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Authors: Zippora Karz
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Ballet dancers looked to me like the most beautiful people in the world. When they walked they glided, and when they danced their bodies sang. I didnât really believe that I would ever be as beautiful as they were, but I knew that I could learn to move as they moved and to express myself with my body as eloquently as they did. Seeing them, and knowing that I was actually a part of this magical, creative kingdom had a profound impact on me. It seemed that, almost in an instant, I was literally swept up in a world I had never known existed, and I suddenly felt as if I were being reborn. No longer did I doubt that I belonged here. Sheilaâs vision for me had been to dance for Balanchine, and now that was my vision, too. This had become the only place I wanted to be.
Before class, I still sometimes felt like the little sister who had somehow crashed the big kidsâ party, but once the teacher entered the room and the music began, we all wanted the same thing. We knew that each teacher had some wisdom to impart that would help us develop into the dancers we longed to be. Every student in that room wanted to be a great dancer, and, specifically, to dance with the New York City Ballet.
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The creator of this entire magical kingdom was George Balanchine, or Mr. B, as he was called. When I first arrived at SAB, I thought that Mr. B was the six-four, grim-faced man I saw every day in the hallways, the one with the slow, deliberate gait who always wore a black suit and a frown. But that was actually Lincoln Kirstein, a daunting and distant authority figure who had been responsible for bringing Balanchine to America. The real Balanchine, as it turned out, was nothing like that. Nor was he what I imagined a genius would be. In fact, there was something extremely approachable about him, and he wasnât at all intimidating. The first time I passed him in the hallway, I wasnât sure if I should look away or look down. As he walked by, I ended up looking right at him, and he looked directly into my eyes and smiled. I was immediately struck by how nonthreatening he seemed.
When I started my first year as a full-time student at SAB, Balanchine was seventy-six years old. He was of medium height, slim and very serene. Pictures of him as a young man show him to have been extremely handsome, with fine features that gave him the look of a painter or a poet. Now his still-handsome face reflected his dignity and wisdom.
His usual attire, consisting of a Western shirt and string tie, reflected the love that this man who had been born Georgi Melitonovitch Balanchivadze in Russia had for the American West.
From what Iâve read of Balanchineâs early days at the Imperial Theater School in St. Petersburg, which he entered at the age of nine, his initial impressions of ballet were very much like my own.He couldnât figure out why he was being asked to put his body in such awkward positions; he was convinced he couldnât do it, and, even if he could do it, he didnât much want to.
Then, in his second year, he was chosen to perform the âGarland Danceâ in a production of The Sleeping Beauty . Over whelmed by the beautifully painted sets, the gorgeous costumes, and the way the dancers moved to the sublime Tchaikovsky music, he fell in love with ballet. He was ten years old.
Balanchine was just eighteen when he established his own small company of fifteen dancers, including his then sixteen-year-old bride, Tamara Geva, and his future common-law wife, Alexandra Danilova, who would become a great ballerina in her own right and who was still teaching at SAB when I arrived. In fact, during my first year as a full-time student, I was honored to be chosen to dance a solo in Reflections of a Dancer , a documentary film about Danilovaâs life. To dance in the film as she coached me was a privilege beyond imagining.
Although Balanchine revered the great, full-length classical ballets he had been brought up on
Before class, I still sometimes felt like the little sister who had somehow crashed the big kidsâ party, but once the teacher entered the room and the music began, we all wanted the same thing. We knew that each teacher had some wisdom to impart that would help us develop into the dancers we longed to be. Every student in that room wanted to be a great dancer, and, specifically, to dance with the New York City Ballet.
Â
The creator of this entire magical kingdom was George Balanchine, or Mr. B, as he was called. When I first arrived at SAB, I thought that Mr. B was the six-four, grim-faced man I saw every day in the hallways, the one with the slow, deliberate gait who always wore a black suit and a frown. But that was actually Lincoln Kirstein, a daunting and distant authority figure who had been responsible for bringing Balanchine to America. The real Balanchine, as it turned out, was nothing like that. Nor was he what I imagined a genius would be. In fact, there was something extremely approachable about him, and he wasnât at all intimidating. The first time I passed him in the hallway, I wasnât sure if I should look away or look down. As he walked by, I ended up looking right at him, and he looked directly into my eyes and smiled. I was immediately struck by how nonthreatening he seemed.
When I started my first year as a full-time student at SAB, Balanchine was seventy-six years old. He was of medium height, slim and very serene. Pictures of him as a young man show him to have been extremely handsome, with fine features that gave him the look of a painter or a poet. Now his still-handsome face reflected his dignity and wisdom.
His usual attire, consisting of a Western shirt and string tie, reflected the love that this man who had been born Georgi Melitonovitch Balanchivadze in Russia had for the American West.
From what Iâve read of Balanchineâs early days at the Imperial Theater School in St. Petersburg, which he entered at the age of nine, his initial impressions of ballet were very much like my own.He couldnât figure out why he was being asked to put his body in such awkward positions; he was convinced he couldnât do it, and, even if he could do it, he didnât much want to.
Then, in his second year, he was chosen to perform the âGarland Danceâ in a production of The Sleeping Beauty . Over whelmed by the beautifully painted sets, the gorgeous costumes, and the way the dancers moved to the sublime Tchaikovsky music, he fell in love with ballet. He was ten years old.
Balanchine was just eighteen when he established his own small company of fifteen dancers, including his then sixteen-year-old bride, Tamara Geva, and his future common-law wife, Alexandra Danilova, who would become a great ballerina in her own right and who was still teaching at SAB when I arrived. In fact, during my first year as a full-time student, I was honored to be chosen to dance a solo in Reflections of a Dancer , a documentary film about Danilovaâs life. To dance in the film as she coached me was a privilege beyond imagining.
Although Balanchine revered the great, full-length classical ballets he had been brought up on
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