newly appointed artistic director of the company, Marius Lytton, made occasional godlike descents to the school, sometimes accompanied by his balefully countenanced English Bulldog, Ludmilla. It was the wrong dog for him. With his shaggy black hair and neatly trimmed reddish beard, his height, his giant gold watch and ability to wear a neck scarf without looking ridiculous, he should have had a Wolfhound or a Saluki. Marius lounged in the doorway of our class and watched us for a few minutes at a time. We watched him out of the corners of our eyes. Ludmilla investigated her own lady parts.
We knew Marius’s history: he was a principal dancer with the company in the early ’80s, left to choreograph in Europe, became the artistic director of a company in the Netherlands.Returned to become associate artistic director here and had recently assumed the helm of one of the world’s most significant ballet companies. In those early days his position was precarious, his board was watchful and begrudging of monies, his dancers insecure and therefore vaguely mutinous, but we knew nothing of this. To us he was Christ and we prayed that he would ask us to leave our father’s fishing nets and follow him unto the desert.
Word circulated that Marius was looking to hire four dancers, two girls and two boys, from our class. Further word was that it might not be from our class, Marius was holding open auditions for the company. Our audition would be the final end-of-year performance, which Marius and a good many other artistic directors from around the country would attend. The open audition came and went. Justin knew a girl who had been there and told him that after twenty minutes Marius had cut everybody except for eight dancers. Eight dancers! He kept that many? Were they good? How many were girls? Did anybody get offers? Justin’s friend didn’t know, she wasn’t one of the final eight but she knew a girl who was. That girl was
old
—twenty-five!—and already a soloist with the Pennsylvania Ballet. There was widespread panic as everyone recalculated the odds. I dug in and dug in deeper. Whenever I felt tired or listless, I thought of Gwen and pushed through. Mara and I both got cast in lead roles for the year-end performance. We knew that we had separated ourselves from the pack a little, but we didn’t know if there was room for both of us to succeed. All during rehearsals we said nothing to each other that wasn’t sarcastic or funny or self-deprecating. It wasn’t really Mara I was judging myself against, though.
Gwenny! They brought me a practice tutu for rehearsal today so Milos could get used to it—totally makes a difference for partnered pirouettes, and the lifts, etc. This week has been hard. Rain, rain, rain. My skin is horrible and I cut bangs. Whatever you do, don’t cut bangs! (Probably be cute on you, though. Cut bangs!) I’m doing this word-a-day thing now to improve my vocabulary. Today’s word is: noxious. This rain is noxious and so are my attitude turns. But I’ll keep trying! Miss you! Love, K
At the end of the year it was Mara, David, and I who were asked to join the company, along with some guy Marius found in Brazil whom none of us had ever seen. When I was brought into Marius’s office and he offered me a contract he told me that he was excited about working with me, that he saw real potential, that I needed to get more confident, work hard, but that he knew that would happen. He told me that at the end-of-year performance he saw something “deep” in me, and I made a “deep” face for him, for my applauding invisible movie audience, for the me I wished I was. The me who was confident and had already fulfilled her potential.
I had dreamed that if this moment happened I would be elated and triumphant and flooded with relief, but when you have been keeping company with anxiety and fear for a long time it’s hard to shake them off immediately. Also I hadn’t really thought about anything
We knew Marius’s history: he was a principal dancer with the company in the early ’80s, left to choreograph in Europe, became the artistic director of a company in the Netherlands.Returned to become associate artistic director here and had recently assumed the helm of one of the world’s most significant ballet companies. In those early days his position was precarious, his board was watchful and begrudging of monies, his dancers insecure and therefore vaguely mutinous, but we knew nothing of this. To us he was Christ and we prayed that he would ask us to leave our father’s fishing nets and follow him unto the desert.
Word circulated that Marius was looking to hire four dancers, two girls and two boys, from our class. Further word was that it might not be from our class, Marius was holding open auditions for the company. Our audition would be the final end-of-year performance, which Marius and a good many other artistic directors from around the country would attend. The open audition came and went. Justin knew a girl who had been there and told him that after twenty minutes Marius had cut everybody except for eight dancers. Eight dancers! He kept that many? Were they good? How many were girls? Did anybody get offers? Justin’s friend didn’t know, she wasn’t one of the final eight but she knew a girl who was. That girl was
old
—twenty-five!—and already a soloist with the Pennsylvania Ballet. There was widespread panic as everyone recalculated the odds. I dug in and dug in deeper. Whenever I felt tired or listless, I thought of Gwen and pushed through. Mara and I both got cast in lead roles for the year-end performance. We knew that we had separated ourselves from the pack a little, but we didn’t know if there was room for both of us to succeed. All during rehearsals we said nothing to each other that wasn’t sarcastic or funny or self-deprecating. It wasn’t really Mara I was judging myself against, though.
Gwenny! They brought me a practice tutu for rehearsal today so Milos could get used to it—totally makes a difference for partnered pirouettes, and the lifts, etc. This week has been hard. Rain, rain, rain. My skin is horrible and I cut bangs. Whatever you do, don’t cut bangs! (Probably be cute on you, though. Cut bangs!) I’m doing this word-a-day thing now to improve my vocabulary. Today’s word is: noxious. This rain is noxious and so are my attitude turns. But I’ll keep trying! Miss you! Love, K
At the end of the year it was Mara, David, and I who were asked to join the company, along with some guy Marius found in Brazil whom none of us had ever seen. When I was brought into Marius’s office and he offered me a contract he told me that he was excited about working with me, that he saw real potential, that I needed to get more confident, work hard, but that he knew that would happen. He told me that at the end-of-year performance he saw something “deep” in me, and I made a “deep” face for him, for my applauding invisible movie audience, for the me I wished I was. The me who was confident and had already fulfilled her potential.
I had dreamed that if this moment happened I would be elated and triumphant and flooded with relief, but when you have been keeping company with anxiety and fear for a long time it’s hard to shake them off immediately. Also I hadn’t really thought about anything
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