BALLET @rvkbvd

Dancers are the athletes of God.

And even this heart of mine has something artificial. The dancers have sewn it into a bag of pink satin, pink satin slightly faded, like their dancing shoes. Edgar Degas

Dance can reveal everything mysterious that is hidden in music, and it has the additional merit of being human and palpable. Dancing is poetry with arms and legs. It is matter, graceful and terrible, animated and embellished by movement. Charles Baudelaire

Dance first. Think later. It’s the natural order. Samuel Beckett

To dance is to be out of yourself. Larger, more beautiful, more powerful. This is power, it is glory on earth and it is yours for the taking. Agnes De Mille

Every time feet move in search of dance, lips find smiles million galaxies wide. Shah Asad Rizvi

What ‘War and Peace’ is to the novel and ‘Hamlet’ is to the theater, ‘Swan Lake’ is to ballet – that is, the name which to many people stands for and sums up an art form. Robert Gottlieb

Music and Dancing, not only give great pleasure but have the honour of depending on Mathematics, for they consist in number and in measure. Charles Sorel

Dancing is creating a sculpture that is visible only for a moment. Erol Ozan

You have to love dancing to stick to it. It gives you nothing back, no manuscripts to store away, no paintings to show on walls and maybe hang in museums, no poems to be printed and sold, nothing but that single fleeting moment when you feel alive. Merce Cunningham

But he had never seen Myrna in practice…never that close up. He had been impressed and a little frightened by the contrast between seeing ballet on stange, where everyone seemed to either glide or mince effortlessly on the tips of their pointes. and seeing it from less than five feet away, with harsh daylight pouring in the floor-to-ceiling windows and no music- only the choreographer rythmically clapping his hands and yelling harsh criticisms. No praise, only criticisms. Their faces ran with sweat. Their leotards were wet with sweat. The room, as large and airy as it way, stank of sweat. Sleek muscles trembled and fluttered on the nervous edge of exhaustion. Corded tendons stood out like insulated cables. Throbbing veins popped out on foreheads and necks. Except for the choreographer’s clapping and angry, hectoring shouts, the only sounds were the thrup-thud of ballet dancers on pointe moving across the floor and harsh, agonized panting for breath. Jack had suddenly realized that these dancers were not just earning a living, they were killing themselves. Most of all he remembered their expressions- all that exhausted concentration, all that pain… but transcending the pain, or at least creeping around its edges, he had seen joy. Joy was unmistakably what that look was, and it scared Jack because it had seemed inexplicable. Stephen King, The Talisman

Location

  • Various

All pics by

  • Niccolò Scelfo
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