleep, but not dead.

And now suddenly, something, someone, or perhaps the spirit of the times has caused this sleeping thing to wake and rise in droves of hundreds of thousands of Russians rallying under the Kremlin walls and across the Siberian tundra. How quickly matters can change.

And yet how steadfast other aspects of life appear to be. Ballet still has a hold on me, and no matter the politics of the country, I will always look back upon my brief 12-day sojourn in Russia with fondness and romance, as a place of hospitable hosts, a fascinating and beautiful underground network of trains, and of course, a first-class experience in ballet education.

I should explain that ballet was the reason I went to Russia in the first place. My name is Angelina. I am a 27-year-old woman who discovered ballet only two years ago, but took it up with a passion and rigor that at one point bordered upon obsession (but no longer, I like to believe...) This story of my love for ballet is an ongoing one that neither begins nor ends with my journey into Russia, which is but a few measures of an ongoing tune; a single movement in an ongoing score; an adagio, say...

Monday evening, 12/5/11: 

Ballet en solitude. Watching my shadow spinning as I practice fouette turns. A walk home in the dark in the fine mist. A baby slug on the kitchen floor. An exchange of texts on my old phone. Finally, I climb up the stairs to my room and close the door.

Morning ballet on Street Delhi. 
Look out!...into the twilight sky.

-a concept of street ballet: adapt to the given surroundings; for ex: uneven ground
-today's barre: the post in front of Richard's house; the gate that encloses Supper's enclosed trash lot

Street Ballet

I gave myself my first street ballet class-- in my own neighborhood, Delhi street. Just before you walk out onto South street, there is a wheelchair access ramp with a rail; I used this railing as a barre, and...it functioned just fine as one! Facing the brick wall to do the jete combination, I heard applause. I turned around and saw a group of friends standing in the street corner watching me.

"You look beautiful! We're dancers too!"

That was so nice. Ballet has brought me so much pain lately...It's nice to experience some solidarity and positive attitudes from fellow dancers, from strangers who appreciate it and have no association with...inconsistencies, empty promises, and other not very nice things. I should not take any of this personally, and yet I cannot help it. It distresses me. It hurts me. Every time I hear the old adagio music, I am reminded of a time two years ago when ballet meant nothing but pure bliss to me, and it always plays with a tinge of sadness.

This trip to Russia which approaches so quickly will be a time of searching. What do I wish to get out of ballet? I wish to be self-sufficient; I wish to be able to train on my own, but how can anyone learn how to do this in 11 days? I will not experience some sort of magical transformation in Moscow, just because it is the mecca of ballet. It will have to begin here, in Philly, and it will have to follow wherever I happen to go. Practically speaking, I have this diary of exercises.

A choreographic class. A class worth framing in the mind.

-rond de jambe with a long, beautiful prep
-from plie to sus-sous, maintain the turnout of the backfoot
-fancy back pas de bourree: deepen plie in back tendu; step and cover space (travel)
-we leap into piles of aSymmetric objects
-a first attempt at complete recall reveals chaos in the brain: a puzzle completed, then thrown haphazardly back into the box; a method of notation must be devised to include counts

Home from work. A fedex envelope greets me at the door. It contains a visa to Russia! At last, my official pass into the Mecca of ballet!

-to close the rib cage: hug self; hang over upper shelf; stretch up by the earlobes
-swoosh! swoosh! drop the steering wheel, not your center
-from a lyrical centerpiece to 32 changements, a disjointed ending

"The Response: L, R, LRL."

-trust your instincts, but only if they are correct
-overuse of head directions leads to a misread; simplify it
-a split end

-we open with pliEs to the Kingdom of the Shades, from La Bayadère; sigh...
-blades of grass bend with the weight of dewdrops; similarly, we cambré to the side
-an exercise "for beating" begins with a beat to the back; only one royal exception to the beat back-front rule
-entrechats and royales: from compression,
-arabesque overlays