One of my New Year's resolutions (enacted a month early) is to learn ballet. I took ballet classes for about 2 months when I was 5 years old. I didn't take to it then, but I've always admired the elegance of ballet and I'm obsessed with the idea of becoming proficient before turning 30.
So as a first step , I went along with a friend of mine (who has had years of ballet experience) to a 'beginning ballet' class at a studio in south Berkeley. I slapped down my $10 walk-in fee expecting a bit of a challenge and a large amount of guidance on positions and body alignment. Mind you, I didn't know what 5th position was when I walked into that class.
I stretched, eagerly approached the bar, and looked proudly at my newly purchased ballet slippers in the mirror. And then class began......
The instructor quickly demonstrated foot and arm and leg combinations using names I'd never heard and positions I didn't think possible. I immediately sensed that I DID NOT BELONG IN THAT CLASS. I tried to catch on to the first complicated set of moves (which turned out to be the easiest set of moves). And as soon as I had some minor sense of what everyone was doing, she moved on to a more complicated combination of moves......and then on to an even more complicated combination of moves.....and on and on and on. I was feeling thoroughly embarrassed, but not humiliated because I was relatively hidden doing my own terrible version of ballet.
I could not hide for long, however. After an exhausting 45 minutes at the bar, the instructor (get this) told us to move onto the floor and group off into threes. These groups were formed so that we could prance ACROSS the room doing complicated patterns or spins and leaps and sways and jumps (all with confusing French names) in UNISON. At this point, I decided to find my place in the corner of the room to avoid complete humiliation. No dramatic re-enactment of the Full Monty for me!
I walked out of that class with my head hung low. My companion in dance (who quite successfully survived the 90 minute torture) lifted my spirits saying, 'That was NOT a beginning class.' Indeed. There were some professionals in the ranks.
I'm trying a new studio and new 'beginning ballet' class tomorrow. We shall see. I WILL NOT GIVE UP ON THE DREAM! I MUST DANCE!! (said with Will Farrel-esque enthusiasm)
Friday, December 03, 2004
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5 comments:
That whole sashaying and prancing across the room in groups of threes cracks me up. I did it as a kid and felt like a goddamn sissy. The pink tights and pink shoes didn't help one bit. I hope this new class treats you better. The movie "Billy Elliot" is excellent inspiration. So is the Michael Jackson number in "Center Stage." Hey baby, baby, with your high heels on...
Hee! You promised a good story, and you delivered! You get major props for a) going in the first place, and b) not running out in the middle.
I took ballet/tap when I was six or so (is there some sort of requirement that all girls that age try out ballet?). I was not very good. The studio did an annual production of The Nutcracker, and we were dolls or something like that - apparently none of us were doing the same thing at the same time at any point during the performance. However, my mom has some charming photos of me in a yellow tutu (I _loved_ the tutu).
J.Po - I run a studio in Madison that you should come to next time you're in town. We cater mainly to Russian emigrees who fled the Soviet Union during the eighties, but maybe you could file our calluses while you learn by watching.
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