I can't so I will

I don't often feel compelled to post about something that is just going to go viral in 12 hours, anyway (I mean, I was tempted to complain about how saggy Misty Copeland's Odette tutu was, but I controlled myself), but this hit me right in the feels:

Here's where I found it (linky linky)

... and 5, 6, 7, 8

You know you're a dancer when... you are trying to time something entirely unrelated to dance and find yourself counting in sets of 8.
I've actually missed a lot of class, lately. I had oral surgery again last week, and I have discovered that stitches don't go well with raising my heart rate (THROB THROB THROB). Before that, though, I simply flaked out on pointe class for a few weeks because I was feeling leftover hormonal stuff (mainly fist-shaking rage). I think I am going to try technique class tonight (probably not pointe, simply because I can't eat well enough to get my energy levels up that high right now) if for no other reason than to unload the car load full of tutus that are clogging up every square inch of floor space in my sewing room. This latest batch was gone through while I was feeling particularly nasty, so I'm afraid I was pretty ruthless about throwing things away.
Honestly? I'd kind of like to blow off class, tonight. On the other hand... yesterday was stressful and upsetting so maybe the ballet "therapy" is exactly what I need. Besides, the inactivity of the past week has made my knees seize up something terrible.

are we human or are we dancer? S. Because that grammar is just.... just.

What does it mean to be a "dancer"? There is a lot of talk in the adult ballet community about just this topic. Is it okay to think of yourself as a dancer if you haven't been dancing since you were three? At what point do you become a dancer? Is two classes a week dancery enough? Three? Five?
Here is what I think.
I think that you are a dancer when you see someone walking down the street in the summer heat (105*, by the way) in a painfully short black skirt and blindingly pale pink tights and your first thought isn't "someone call the fashion police" or "whatever she is selling I am not in the market for." but "OH YEAH. Me too."

An Ode to Vintage Ballet Photography

Modern dance photography is all about captured movement. Graceful arabesques, dramatic leaps, and that fraction of a second when a dancer is perched just so on the front edge of her pointe shoe platform. Photography meant to inspire and thrill. To make you feel like you have seen a dance, not a photo. Dare I say it? This sort of fabulousness is ... well. Not really all that attainable for most of us.

from Gene Schiavone Photography

But Oh! for the days of classic ballet photography! Where a dancer could simply stand in her gloriously ornate costume and still cause a stirring in your heart:

Ornate and GIGANTIC. Did I mention gigantic?

How many modern dancers have even 

worn a costume big enough that you can't

get through the door?

I ask you.

Or better yet: lean subtly against the wall. Cuz mama don't need to be supporting her own weight for this whooooole dang long exposure. Walls were invented for a reason, right? Use 'em.

Look, if Margot Fonteyn can lean subtly against a wall then so can I.

Or. You know. Not so subtly:

The Firebird

Twelfth in an occasional series of ballet paintings/artworks that are not Degas:

 

 Ballet L’Oiseau de Feu (1913). 

by René Bull , 1872-1942

Mr. B! Mr. B!

 Meet dancer, actress, and opera singer (triple threat, boo-ya!) Betty Luster, primarily known for her staring role in a weird little promotional film for a musical instrument company in 1956. Mr. B Natural. The film is famous for it's featured appearance (and later running joke) on the cult TV show Mystery Science Theater 3000 (which was basically a huge part of my childhood). The joke being, of course, that "Mr." B was considerably less convincingly male than Cathy Rigby in any given performance of Peter Pan. Considerably. After watching the short with my hubby recently I was inspired to look her up on the vast and fabulous internet.
When she wasn't gadding about as Mr. B she was actually a very cute ballet dancer. Here she is (in the weird 50s high-low costume and pointe shoes):

And, for the uninitiated, here is the full-length un-riffed version of Mr. B Natural. Just, you know, in case you are aching for a little awkward mid-century surrealism. It also features some pretty darn adorable dance moves of the sort you make pre-schoolers execute in "creative movement" class:

PS: I always thought I would, if I ever went to a comic or sci-fi convention, go dressed as Mr. B. I have the figure for it, and the hair, and everything! Sadly, however, it has already been done. A lot. So never mind. On the other hand: Mr. B Natural pony!

by C Puff on DeviantART. Clicky clicky!

Chalk and Excuses

Oh, I know, I know. It's been a few days. But I have a good excuse! In the last four days I have taken my cat to the vet three times (including once at midnight) and my car got broken in to. Sigh... I am still going to class, though! And still being rheumatificated. So, I can count any down time as research and development, yes?

Anyway. This story is vaguely ballet related:
Over Labor Day weekend my city holds an annual chalk art festival that is a lot of fun and usually means that I will be spending at least two of the three days eating massive snow cones and listening to indie music. My husband and I have gone every year since we met (awwwwww).
This festival involves a lot of people creating large works of sometimes-art-sometimes-I-just-don't-even on the sidewalks around a park. The art is sponsored by various businesses and organizations around town. There is almost always a ballet themed piece because the local professional company is a sponsor. Sometimes the final piece of art is really cool. Sometimes... errrr... not so much. But it's chalk, dudes, you don't have to feel  bad about it. When we stopped by on Sunday afternoon I didn't see any ballet art being made, though, and I was kind of bummed. So when we went back on Monday to check out the now finished (or nearly finished) art I didn't bother bringing my camera, or even my phone. Which I immediately regretted when I saw the three or four adorable teenage dancers in (now horrifically covered in colorful chalk dust) dead pointe shoes over ankle socks gridding out their tardy but quite ballet-themed hunk of sidewalk. It would have made for some really amazing close-up cropped photographs, I am sure.
I contemplated going back home and getting my camera... but then the sky opened right the heck up and suddenly it was POURING rain. And all those lovely, ephemeral artworks... trickled away in to the grass.

To my infinite disgust I have been unable to find a single freaking picture of it online. How is it possible that  of the hundreds of people wandering around taking photographs at the drop of a hat not a single one of them thought "hey, this would be a cool picture!" when they saw those girls. It kills me, it really does.

Fashion and Ballet: Together As Always

Ballet-inspired fashion is nothing new, they've been doing it since fashion inspired ballet (which was always. Hello, turnout so you can see my expensive shoes!) but this one impressed me mostly because it appears to have actual dancers in it:

All I can say is "chaînés turns on carpet, man." That's hardcore. I assume that shiny satin shoes makes such a thing possible. If I tried that in canvas I'd probably break my foot.

Who is the Patron Saint of Bloggers? There Must be One.

Warning: I don't know nothin' 'bout nothin' when it comes to religious razzmatazz. I just happened to run across a list of the patron saints of stuff tonight and I spent a few amused minutes searching for random afflictions and seeing what popped up. There is a saint of insect stings, guys. No, really.
Anyhow...
Did you know that there is a patron saint of rheumatism and rheumatoid arthritis? Actually there are SIX! This guy here has got you covered: he's the saint of rheumatism, arthritis, milliners, veterinarians, and blacksmiths among many (and I do mean many) other afflictions, professions, countries, and whatnot. I'm particularly taken with him because his name is usually translated as "James" but can also be translated as "Jakome" the name of a beloved childhood pet cat.

And, in case you were wondering, there are not one, not two, but three patron saints of dancers. Here is one of them, Saint Vitus. Who also, apparently, has a metal band and a neurological disorder named after him:

I wonder if that makes him the patron saint of metal bands, too.

En Deshabille

Ninth in an occasional series of ballet paintings that are not degas:

  Ballet Dancers in the Dressing Room

Serebriakova, Zinaida, 1923

I quite like the use of shading on this one, especially the back of the dancer in the middle.

The Turning Point

I've been on the lookout for ballet movies lately, but aside from The Red Shoes and Black Swan I don't really know of many. I almost considered watching Phantom of the Opera in hopes that the ballet chorus would make an appearance (the only trouble is... I don't really like Phantom of the Opera...). So, when a girlfriend recently told me I had to watch The Turning Point I made a mental note and stored it for a rainy day. While the weather is only intermittently rainy right now, it is preeeeeeeetty boring while I'm away from civilization (did I mention Daddy lives in the middle of effing nowhere?) and my dad sleeps for at least 18 hours a day. I've been stretching, I guess that is something. I did some really lousy pirouettes in the kitchen this afternoon. But, let's face it, I'm bored. So last night I brought out The Turning Point and had myself a sad little watching-movies-in-bed moment.
If you are in to ballet then it is definitely worth the time to check it out. There is a LOT of dancing in it (much of it done by real honest-to-god dancers) which really redeems it from some otherwise annoying traits. The plot is pretty much a string of ballet movie clichés (I'm not sure why the idea that dancers have to choose between ballet and family is so often waved around. Lots of dancers have kids. Maybe more now than in the past, but let's face it until QUITE recently women were pretty much expected to give up their career so they could raise a family no matter what their job was), and the acting felt oddly flat to me, the characters that are supposed to be sexin' each other up have no chemistry whatsoever. BUT. Dancing, right? You get Baryshnikov showing off (while I can't say much for the likability of his character I have to admit the man had amazing balance) and lots of those weirdly skinny Balanchine-style ballerinas of the era (thankfully scarce these days) that at least make me feel better about my total lack of bosoms. None of the characters were at all sympathetic to me, the construction of the film was kind of random and clunky, and the title sequence dance is a perfect example of what ballet should NOT look like (boring!) but I certainly enjoyed the frolicking around and the honest poverty. Homosexuality and the cultural expectations of male dancers is also a plot device here, and honestly I think is was handled fairly openly for a movie made in the 70s. Maybe not in the sort of way we would do it now, but hey. Props for being frank about it in 1977.