The Nutcracker, Cinderella, and Swan Lake: simple titles of ballets that are put on every year during the winter holidays. These are probably performances you’ve probably never been to. Their stories are the same, being retold over and over. Simple stories, dances, music, props, I could go on but the point is just as simple. These ballets sparked every creative cell in my body when I was just eight years old.
The moment those red curtains illuminated with stage lights, and I heard the hidden orchestra below tuning, I knew this was going to change my life. Dancers used their bodies to convey emotion, their limbs painted with love and hate, and their feet gliding across the stage between right and wrong as the music erupting from below danced right beside them.
Strings, winds, drums; every type of melody brushed against every moment in their story. With every thunderous beat of a drum, a fight ensued. A loving heart’s solo was accompanied by the fluttering wings of a flute. Every pair dance that burst with a purity known as love or the agonizing crescendo of war was being played out with the harmonizing tones of strings.
The clothing they would all wear, matching the part every character was meant to convey. A white nightgown for the lost soul in the night. The brass buttons that glittered off the contrasting red of a uniform. Black feathers that danced with heartache and the white feathers that danced over with purity intertwined them both.
The shadows cloaked in black behind the props, the small winks of backstage helpers, their unseen efforts moved mountains. They moved sun rays, carriages and toy soldiers. Despite all their invisible work, they were seen by the awed girl in the middle row.
If you haven’t gone to the ballet, I implore you go. The experience is far more breathtaking than reading about it. There is a little something for everyone. Music, story, clothing, dance, stage design, stage management, everything you could want is there. Just one new experience wouldn’t hurt, right?
The moment those red curtains illuminated with stage lights, and I heard the hidden orchestra below tuning, I knew this was going to change my life. Dancers used their bodies to convey emotion, their limbs painted with love and hate, and their feet gliding across the stage between right and wrong as the music erupting from below danced right beside them.
Strings, winds, drums; every type of melody brushed against every moment in their story. With every thunderous beat of a drum, a fight ensued. A loving heart’s solo was accompanied by the fluttering wings of a flute. Every pair dance that burst with a purity known as love or the agonizing crescendo of war was being played out with the harmonizing tones of strings.
The clothing they would all wear, matching the part every character was meant to convey. A white nightgown for the lost soul in the night. The brass buttons that glittered off the contrasting red of a uniform. Black feathers that danced with heartache and the white feathers that danced over with purity intertwined them both.
The shadows cloaked in black behind the props, the small winks of backstage helpers, their unseen efforts moved mountains. They moved sun rays, carriages and toy soldiers. Despite all their invisible work, they were seen by the awed girl in the middle row.
If you haven’t gone to the ballet, I implore you go. The experience is far more breathtaking than reading about it. There is a little something for everyone. Music, story, clothing, dance, stage design, stage management, everything you could want is there. Just one new experience wouldn’t hurt, right?