Several years ago I read Apollo's Angels: A History of Ballet by Jennifer Homans. It was absolutely fascinating, particularly because it linked the success -- and promotion -- of ballet to politics, specifically revolution. It also explored the ways in which ballet argued with itself for centuries as it tried to find its identity. How was dance going to tell a story without being a secondary player in a play or an opera?
According to Homans, that question isn't answered until George Balanchine, who choreographed ballets that existed for their own sake (a version, perhaps, of the "medium is the message"). Balanchine is the pinnacle of ballet as high art, and it's had trouble re-establishing its footing since his death.
Maybe. I'm strictly an occasional audience member, and I have no sense of what goes in the dance world. Why I still think of Apollo's Angels is because of an anecdote Homans relayed about Balanchine. While choreographing one of his ballets -- possibly Emeralds -- he made what may have been the unusual decision to choreograph for seventeen dancers. Why? Because those are the dancers who showed up when he put out the call for the first rehearsal.
Whether true or not (and whether I got the ballet correct or not), I love that story. We all have our ideas of what would make something perfect, and some of us go to great lengths to force the components we imagine we need into place. And its exhausting, and while we may get something good, I've found that it's better, both for the sake of sanity and the ultimate "result", to go with whomever shows up for that first rehearsal.
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| The people who show up are the ones who get things done |
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