I don’t know how many times I’ve watched this video.  Four times, today alone.  Polina Semionova is rehearsing an Act 1 solo from La Bayadere, under Vladimir Malakhov’s watchful eye.  Pay special attention to the incredible bourree starting at 2:10.  Are there wheels on the floor?  A string pulling her along?

What makes this solo interesting is how different it is from the on stage version.  Act 1 of La Bayadere opens in Royal India where Nikiya (Semionova) dances in traditional Indian costume around a smoking cauldron.  In rehearsal, there is far less Indian influence and the Leon Minkus piece, normally played by a full orchestra, is pared down to the piano.   It’s amazing what props and costume can do to change an entire dance!

Semionova’s dancing is so captivating (those arms!), but let’s not ignore Malakhov’s dazzling choice in warm-up attire.  I used to think these outfits had to be a Ukrainian secret, of which the rest of the world was unaware.  Not so.  A Japanese dance company designs the look, under the label, “Malakhov by Chacott.”  They look like itchy pajamas to me but when you can dance well sitting on a step, I think you can wear whatever you want.  Stripes and all.

When I used to work for Lululemon, there was a strict, company-wide policy: no complaining.  Since complaining is sometimes amusing, adhering to the rule was far more challenging than I would have guessed.  Failure to do so resulted in fairly honest conversations, where words like “solution” and “grouchy” would get used.  Really, the idea sounds like a bit of an eye-roll, but in practice, I grew to love it.  Long after Lululemon, I still think about that policy, on a daily basis.

So, in the spirit of optimistic bright sides there will be not one “classical” ballet class complaint found here.  Nothing about cramping calves or wrung out hamstrings or weak core muscles or the way my hips cracks a little in second position.  Instead, let’s presume that physical discomfort (to say the least) is a regular “feature” of classes and thus, not really worth mentioning.  Why complain about the usual when there are so many great features of regular ballet classes?

First, the facility alone makes being in Toronto a treat.  The new National Ballet School is three times the old size, with both 19th and 21st century buildings stitched together perfectly.  Many of the 12 new studios are encased in stacked glass boxes so that dancers are perpetually on stage for the Jarvis Street crowd.  The studios are generously sized and with such enormous windows, they remain perfectly lit in the day time.  I love the specially designed barres that curve perfectly from the floor.  What a refreshing change from bendy old barres screwed in walls.  Finally, I’m a sucker for shiny grand pianos and, wouldn’t you know it, there’s one in every studio!

I have two instructors: Johanna Hilchie and Robert McCollum.  Johanna is the kind of teacher who, to demonstrate proper technique, sits on the ground, grasps your calf, and moves your leg for you.  Then she counts.  Then she watches you do it alone.  I like the commitment.  Bob (known around the city as “Ballet Bob”), is the director of the program and is somewhat famous for his teaching expertise.  He’s a natural, with analogies, stories and tricks for every step and misstep one could possibly make.  Every so often, he’ll notice the curve of an arm and say, “Oh my god. I am falling in love with this arm!”  You get the feeling that he means it.

This week, there isn’t much to say about what happened in class.  It’s not pretty.  Mainly, I’ve been reminded of the multitasking that ballet demands.  Movement from the legs must be crisp and articulate, but from the waist up “it’s all poetry,” as Bob says.  Currently, this poem isn’t rhyming well.  Oh, and don’t forget your strong standing leg, keep that butt tucked and stay in time with the allegro.  I’m bordering on complaining territory so I’ll close with something I’m thankful for: that each teacher favours a longer time at the barre, less time in the center.  As these releves and battements get polished, I am beholden to the barre!

In second year university, I lived in Alumni House with Kate.  Within a month of living together, we were eating the same foods, pulling the same pranks and chasing the same boys.  Same music, same movies, same clothes.  As a testimate to our insular friendship, we had developed a coded language and at one point, were convinced that nobody else had heard of Coldplay but us.  By the end of second year, our kitchen wall was plastered with Post-It Notes, each one with a quote of something one of us had said.  We thought we were so funny, that our jokes had to be documented and displayed.

In the summer of 2001, Kate made me a birthday card that chronicled the preceding school year.  Beside the Coldplay lyrics and the pictures of Jared Leto was a half-page section dedicated to “Annie White’s Return to Dance.”  Kate was referring to the ballet lessons I began taking in university.  When I met Kate, I was a year into the classes and still, as she would say, “debuting.”  Though she was supportive and curious, it wasn’t long before Kate was doing imitations of ballerinas around our dorm, comparing and contrasting to Billy Elliot.  That my birthday card displayed a greater emphasis on ballet, rather than Jared Leto, is indicative of how influential it had become.

After the summer of ‘01 Kate and I moved in together again.  My ballet lessons continued.  Kate and I did not.  Four months after moving in together we were no longer speaking to each other

Last August, I moved to Toronto.  It was my third move here and this time, my apartment was located close to, and equidistant from, the National Ballet School and the Walter Carson Center.  I knew that I would be in Toronto long enough to take advantage of the city’s wonderful ballet resources and couldn’t wait to get started.  Using my better judgment, I decided to start northwards at the NBS, not south with the professionals.  In November, I enrolled.

One month later, Kate and I reunited, after 6 years apart.  What led us back together was a series of unlikely and unrelated events, too obvious to ignore.  The night before we met up, I was rummaging through a box of old papers and found that hilarious card she made me years ago.  Such a timely reappearance of the “Return to Dance” birthday card!   Exactly one month after seeing Kate again, ballet classes indeed, returned.  It has been more than a year since my last class and the reunion has been less entertaining than that with Kate.

She’s still as funny as I remember her being, Kate that is.  Ballet is as painful as I remember her being.  Welcome back you two.