Yes, it's cool to hang out with a ballerina

Meet Harriet.
Or Harriet the Spy as she calls herself.
She might be a spy, but she's also a ballerina.
For Reals.

***

I don't know about you girls (or boys) out there in blog land, but I'm betting that a good percentage of you had a brush with ballet. I certainly did. I had a book with lots of black and white photos that I studied with determination, memorizing every position, how to hold the hands and fingers, how to wear your hair in a tight bun and look serious.

My mom enrolled me in the Los Gatos Academy of Dance, which apparently has a very good reputation and is a classic (ie., drill sergeant type) traditional ballet school. I really couldn't tell you more about it because I only lasted for two classes.

First of all, I was under the impression that you were given toe shoes immediately upon entering class. (Hey, I was eight.) Plus, everyone had to wear the same regulation outfit: black leotard, pink tights and pink shoes. It was like the Army. No tutu. No glitter. No Swan Lake. No tiara. And that leotard was bloody hot. It was like wearing a sauna suit. And the tights itched. So all of that on top of the No Toe Shoes Until You Are 16 Rule really was a gigantic bummer.

Plus, we got yelled at. (Actually, I can't say for sure that we got yelled at. I'm looking at all of this again from a disappointed, toe shoe-less eight year old's perspective.) But I had the feeling that our teacher was mean. I think we got yelled at. It's all a blur.

So that was the end of my career in ballet. Perhaps you had some similar experience. I tried to give ballet another shot more recently, but I think I'm just too far gone for it now. I've decided that if I'm going to hurt myself doing some sort of exercise in the future (when I have discretionary income again), then it's going to be fencing because I already have the gear, and if/when I am covered in bruises, I can say I got all of those little dark spots in a sword fight.

***

Anyway, I met Harriet the Spy/Ballerina at Chipmonkey's New Year's Eve partay. (Chipmonkey, for those of you who don't memorize every detail of this blog, is my sweet flickr buddy and also the person who has had the best birthday party I can recall to date.)

So back to Harriet. I was awestruck slightly (must have been the 8-year old in me) to be in the presence of a living, breathing ballerina. Even though Harriet is super cool and just a totally normal girl, with a great sense of humor. I saw her again a few months later and asked her if she'd like to be part of i live here: SF and she said yes! I was so stoked.

But what to do with my urban ballerina?

We ended up having our photo shoot at Golden Gate Park. Harriet was such a good sport because it was freezing cold and very windy. I was secretly thrilled to help tote around her ballerina shoe duds and got a peek at all of the stuff you have to do/wear with toe shoes, and now I'm glad I didn't get toe shoes when I was eight. It's a lot of work.

But these shoes were so brand-y new and shiny and gorgeous that I did kind of want to steal them.

The only bad part about the shoot was that we got barraged by a gang of Japanese photography students who slightly scared Harriet (they were like camera wielding piranhas) and then we got kicked out of the de Young Museum for causing a commotion. But other than that, it was fun.

You can read Harriet's story and see her photo shoot here.

Excerpt from My First Press Junket

Okay, it's not the Frost/Nixon interview. But there's the Interview Me thingy going around Bloglandia right now, and when I saw there was an opportunity to be questioned by my blog crush, julochka, I thought now's the time, especially being on the Staycation and all.

Below are julochka's questions and my answers, and then at the end are the rules if you'd like to be the next Barbara Walters' special via me.

***

julochka: if you could throw a shoe at anyone, who would it be and what kind of shoe would you throw?

You know, at first I thought this was going to be the easiest question to answer, and then I realized how many layers and options there might be. Also, I'm going to a Big Lebowski bowling birthday party soon, so bowling is on my mind right now, as well as what I'm going to wear. So I also keep thinking about rolling a bowling ball at someone. Anyway, back to your question.

First off, you have to decide what kind of shoe to use. Now I know in the past I mentioned a certain pair of stilletto heels that I would toss, but after really giving this some thought and thinking about the value and beauty of those shoes, I could never throw them. Anyone I would throw shoes at would merit an old pair of really stinky Keds that I had for a while that I wore without socks. They got pretty ripe. For extra impact, I'd probably load the Keds with some small rocks, and maybe even work a dog poo into the mix.

Then I would hire a baseball pitcher (I don't know jack about baseball, so I'd have to do some research) to actually throw the shoe. Because if I were granted an opportunity such as this, with the way I'm liable to throw, I certainly don't want to miss my target.

I know now I'm supposed to pick one person to throw my rock laden stinky Ked at, but choosing just one thing is never something I can do. Keeping the list under 10 is a challenge.

High on the list, depending on availability, are: Jerry Fallwell (I know he's dead but I still despise him), Rush Limbaugh, Anne Coulter, the two despotic cheerleaders from junior high school who were so incredibly cruel to me, and maybe Dick Cheney. I say maybe because I have this Big Lebowski scenario where at the end of the alley would be Cheney, The Shrub, Condoleeza, Rumsfeld, Gonzales-- who else am I forgetting here? How can I be drawing a total blank?-- and I'd get Jesus, the John Turturro character with his purple jumpsuit and his hairnet and his coke nail, to throw a perfect strike and nail all of those bastards. Whew, even in fantasy that feels good.

ps. If you want to throw a shoe at The Shrub (kind of old news now, but hey), you can do it virtually here at Sock and Awe. I am not very good yet, but I'll keep practicing.

julochka: you are a self-professed science girl...why didn't you study science-stuff and become a famous scientist?

This is an interesting question because I (again) have several answers. One being that when you're in college, you don't know what the hell you want to do. At least, I didn't for a couple of years. Luckily, I fell in love with printing and that gave me exposure to a variety of science courses that I was required to take, including materials sciences, physics, both kinds of chemistry, and biology. I think at the time I was so wanting to get out of college and start working that the thought of going for anything more than a BS was out of the question. I also gave myself short shrift... I'm a lot smarter than I gave myself credit for, and I just assumed that I couldn't handle the really hard classes. Or perhaps I didn't find the branch of science that really made me want to commit to it. Even today, I enjoy reading a book about quantum physics as much as I do about cell biology or even some of the social sciences.

That being said, there's a romance and a passion for scientific inquiry that anyone can have and I think that's what draws me to science because it is not only full of discovery and hard work and luck, but also training the mind to think and not live in a fairy tale. Science in its truest form is very democratic (I'm not talking about research institutes and the like), and for anyone to take an interest in the physical world around us should be applauded because there are certainly many more opportunities to live in fantasyland. I like to think of myself as a science appreciator, but back 100 years ago, it was not uncommon for many middle-class homes to own a microscope just for the fun of it. How many families today gather around a microscope after dinner, just to see what they might see?

Keep in mind that many people, not all classified as scientists, made amazing discoveries throughout their lives, including men like Thomas Jefferson and Benjamin Franklin, where science played a part of their naturally inquisitive minds. So perhaps there's hope for me yet.

julochka: what inspires you?

Ask me tomorrow. No, I'm kidding. But on any given day, the answer could be different. However, if I was to try to see a pattern in what I find inspiring, I think it's when a person can distill a feeling or experience into such a beautifully simple way that you're left in awe. For instance, there are sentences I've read by John Steinbeck, Anais Nin or Margaret Atwood that are so simply but perfectly crafted that I have to re-read them several times over because they amaze me with their truth.

Same thing with certain artists. Take for example Andy Goldsworthy. The things he can do with twigs or rocks or leaves are extraordinary. And you and I couldn't copy him in a million years.

I'm also very visual, so colors and visual textures make a big influence on me, and also the lack thereof. I am very influenced by certain kinds of music and instruments, especially the piano and the violin.

So I guess when I look back at my answer, it's Truth, Vision or Perception, and my eyes and ears. I'm sure there are more subtle influences I appreciate and find inspiration from, but this is what comes to mind today.

julochka: before you became tangobaby, had you had other dance lessons and so were, in general, coordinated enough to learn the tango?

I have to say that if it weren't for tango, I probably wouldn't be dancing at all. Keep in mind that just because you can do ballet, it doesn't mean you can tango. Tango is a partner dance (obviously) but being comfortable with someone in your very personal space is a uniquely different kind of partner dance, even amongst the other ballroom dances. When you watch people dance Argentine tango, like in my little video, keep in mind that it's completely improvised and all of your clues you read from your partner. With tango, you quite often never know what will happen next.

That being said, I am the world's worst bellydancer and the saddest looking ballerina you've ever seen. I am definitely all about dressing up, so it's hard not to fall in love with bellydancing because the costumes are so awesome and when you have a pile of coin belts and finger cymbals and veils draped about your bedroom, you feel like Bathsheba. And the music just makes you want to move. But the difficult part about bellydancing is that people will be watching you at some point. That was what killed me. I'll never be able to perform, and with bellydance, even if you are just dancing in class, there comes a time where it's just you and the mirror and someone else's eyes. I couldn't do it. Somehow the tango doesn't affect me that way. Or I just took to it so easily. I never had a really difficult time with tango.

And ballet is just plain hard. I'm a baby. So is flamenco. Wow! I'm really bad at a lot of dances.

The only other thing that I kind of sucked at but enjoyed a lot was fencing. I do hope to get back to fencing someday so I can live out some of my little Errol Flynn daydreams (except we'd be fighting Basil Rathbone together if I was Maid Marian). The fun part about fencing is that when your arms and thighs are covered with little dark perfectly round bruises, you can look in the mirror and say, Yeah, I got those in a duel. It just makes it hard to wear short-sleeved tops.

julochka: if you were going to run away to somewhere in the world, where would it be?

I think it's not so much as a matter of where, but where and when. For instance, I would give a major body part to have been able to travel the Orient Express in the years between the world wars. Or to have taken a steam ship from New York to Europe during the same time. Or to have traveled through Africa or Arabia with Sir Richard Burton. Or the Silk Road. I am very intrigued by places where the East and West intersect. That's why Venice was so incredible last year for me.

I would also have loved to see the Earthrise from an Apollo mission. I wouldn't have minded not getting to do the moon landing, but to see the earth from space has to be one of the most amazing trips a human being can take. *sigh*

As far as destinations today, it's tough. I think I'm such a dreamer that if given the opportunity, I'd probably give almost any place a shot. I always have my passport on me, just in case. ;-)


But Turkey (anywhere in the Baltics actually), Morocco, Russia, Spain, back to Italy... anyplace there's a gypsy encampment... see, here I go again. Maybe I should think about taking up bellydancing again.

Thanks, julochka! That was fun!

***

Here's "The Rules."

1. Leave me a comment saying, "Interview me."
2. I will respond by emailing you five questions. (I get to pick the questions).
3. You will update your blog with the answers to the questions.
4. You will include this explanation and an offer to interview someone else in the same post.
5. When others comment asking to be interviewed, you will ask them five questions.

Thanks, and I'll try to do my best Barbara Walters impression ever.

***

portrait of a Gypsy Woman by Nikolai Yaroshenko.
image of Earthrise from LIFE Magazine.

Craving the Elusive

The pleasure we derive from the representation of the present is due, not only to the beauty it can be clothed in, but also to its essential quality of being the present. ~ Charles Baudelaire

Art is the concrete representation of our most subtle feelings. ~ Agnes Martin

When you look at yourself from a universal standpoint, something inside always reminds or informs you that there are bigger and better things to worry about. ~ Albert Einstein

Be careful how you interpret the world: It is like that. ~ Erich Heller

***

Normally, when I have a craving for something, it is very easy for me to figure out what it is and fulfill it quickly. I am an excellent craving satisfier.

Today's cravings:

Taste: salt
Touch: silk
Sight: luminous light
Smell: amber
Sound: Chopin's Nocturnes

***

On Sunday, I had a craving for something and I had no idea what it was.

brief, evanescent, fleeting, momentary, passing, short, temporary, transient, transitory, unenduring, vague

***

By happenstance, I found a notice of a ballet performance, just one of two performances by the Inbal Pinto Dance Company, touring select cities. This ballet company is from Israel. I had never heard of them before, but once I read about the show, Shaker, I knew that I should see it.

Perhaps it was my escape from the week's hyper-reality and hyper-unreality of bad news and work and politics and fatigue of the mind. Perhaps it was that this troupe of talented dancers, being ambassadors of something more transient than "reality" but more necessary--beauty--that I wanted to help welcome them to my city and appreciate their talents by witnessing them.

Yes, I think it was that.

***

Shaker takes place inside a fantasy world, inside a snowglobe.

When I see something very special or beautiful, part of my heart aches that I don't have all of you with me to see it too. So all I can do is try to describe it as best I can, and hope that someday you might see something like this too, and tell me about it.

***

From the program notes (just use your imagination):

The newest dance theater piece by Inbal Pinto and Avshalom Pollak looks and feels like one of those eerily beautiful, but grey winter days, fitfully seen through whirling snow from the window of a fast moving train. The inspiration for this piece comes from those little glass snow globes that fill with snowflakes every time you shake it.

On stage there are three tiny grey huts into and from which the dancers, clad in black or colored bodysuits, appear and disappear as mysteriously as they emerge from the wings or the ground. Pinto says, "The world inside the shaker is not necessarily happy. It has it all - good, evil, happy and sad." Pollak adds, "We used the imagery of melting ice. The piece starts off in a frozen state, and slowly, the ice breaks. It is somewhere between dark and silly. When the two sides are tied to each other, they fight, make up, and can't be one without the other."

It was just what I needed to see.

And happily, I found these brief clips to share with you:

Ballerina Daydreams

The other day when I got to the dance center for my flamenco class, the hall was full of willowy people. They were waiting for a ballet master class next door.

Ballet dancers stretching. I love looking at them. I don't blame Degas for painting them over and over again.

They sprawl and stretch like cats.

When I see ballet dancers, I wish I was long-legged and tall and elegant like they are. But a willowy, delicate body is not in my genetic makeup, alas.

I tried very hard to take some photos without the dancers knowing, and I am too shy to ask for their permission. Or maybe I don't want to ask.

It is very difficult to be sneaky sometimes. Maybe I should just try being bold instead.

***

Last week, I was the recipient of quite a fantastic windfall: two tickets with primo seating (fourth row center, orchestra!) for An International Salute to San Francisco Ballet.

With the always effevescent and lovely Ms. Wellspring as my ballet buddy, we first enjoyed a lovely meal at Sauce, a restaurant we'd both been wanting to try. It's in Hayes Valley, and we had a cozy table at the bar (book ahead if you want reservations).

Soon, our little table was filled with lobster and crab sliders, baby arugula salad with blood orange and Point Reyes bleu cheese, sesame shrimp, spinach and artichoke brulee, and their signature dessert, which is not to be missed.

Called simply PB&J, this dessert is not like any peanut butter and jelly sandwich you've ever had: pan-seared sponge cake layered with homemade strawberry preserve and Frangelico peanut butter with a vanilla ice cream center...yummmmm...

I apologize that I do not have any decent photos of the food. First of all, the lighting was too dark, and second of all, we were too busy eating.

And then with full bellies, it was time to head for the ballet!

***

The San Francisco Ballet performs in at the exquisite War Memorial Opera House, directly across from City Hall. The building is designed in the magnificent French Renaissance style by Arthur Brown Jr., who also was the architect of Coit Tower and City Hall. It opened its doors to audiences for the first time on October 15, 1932, and served a very important historical function as the birthplace of the United Nations. In fact, when President Truman signed the United Nations charter on June 26, 1945, it was on San Francisco's very own Opera House stage.

I learned that the San Francisco Ballet is the oldest professional ballet company in America and was founded as the San Francisco Opera Ballet in 1933. Initially, the ballet's primary purpose was to train dancers to appear in full-length, lavish opera productions.

The interior of the War Memorial Opera House is gilded confection. I tried not to look too touristy as I snapped some quick photos.

And then it was time to get settled in and wait for the curtain to go up.

From the program notes: ... San Francisco Ballet regularly tours the world, delighting audiences with its passion and excellence. This season, three international companies—New York City Ballet, Les Ballets de Monte-Carlo, and The National Ballet of Canada—take the Opera House stage to pay tribute to SF Ballet and its imprint on the world of dance.

Once the performances began, I was completely hypnotized by the dancers and the dance as it interpreted the music. I actually won't go into too much description because it's really not possible to describe how beautiful these performances were. I wish I could have taken you with me.

Instead, I've found some photos and an a small video clip. As they say, a picture is worth a thousand words so hopefully in this instance I can share a little bit of the beauty I saw with you.

The first act, A Delicate Balance, was a thought-provoking juxtaposition between modern clad dancers and men and women dressed in suits and 18th-century ballgowns.

This piece was danced on a stage full of glistening, glowing snowflakes.

The second act, Duo Concertante, featured two dancers from the New York City Ballet, who performed magnificent pas de deux with a pianist and violinist onstage. Of the three performances, this was the most classical in technique.

The final act, Altro Canto, performed by Les Ballets de Monte-Carlo, is impossibly beautiful and impossibly difficult to describe. All I can say is that it was like watching a dream but you happened to be awake.

The stage was hung with many candles that magically floated from the ceiling. Suspended against the black, the candles moved in and out of the dance, creating a very spiritual, almost cathedral-type setting. The music was a haunting choral singing that made the stage feel like a sacred place.

I cannot believe it, but there is a tiny bit of video of this performance. The music is not at all what we heard (in fact, this selection does not do the performance justice at all) but watch it to get a taste of what we saw--especially for the last few seconds with the tall ballerina.

.

She was pure and utter magic and breathtakingly etheral.

"Don't Worry, It Gets Better"

That is what my flamenco teacher said to me at my second class on Saturday. My teacher is very sweet to me, and she smiles at me with a mixture of fondness and what I presume to be extreme pity. She is so graceful and has such presence. I want to be her. Really badly.

I am a person who tends to look at and aspire to the end result, and I don't always think about how I'm going to get there. Having the right shoes and the skirt with the ruffles at the bottom is definitely putting the cart before the horse. Although it would be surprising that I wouldn't be tragically horrible after only two classes, at least it is the shoes and ruffles that tide me over in the moments when I feel like such a supreme klutz.

So now I am realizing that I am just plain hard on myself whatever I am dancing. It doesn't matter if it's tango, flamenco or ballet. I want perfection. But I'm not strong enough yet. I don't have the muscles and the stamina to keep up. (Hey, lady, lighten up. It's not even been a week yet since you started this latest adventure.)

These classes are really tough on this old bod and brain. I feel like I've been beaten with a stick. Pretty much everything on my entire body hurts right now.

But in a way, the sore muscles feel good. It's a reminder that I'm working on something that is important to me. I don't know that to do about the sore brain though. So many expectations.

I guess that I forgot to mention that I'm taking ballet now, too. I'll esplain later.

Just call me Lucy.