But here…here’s the news you have been waiting for. The Ballet! Rest assure it was and is as every bit as good as you can imagine. I couldn’t help, but think of my good friend Megan F. Perhaps it is because I have watched her grow from an unsure dance to one of confidence. But I kept seeing her dancing up on that stage one day. Perhaps not yet, but I can can see her. Her long dark hair braided and adorned with jewelry. Taking the centre stage for bier moments of time, her hard work and passion paying off. I do know of everything else, she would have loved to see the ballet. In fact, aside from my own personal desire I saw it for her. To recall the details of the place and the movements so i can describe it.
So take up your second cup of coffee or tea and sit back for a longer spell. As I attempt to give you a picture in words of such a place. I am afraid I don’t have many photographs, of the actual ballet as they were forbidden. But I did snag a few at the very end as they were taking their bows.
First, you enter. You laugh, of course you enter. But you enter into a hall filled with chandlers and mirrors. I cringe when I think of my wardrobe. I hadn’t had a chance to change. A simple grey shirt with a purple scarf paired with jean was all I wore. The only thing that were in place were my sparkling earrings. I am a firm believer in dressing up for occasions and this one required a dress. If you please, picture me in a flowing green dress with cute black pumps, my hair up in curls and a teensy bit of make up on and laughing blissful. That is what I would have worn if I could have. But back to reality, my lack of appropriate garments did not deter from my enjoyment of the place. I said all this you give you an idea of how exclusively beautiful this place was. You had to show your ticket to even get inside the building.
The chandlers were massive, brightly shinning from its crystal mounts. If they were lower, I imagined, they could have held me quite easily within their massive arms. Mirrors were everywhere. Fur cloaks draped over both men and women, women wearing dresses and men wearing suits.
At the cloakroom, (in almost every building there is a cloak and luggage room) we shed our coats and to my sadness my backpack. I had only my phone to take photographs with for my camera had to stay behind. For this who want to come to Russia, a large purse is sufficient enough. To blend it make it leather- trust me the Russians dress up. In America fur coats were a sign of wealth- here it is typical. I saw fur coats every where along with large bags.
We hurried to our seats which were cough on the front row. Yes. the front row. The orchestra was just warming up. I had time only to take a couple of photographs before the lights dimmed. The conductor stood up and applause was issued. The massive blue velvety curtain opened and scene one began.
I wished so very much that Janice and Megan were here. Janice would have *loved* the costumes. I am a girl of course I am going to talk about clothes. But I thought of her mostly as I survey the ballerinas leaping and swirling with grace ad power. She could have designed the the costumes and fit right in. There were crowns, jewelry etched in the clothing. The Aarbine styling clothes which are one of my favorite styles if they are modest as they can be were made of light materials. I loved watching the fabric move with the dancers.The Vail pieces often attached to a crown or hat filled with jewels flowed with the movements. This particular pieces of clothes are romantic allowing you to express emotions and move without being weigh down by heavy fabric. I thought of Megan one of my dear friends. Perhaps I am bias, perhaps not as I can be hard to please, but I do think She has potential of making the stage as a dancer. I love Megan’s gracefulness and if she chooses to take to the stage at a big products I will do what I can to be there. I could see her there dance with the Russians. She’d like the group dancers particularly this one scene where there were twenty or more ballerinas who single filed danced out. They repeated movements started from behind a forest scene until they all moved off the incline filling the entire front stage. Dressed in winter white and dancing to a gentle methodical melody they portray order and beauty.
Where I come from there isn’t a lot of men dancers particularly for ballets. There were easily more then 10 men dancing. You’d think they would be sissy. But they were anything but that. Powerful, that is how I would describe them. Ballet is where men show off their strength of poised, and dare I say it muscles. They have all of them chiseled faces, steeled and set with a face of determination. As powerful as they were, it wasn’t complete without the women. Of their own strength the women showed their agileness and beautiful. Bringing in the perfect amount of tenderness without taking away strength.
I remember once when I was dancing a waltz with one of my dearest friends, He would get frustrated with me. Though I was trying hard to do my part, I simply wasn’t doing my part. Finally, he blurted out: “Let me be the frame and you be the beautiful photograph,” That clicked. I relaxed and we waltzed away.
That is how this ballet was. Everyone knew their parts and they stuck to them. They were okay with their parts in fact they excelled. The men brilliantly showed off their strengths and displayed their passionate expressions. and the women artistically expressed their emotions and beauty.
The story itself was strange and sad. But the ballet dancers did the story well and though I was confused for a while, at the end I was able to piece the together what they were expressing. It was a tragic love story, much like what Shakespeare would have written. Though tragic loves stories are not my favorite, I enjoyed the portrayal of it greatly.
Russians love their applauds. And why not? They certainly earned it and the audience loved them. It is hard not too. I joined them.
My night ends in my favorite pastime: Russian tea. Where we gather around drinking at any point of day or night and conversed. A tradition I fully intend on taking home with me.