More on Ballet
From last Thursday: Ballet and Bullfighting are the two most physically grueling and most demanding of the body's perfection than any other sports.
Interesting, not startling. The two share many things in common, particularily a long history and a focus on tradition. In the world of dance, nothing is as steeped in the old world as Ballet, with its Russian and French backbone and its rigidity of form and method. Bullfighting, too, follows a long and singular lineage down a dusty road into the very passed past. Though the two have been at the hands of dreaded Modernity, with its unruly face-lifts and glossy panache, and in recent years have been overly make-upped in an effort to draw in people who otherwise couldn't be bothered with something as stupid as History. Bizzare costumes, new regulations, the influx of "ideas" for the sake of changing something --- all old things withstand the barrage of this useless game of dress-up and usually with the same strength that's helped the thing stay so properly preserved through the ages.
The ballerina and the torero ("killer of bulls") are often praised for their calm composure, their effortless movements, and a general encapsulation of grace that their bodies seem to miraculously been given. A very surface level evaluation, but still rings with a rightness that is meaningful. It is often funny how even in football drills the athletes strive for a "lightness on the feet" much akin to ballerinas. The spandexed, sweaty men must laugh at that. The torero relies on his body, above all, and without this focussed movement of arm and leg he runs the risk of death by impalement, or the long and ghastly death that follows excruciatingly slow after the wounds gape and grow. Grace, under the most pressing pressure. If his feet work like the rest of ours, he will no doubt trip over them constantly, not lift them amply, and will be won by the bull. Not only is his sport more risky for the body, but if he happens to lose it costs a bit more than a trophy and the jeers of the let-down hometown. The ballerina faces a similar but slightly less deadly end should failure come about: the Russian audience was known for being particularily involved with the performance. One right move could trigger the entire crowd to clap in perfect unison, each person creating a pop of their palms at exactly the same time as their neighbor all the way down each row of the theater, the entire place pumping out applause in perfect unison with one another. This harmony between the audience and the performer has never been seen elsewhere, and a simple mis-step on the part of the dancer ends up costing sidelong stares and other not so wanted silences.
The ballerina and the torero ("killer of bulls") are often praised for their calm composure, their effortless movements, and a general encapsulation of grace that their bodies seem to miraculously been given. A very surface level evaluation, but still rings with a rightness that is meaningful. It is often funny how even in football drills the athletes strive for a "lightness on the feet" much akin to ballerinas. The spandexed, sweaty men must laugh at that. The torero relies on his body, above all, and without this focussed movement of arm and leg he runs the risk of death by impalement, or the long and ghastly death that follows excruciatingly slow after the wounds gape and grow. Grace, under the most pressing pressure. If his feet work like the rest of ours, he will no doubt trip over them constantly, not lift them amply, and will be won by the bull. Not only is his sport more risky for the body, but if he happens to lose it costs a bit more than a trophy and the jeers of the let-down hometown. The ballerina faces a similar but slightly less deadly end should failure come about: the Russian audience was known for being particularily involved with the performance. One right move could trigger the entire crowd to clap in perfect unison, each person creating a pop of their palms at exactly the same time as their neighbor all the way down each row of the theater, the entire place pumping out applause in perfect unison with one another. This harmony between the audience and the performer has never been seen elsewhere, and a simple mis-step on the part of the dancer ends up costing sidelong stares and other not so wanted silences.
The stillness, though, the incredible stillness of the body is the factor which both share that individuates them from all others. The ballerina and the torero must control each and every fiber of each and every muscle, the steadiness of each bone, the line and arch of the back --- to have these tiny bits and pieces all standing sharply at attention is an immense burden on the dumb body, it will always want to lump slump and frump. I know that I cannot hold my own arm out in front of my own body for more than half a minute without it starting to tremble, creak and cause burning at the joints. I also know that a foot, en pointe, is an exceptionally beautiful thing in its own right. Not only must the ballerina balance on the tippiest of the tippy-toes, but she also must keep still while the whole of her body is resting on the needle's head of her perfectly pointed feet. The torero does not have it much easier, his pride puffs up and pumps with his chest all while a clumsy giant with daggers heaves itself at him. Stillness: the lack of movement coupled with the abundance of pain. Stillness: the simultaneousness of all tendons, bones, muscles and breath working in total unison.
Afterword
Another wonderful little bit of ephemera about ballet that really grew a nice smile on my face --- ballerinas in Paris and elsewhere in France had an odd way of saluting one another: "MERDE!" which loosely means "shit", or what one exclaims when feeling a sore dissappointment. Similar, but not at all as interesting, as our "Break a leg" in America. The tiny, but wonderful, origin of the word goes as such: the horse-drawn carriages used to pull up for the show and would thus have to wait outside while the patrons, in their tuxes and gowns, would watch. The more people there were, the more shit piled up outside. A goodluck talisman in the form of a pile of shit! It's just great.
And, for more on Bullfighting, please see: Hemingway.
