Category Archives: Poetry

Medea-Cutting Off One’s Nose To Spite One’s Face Might Have Been Medieval, But It Wasn’t Mytho-Logical


Eugène_Ferdinand_Victor_Delacroix_031
Medea-Delacroix

“Gods often contradict
our fondest expectations.
What we anticipate
does not come to pass.
What we don’t expect
some god finds a way to make it happen.
So with this story”
Euripides, Medea

0145_Medea_Sarcophagus_Altes_Museum_anagoria
Medea Sarcophagus; Altes Museum, Anagoria

As I talk to my children, and there are so many things I want to share with them, I find, more than anything, literature and not necessarily experience, is my guide. History repeats itself. At times, it becomes annoying to them, past annoying, a sort of zealous righteousness, they feel, where I am chief, not accustomed to being questioned, and I admit, I rule this way. Every mother must have a method, perhaps a style. For every woman is a Queen of her family and land, or should be. Some have voices, some do not and it is left for those who can to communicate what they can TRY to. Therefore, due to my own history, and thusly I love them. I have protected my own children to the best of my ability believing it is often better to run away, and live to fight another day, than to wear oneself out running in place-frankly, I just get bored with the scenery. I have been chastised for this, urged to let them make their own mistakes, as other parents do, but this dedication to them and the natural instinct of a mother conflicts with the story of Medea. Love does not equal murder, or does it? But, I have seen firsthand the failings of parents, and blame, that can come to them, for letting go too soon. In fact, there is a story in there somewhere. Mother’s and women  in general, take a lot of blame. It’s not the blame we tell ourselves that will cause people to respect us, it is that pigeonhole we have been put in by society, and other women, too, which seems a paid critic of our actions and seeks to imbue us with other-worldly and impossible capabilities and qualities. In Medea, therefore, lies the greatest and most profound tragedies of all time. I do not believe it to be true, as I will explain.

CallasMedea

There must me something inside me, as I am present today still, and they are, that passes this wisdom to me through the ages, some prophetic discourse, not just that which was passed down from my mother, and which makes me immune to their taunts and I know I must toddle on. I know I am right. As if led my some mysterious force, I teach my children, like the cat does hers to bird and climb, extending their circle of freedom and strength ever outward, or like a garden, helping them grow, I think. The ultimate result of this is that I am preparing them to ‘take over’ even if I am master of no land; I am master of myself. A survivor of the very beginning of man and this, too, must trickle down through the dna. It is proven, some of it does.

Now, as a young woman, and having read Medea and other ancient plays, it was inscrutable to me that Medea would take the lives of her own children. I am bent on changing this written persona, this character, drummed up by men and rabid women, who are determined to kill off other women-their competition. It is not that men do not also do this, but this ruthlessness is often attributed to women, like the apple and Eve, her sons actions, and all the problems of the world, can somehow, and usually are, blamed on women. Why except this? Considering a career in acting as a teenager, I thought, this was impossible to portray. Who would want to? It would be difficult to understand her pain, even if she were mad. What leniency does any women receive in giving up her children, let alone abandoning them, or leaving them to fend for themselves or worse, killing them. If possible, this was even more abhorrent to me, as a child, or alien, that any mother would be driven to kill her own children. That’s all. I think children do not read into literature, they take what they read at face value, or try to, and this is not a problem with children; it IS children.

medea-play-630x300
Medea was a god, and therefore imbued with parable qualities used for teaching, worshipped as a deity and prayed to for safety of one’s children, and other life matters

They are unable to see what is before them, what lies ahead, life. I did not know, for instance, that there were several versions of the story, many in fact. In some, the outcome is completely different-she does not kill her children, or by untraceable means they are dead from some other cause, attributed to her, a sorceress and witch. What of the daughter of gods? Very likely that the memorials that remain to her on the island of Corinth are places of worship and devotion, and a place to pray for the safety of one’s children and in their passing, a place also to plead for their safe journey into the other world. As Medea herself says, “Alas! Alas! Often ere now-this is not the first time-my reputation has hurt me and done me grievous wrong. If a man’s really shrewd, he ought never to have his children taught too much. For over and above a name for usefulness that it will earn them, they incur the hostility and envy of their fellow men.  Offer clever reforms to dullards, and you will be thought a useless fool yourself. And the reported wiseacres, feeling your superiority, will dislike you intensely. I myself have met this fate.” The book goes on to say that through dissumlation (guile) she was able to obtain Creon’s leave to stay in Corinth one more night, even though he feared her vengeance and her skill.

Medea by Gianluca Schiavoni The Estonian National Ballet at Teatro alla Scala
Medea by Gianluca Schiavoni ;The Estonian National Ballet at Teatro alla Scala

Why make Medea a source of an article on ballet? Because ballet is life,  and art, and Medea, like other heroines of popular history, resurfaces again and again, and it should, though fewer people today study Greek or Latin, and those reputable translations of it go far back to when this leap was not so broad. But it surfaces for different reasons and every time I see, I say once again, oh, here goes, just like the attacks on Hillary Clinton and Cleopatra-any woman really. If anybody actually read this blog, I would probably get a lot of guff, but at least we know her daughter seems to be very well adjusted, and yes, she has had a good life. That might indicate a good mother. How could we elect a president who was a good mother? That might be bad for a country. How could a good mother be bad for a country? It has many, many mirrors of life within it’s very small text. Many stories in one. many parallels to the world today.

There are some stories that only maturity can make understandable, and Medea is one. For me almost every line is an epiphany and some relevance is macchiato-Sparknotes is not the way to understand it, but like many books and other works of art, one has to go back to the source and reread it, as I have been fortunate enough to have a cause to do and help to reexplain it to my children, or does one let them figure it our for themselves? I think it is important to shatter biases against women and obvious contradictions. That kind of behavior would be that of someone on The Jerry Springer show, and not someone as intelligent, talented, and powerful as Medea was likely to have been. But, this is how men see us. Still.

Meeting of Jason and Medea, amor between them prelude of Euripede's tragedy
Meeting of Jason and Medea, amor between them-the prelude of Euripede’s tragedy

Medea is like an artwork one passes on frequent visits to a museum, when suddenly a meaning hits you, which you have not even been aware your mind was searching to connect to it with, or a ballet, which might be revised to demonstrate the passion with which life is lived and misunderstanding can result in the death of a hero, so how can it continue to be portrayed in the fashion that it is onstage? The choreography needs to change. It no longer represents what our culture knows about women to be UNTRUE and if we continue to let this dogma be regurgitated, then we are saying the same things, doubling back on our progress, and why would anyone want to act in such a play? But it is important. About as important as Bumpo is to Doctor Doolittle (which is now largely censored, but not Medea because it only insults women). It is important the way remembering The Holocaust is important, so not to repeat it, instead of repeating it to make it true. I think the whole world is confused sometimes.

Nan Melville for The New York Times

What a woman suffers and how she is viewed then, as now, is also clear in Medea: “Life has lost its savor.” “Of all creatures that feel and think, we women are the unhappiest species,” and she goes on to elaborate the plight of women, which has only changed slightly in this day and age, and many of us can easily remember, or even know, her words are still the truth and she outline what devices and expertise a woman needs to make a man happy and contented, and how even when this is done well, beyond question, it will be twisted around, unappreciated, and that older age of a woman will turn a man’s head, then his heart, possibly, to another. He will abandon his own children and we see how men’s basest actions are upheld by others, as though being wrong, but acceptable, as they still are now, while a woman in many cultures may still be stoned for adultery.

Medea Kate Mulvany and Anne-Louise Sarks
Medea (Kate Mulvany and Anne-Louise Sarks)

Medea was one of the first modern women, not the first wisest woman, but as she says in the earlier part, superior and outspoken, envied, and hated. We know from other writers that this is true, though we refuse to look around us and acknowledge our own actions, suspect our motivation, or change our nature. And despite this rationality of her own words, we are then to suppose her a highly irrational and not only vengeful woman, but capable of great acts of evil and cruelty-infanticide. Unlikely that these two natures can exist in such a person. A mother. This is how people have existed forever and apparently how it has been acceptable to view women. I imagine female rulers would have been moved by this, and taught to think twice, as in a word of warning, or what NOT to do. There are no real changes to the nature of man or woman and there is little threat probably of a woman committing such an act-look around; not the most popular crime. But then, as well as now, it’s performance continues to fill theaters-even larger than this one.

Theatre of Dionysus, Athens
Theatre of Dionysus, Athens

Today, when a women speaks, stands up for herself, she is suspected of causing trouble and other women are too happy to abide and tolerate this wrong. What woman with children has not been steered into an unmanageable sea of troubles?  And she gives guidance, too, for the strong woman, “it is not yet as bad as that, never think so.” Nevertheless, it enjoyed a lot of popularity, controversy and discussion, and not only has been made into more plays, poems and it’s references used most often of many plays, but there are nevertheless some very choice tidbits about learning and rational thought in this serious tragedy, and those SHOULD be passed on, so what gives? Well, you just cannot censor the authors, that’s all and everyone’s interpretation must be as wide as their differences. It’s all in the perspective, and that, I think, is the key to its everlasting popularity. Everyone, down through the ages, has had the same awareness of the theorem that is sets forth-is a woman capable of this? Why not? How? We are defined by motherhood and our views of the heath and home. Will it ever change, truly? Not as long as we give birth and nurture new lives, and if this is one of our purposes, and I believe it is. Where is intellect and can woman ever be described as having any by everyone, or we will continue to turn onto ourselves and others like us, forever? Maybe. Maybe this is nature, too, and about the survival of the fittest. Maybe this is our ANIMAL. And man’s is fornication. Ha.

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA
Set design for Medea

Medea was the only tragedy that truly eluded me when I read it as a teenager. It is not a role for childless actors or inexperienced performers. I am not sure many ballet dancers even understand it. We are all some mother’s sons or children; and it has different meanings for everyone. Therefore I never considered it much and was quick to see one side of it, that a mother was wholly insane and allowed herself to become too tied up in her jealousy, and accused, as she is by Jason, as being only conscious of the sleight to her manner of affection, and being stung, turns on those most readily available, destroying all in the path of her righteous anger, monstrously killing her children to get even. Medea is described by Euripides as being vain and selfish and though capable of no good, adept at contriving “all manner of wickedness.”

Medea the Witch Anselm Feurerbach 1873
Medea the Witch Anselm Feurerbach 1873

Euripedes does not merely imply, but avers that women outlive their own usefulness and are perfidy itself, to the world. They are useful for bearing good children, perpetuating the line, that is all. Part of me wants this book banned, for my daughter and all other daughters of the future generations of the world, for unless we get beyond this image of ourselves, and discontinue to live it, then we will be viewed, or may be viewed this way forever. It is now down to interpretation by the theatrical group, or actors, and what they do with it, how they interpret this today, and no wonder it is not more widely performed as many of these views we are beginning to leave behind. But, like an idea, they can be reborn, in someone else, or in some other age, and are never really blotted out. I do not know which is worse now, as I grow older, this or the tale it tells basically. Perhaps this is one reason why people look to leave a world, when the one thing they have to look forward to, their vice, is taken away suddenly, there purpose, as they see it. It is good therefore, that women develop to some other purpose, to some other end of usefulness, and this could not state the reasons why better. This perhaps why it is a text widely used in Women’s studies across the world. This is probably the first example of misogynist literature that I can think of, and did I recognize this as a child? NO! And yet, dancers continue to dance it, artists continue to paint it and create about it, and writers continue to quote it, mostly as a warning, but also for the other intellectual and informative reasons that Euripedes words have a meaning today and many of the things he says are great things. You cannot throw the baby out with the bathwater. So one has to parse it down and not let it rest, discuss it, talk about it, unveil it, and for goodness’ sakes promote the other versions of the story and the facts remaining. History.

Medea-Euripides
Medea-Euripedes

As in ballets or tragedies, or movies or any story, we are in the power of the author to give us facts and we must believe them, if this, then that. in that way, or there is no story. First a hatred of the man has to be developed and made to be the reasonable supposition by all, and sundry, and without THIS, the story really has no weight-we need to see, imagine, or know WHY or HOW she could have a motive, just like any crime story today, and this Jason does by defiling the sacred vow that stood between them, proper for this rage to build, and then, mistaking her anger for a benign, manageable one, typical (of a woman) and predictable, and twisting this into a cankerous wound which grows into the most vile of hatred and results in unimaginable evil (only attributable to a woman). Only a WOMAN is capable of this crime. In it’s singularity, it defines us, much in the same way that the worst man is a pedophile or rapist, as a woman may not do THAT. In the opposite sex neither crime seems as horrid, or ghastly,though they are. The rape being the epitomy of manhood’s dominant characteristic turned bad, and the killing of one’s own children, by a woman, the worst possible crime for a mother of the world. Both archetypes are bolstered by these pinnacles of high esteem, and therefore, the reverse is true, that our worst qualities are our best qualities turned inside out/reversed. So it is with Medea. This is natural, therefore in fact, and its genius lies in the opposition, in fact. Like good and evil, one cannot theoretically exist without the other.

Medea Henry Klingman
Medea, Henry Klingman

But, by feminists (a 1960’s term) it is by this that we see women were subjugated to a position below men, due to their sex, frailty, weakness, and that men failed to see them as the warriors and fighters they are, and in at least Euripides version, Medea is going to act on the mannerisms and modes he has created her with, like Pygmalion, but for evil and not good. Otherwise his story would serve no purpose for his own ends-his audience, and whether is was famous for the same reasons it is today, then, is doubtful, but he must have been appealing to women everywhere to not let your jealousy get the better of you, so perhaps man’s means of becoming successful was always so. A Good Woman defined, and a Bad one. Easy. Good that the nature of women is to protect the home and the children at all costs, but according to Euripedes, not so with Medea.  But likewise these dame demons rise up to thwart our success in powerful positions even today and it was not very long ago actually that women even got the vote, so our equality is not real, not for a long time. I doubt very much, except by some accident, that any men will vote for a woman for president when there is no history of one having been elected before. Men need to keep women beneath them in powerful positions, for what else do they have?

Euripides_Pio-Clementino_Inv302
Euripedes

However, a Queen, at different times in history, has been a just ruler, delivered on the goods, and protected her country, just as a man has and in many countries women fight right alongside their men, when they have to, so why shouldn’t they be President. But here, if a women does not fight, she will not be President, but a man who is a conscientious objector will be elected President. Maybe the public believes that we cannot easily send people to their deaths, like Bond and Judy Dench as M, somehow the public wants to hear a man calling the shots and a woman is still a little ‘butch’ in office or in powerful positions. Some warrior queens, such a Cleopatra defied this mold, but the alternative was a sex symbol and men only willing to accept her power as being tied inextricably to her sexuality. A mother getting the ‘job done’ is likely not thinking about sex, any more than a ruler is when giving war orders. Maybe, just maybe, this is more tied to the idea of war being a man’s milieu and if it can be said that anyone is capable of fighting and killing, it is men. one little poisoning and woman is scarred forever, but men can kill and kill and kill-look at Rambo. The black widow was hardly as popular, or Lorena Bobbit. Viewed by men, hers is even more serious (or frightening) to men, than ALL the rapes, torture and female castration done in the world to women (or men). Odd that no one notices this. It doesn’t really matter who is President, as Obama’s terms have shown us. It is an office vacant of power, so why should men fear a woman as titular head of the country? She is a woman and that is enough, and Euripedes does repeat these views in 4,000 BC. How can we not tell this to our daughters and our sons? What is more important than for them to know that people are basically all very similar.

Pier Paolo Pasolini (with Sergio Citti) Musical
Maria Callas. Pier Paolo Pasolini (with Sergio Citti) Musical.

But, like Shakespeare, Euripedes uses a queen, and a descendant of the gods to derive his example, who were presumed to be vain and mighty anyway, and the gods could “get away’ with behavior mortals couldn’t, so surely, it appears, that Euripedes used this as a lesson to those mere mortals as the opposite of the way to behave. There is, however, so much between the lines, also spoken by Medea, which is true, and other things, relevant and concerning politics, that this is used as subterfuge to say something else, make a commentary on society, and Euripedes was no fool. Certainly this woman was a queen, by this age, were she in her own land, and Jason’s excuses are repeated in other versions of the story, that she acted in his behalf and even loved him because the gods forced her to, so in truth, these actions were foreseen and ordained. Her actions were preordained and she had some involvement, but not a lot, in his success in this version, for according to Jason, she is least powerful and also in use, by other more powerful forces, not only as a woman, but one forgets that it is just these arrogant godlike qualities she flaunts and he flippantly casts aside that cause the death of his children-his acts, not hers.  But, she is less than a pure god, only derived of gods or part gods and the writer uses this to show the difference this one little bit of color in the blood can make, or here, the lack of a full does running in your veins. You are judged by men, if not by gods, for you are part of the realm of men, vulnerable. A god would not run, would not be mortal, killable, but she IS. And as a ruler, even related to the gods, women first, were held accountable, for even Jason seems to be above her. So is she really being painted as a murderer of children, or is her killing of her children, or Jason’s children a figurative death? The gods will get even after-all. Even Jason is not above the gods it says and she did ‘escape’ and did move on and on to future Kings, and kingdoms. Who is to say she murdered her own children, or not? It is more likely figurative language and not literally language which implies premeditation of a real sort. But, this story, it thought, logic and meanings also have a great impact on our laws, and define ‘the crime of passion.”

Medea Jason Orpheus and the Dragon 1910 W Russell FLint
Medea, Jason, Orpheus, and the Dragon, 1910. W. Russell Flint

It comes down to us in many ways, and the ways we have chosen and our own interpretation of it as well, so likely, not in the same way it was viewed, then. Is time so far removed and differences in culture so varied, as to make it obsolete? No apparently, for all the use of it, even today. One is better able to ask if Chaucer’s Tales were an apt description of people in that era, and they were, but it does not say much about the man. And it is relevant today because it still goes on, and we understand perfectly the people, their descriptions, greed and larceny, and even their little personality traits and characteristics which define them as what they are, without even a full grasp of the language, conventions or differences in our cultures. So this is a form of propaganda and some of it is being chewed up and revealed to us in smaller pieces or in a single event, so that we have through communication, or art, become wiser, about perhaps what we already know, but did not know that we knew.

Northern Medea in Oxford
Northern Medea in Oxford

Typically, many questions begin to formulate in the reader’s mind. In one sense, I felt the same kind of thinking going on when I watched The Black Swan. Here was something not normally a part of ballets which we see, not focused on, not alluded to, but thought, sometimes, or unspoken, except perhaps in groups, among the intelligentsia after the theater. Thought provoking, and for that reason, Medea is important to all art and to ballet. Ballet should provoke thought. Was Jason only using her? Was man infinitely more sane and calm than a woman, maybe merely more intelligent? Was she acting commonly and not in a dignified manner? Was she wrong? Jason, a hero, by her hand, was certainly, even in those times, betraying her, but even so, she was expected and encouraged (by the writer) to handle this differently, and to quietly benefit from his increased power and position. Is it possible that in his statements there is any truth about his intentions or feelings for the daughter of the king? He is seen as a typical male now, a man, increasing his position and power to benefit his own family in the long run. Were a mother to play this role, it would be the opportunity to emote, express, the anguish and pain one must feel and in no way is this remotely believable to me. It is only imaginable by the man, and is a man’s story of what a jealous woman could do. But for all this, their is depth and emotion to play in the role, just not the usual rantings and ravings which accompany its performance, what the people want to see, or what actresses and actors on the stage think was the intention of the writer. How silly to overact it.

Amphora-with-Medea-Ixion-Painter
Amphora with Medea; Ixion (Painter)

But it is wrong, for no woman would kill her own children, only a man would for the purpose of showing her frailty, her actual and basic human fault. Women were ruled by emotion and men by their clear use of their intelligence.  It is a cautionary tale to men as well, though and advises them to not only be on guard with women, not to underestimate the extent of their wickedness, and cruelty, but also to underline the basic differences of the sexes-a woman’s underlying deceit and a man’s right to purveyed goods. natural. And yet, other writers have revised this story, or tale, and we have access to some of these versions, too, though they are not the most popular, may be more truthful in their assertions that she killed her children herself to avoid them being killed by others, that they were killed for some other political reason, by Creon for instance, or to atone for she and Jason’s past deeds, and one, historically important and with some credence, that they died of natural causes, not related at all to any of these other versions at all, and finally, that they did not die at all, as these other versions attest. But this is based on history and from what we know Medea was a real warrior queen, possibly perceived a witch, and had god-like powers and abilities, and was at the very least skilled in medical knowledge and natural powers.

Michael Smuin's Medea photo by Ken Friedman
Michael Smuin’s Medea; photo by Ken Friedman

It is hard to say what the truth was or is, but what is widely available is the current version of the history and story we have, and that this is fairly universally accepted as a fictional story, and we have all been fed this version or tragedy for many reasons, including those limited by academics and this has had a profound effect upon the world in ways we do not even realize. But, if we are to interpret stories, art and history through whatever medium, as artists, it is incumbent upon us to have our own understanding of this and other stories in ballet. Failing to see in the Greeks, the possibility of hope, which among them Seneca, viewed as one possibility, and that she was a traveler, and explorer, sort of, more of a warrior, who went on, it is also said, to start a kingdom somewhere else, and fared fine for a woman, is a major failing in the story as far as I am concerned, and I think women today, dancing the ballet, and choreographers, enacting the ballet should take these different viewpoints into account if they wish to impress audiences today.

The sun god awaits to assist Medea in her escape
The sun god awaits to assist Medea in her escape

In fact, of Seneca’s version, only a few lines are extant, a quote. Some writers have latched onto this quote, and it appears in not only Columbus’ own book, but also one of Washington Irving’s Books and a number of other older writings about travel to the new world, there being life beyond those islands unexplored, and curious, or mysterious, and for some reason Seneca discusses this in his Medea, most likely regarding Jason’s travels and nothing more, but possibilities do exist, so the history of Medea continues to be increasingly important in some ways, but not the same ways, as it ever was, and in linking us to our past. While this all occurred before 400 BC, it is hard not to recognize the Indians in the North American continent named the Seneca tribe, and wonder if the Greeks, in their travels, did not come to this country long before we would have ANY RECORD of that travel and imparted onto those people’s some connection or name which may in future tie the Greeks into our history more largely than mythology or writing already does. Who knows. But it is a story rich in comparisons and analogy. I can imagine this, and therefore that it is possible that other likelihoods could exist, and not to rule out any possibility until we know the truth and for now I will just believe in my own version, which is rather unlike the one that follows.

 

“In childbirth grief begins.”
Euripides, Medea

 

“Better a humble heart, a lowly life. Untouched by greatness let me live – and live. Not too little, not too much: there safety lies.”

Euripides, Medea

 

“O Zeus! why hast thou granted unto man clear signs to know the sham in gold, while on man’s brow no brand is stamped whereby to gauge the villain’s heart?”
Euripides, Medea

 

“Amongst mortals no man is happy; wealth may pour in and make one luckier than another, but none can happy be.”
Euripides, Medea

 

“Not yet do you feel it. Wait for the future.”
Euripides, Medea

 

“I’d three times sooner go to war than suffer childbirth once.”

Euripides, Medea

 

“It’s human; we all put self interest first.”
Euripides, Medea

Medea in most tales was an enchantress, a sorceress, another tale of men, who when dealing with a woman with a woman of depth and intelligence, or power, quickly fears her. The chief way a man can hurt a woman is by tearing apart her heart, and breaking a sacred vow, which is not the accepted story of Medea. What all people forget, who read a story, is that it is we who kill Medea’s children, and not she, in our minds. Little is spoken about it really. It happens somewhere else. We are witnessing the conscience and guilt, or aftermath. The absolute worse thing that, in any culture, can be said about a woman, is that she killed her children, or figuratively, that she killed their chances. Each day this story is played out all over the world, by women themselves, who kill other people’s children’s chances, and not much is said at all. In fact, this is how women are seen everyday, as being capable and ready to thwart those who would stand in the way of their own children’s greatness. It doe snot say much for women at all, that we play this role without any thought about how we appear or fulfill the man’s prophecy that we will do anything to advance our own children, and it is the subject of many a black comedy when women openly and laughably exhibit these behaviors, exaggerated actions, but typical behaviors for some women. Secretly, they connive, and plot, to do anything that will harm another, for probably little reason, and they will devote time, actual time and thought to methods to accomplish this-things to say and do, and they teach their daughters to also do this. Perhaps it is a survival mechanism, but I have seen women do this my whole life, and I have watched. It is one of those associations, and with those people, that I do not wish to waste my time. But it is no wonder that men overall think women capable of such dastardly deeds, for women do more to harm other women and children then they would dare to harm a man. Women fear violence. And men represent violence, and unknown.

“For in other ways a woman is full of fear, defenseless, dreads the sight of cold steel; but, when once she is wronged in the matter of love, no other soul can hold so many thoughts of blood.”
Euripides, Medea

Medea appears again and again in histories of the ancient world and represent women in general. Mysterious, plotting, magical, evil, capable of acting without honor, or ethics to get what she wants and to those in question these mighty words appear, Hell hath no fury like a women scorned.” Hell, even. Women are mighty powerful creatures, but “creatures” like the hydra or cyclops, or witches. Not women, super-human or sub-even, but never equals, and a women as an equal is the only woman that no man fears, because she does not exist. Medea, therefore existed on the water line of many tales and stories, and represents those characteristics of women which a man feared, even in his mother. Now, what mother has not experienced the faithlessness of a man, his inconsistency, his disloyalty, his betrayal? Even worse than the pain of betrayal, or being cast aside, is the betrayal of one’s own son. After a woman thinks that she can experience no greater pain in life than that inflicted by a soulmate, and equal, a partner, and one does, one is surprised to find that the even worse than the loss of one’s earthly lover, is the betrayal by the love that secretly was greatest of all, that of one’s children. That bond which forms when their eyes and yours first meet, can be the most defeating blow of all. No matter, by that time, we women are well-prepared and experienced in loss. This final blow is described in Euripedes play, or any tragedy at all, because none has been written by a women, and no one but a women and child can know that loss. It is slow and like bad policy, incremental, but eventually, we realize that which we have been living for is lost. It was as imaginary as any book, and all in our own imaginations, and sadly we have transferred that hope to our children, so they may hope again, but we will never.

“Mortal fate is hard. You’d best get used to it.”
Euripides, Medea

No matter the story, a women is capable of doing great, evil, but great things for her man. She will even kill for him, if he will only take her away and marry her, as in the Argonautica of Apollonius. Of course, Jason agreed. Jason has to, like in most fairy tales, perform impossible deeds (only a true hero could perform) in order to accomplish the tasks (motif) which would enable him to carry away the princess. In real life, these would be equivalent to a good job and a home, setting aside bawdy and lustfully youthful pursuits and of course, the biggest knell of the marriage bell, other women. I think this is the “cold feet” that men get before a wedding. No other future liaisons. For woman, this is different. Most women. To obtain the fleece (the real jewel) as the woman is only born to accomplish the real mission. But without Medea, Jason could not have been successful in most stories, for it is her power through witchcraft, which enables or makes superhuman Jason, and this is what is needed to accomplish the tasks (in order to obtain the fleece). She annoints him with a salve-he is resistant to the fiery breath of fire-breathing oxen with which he has to plough a field. Medea provides him with a rock to throw into the field of soldiers created by the teeth of the dragon Jason then has to sow in the field. The soldiers attack each other, not knowing from where the rock has come. Medea then gives the dragon a potion of herbs, a thus asleep, Jason is able to fight and kill the dragon (drowsy or sleeping) which guards the fleece. Jason takes the fleece, and Medea (the booby prize) and sails away (on the ocean). Medea even kills her brother Absurtus to distract her father, so she could escape with Jason. In Apoollonius’ version Medea only helps Jason in the first place because Hera convinced Aphrodite or Eros to cause Medea to fall in love with him. This is a poor excuse in court today, but many women have tried it, and in France many a woman has been forgiven for a crime of passion committed at that time of the month.

“Of all creatures that can feel and think,
we women are the worst treated things alive”
Euripides, Medea

Medea’s actions have been even more abhorrent in other versions, scattering her brother’s body parts across the island, so that her father would actually have to stoop and pick them up, which would delay him from his hot pursuit, and no mention is ever made of Medea’s conscience in these matters, or any softness to her. What is apparent is that it was conceivable, even in that day and age, to assume this behavior by a women would be believable. In another version, Absyrtus is killed by Jason (and Medea still loves him). So much for the adage, “a son is a son until he takes him a wife, a daughter a daughter the rest of her life.” But is all fairness, Medea is under a spell, not only of Jason, but one of the God’s, so unquestionably loyal (a given) and powerless against it. A women is also gullible and her mind can be controlled, therefore she is not worthy to lead, but will always remain a follower. In some stories, a stop is made on an island ruled by her aunt Circes (also a sorceress), to be cleansed of the murder of Absyrtus, presumably as she could not go on further with the guilt of her own deed. Forgiveness, and again the Roman’s were always big on the cleansing of guilt. There is nothing, virtually, which they cannot be forgiven for. And we see the tenets of early Catholicism already built into the culture, largely. So, it is also apparent that a women’s natural response to killing a loved one would be to end one’s own life. An eye for an eye, a chance for a chance, a tooth for a tooth, and in some American Indian tribal cultures, women whose sons were lost in battle wandered about the camp, their son no longer able to protect them, until they died in winter. No one would take them in and they took all of their belongings. Men have always been the providers and protectors in human culture. Except in rare cultures, where the women ruled and women did not treat other women this way. Rare.

“death is the only water to wash away this dirt”
Euripide

Medea continues her treacherous and sometimes uncalled for cruelties and murder, killing the bronze man of Crete (Talus/Talos), who bars the port of Crete from Jason. In the Argonautica, Medea uses hypnotism, and drives him berserk, so that he kills himself.  Talos’ death is a particularly symbolic one, in that he has one vein extending from his neck to his ankle, bound shut with a single nail. When the nail is removed by whatever means various stories tell, Talos is killed when this substance runs from his body. (Ichor is the ethereal golden fluid that is the blood of the gods/immortals.) Medea also made prophesies that came true, so not all of her myth was unreal, for Euphemus one day did actually rule over all of Libya, through Battus, his descendant. So such were the actions and the direct connection of success or failure felt strongly through even the later feats of one’s descendants. But the Argo rolled into port.

“Oh, say, how call ye this,
To face, and smile, the comrade whom his kiss
Betrayed? Scorn? Insult? Courage? None of these:
‘Tis but of all man’s inward sicknesses
The vilest, that he knoweth not of shame
Nor pity! Yet I praise him that he came . . .
To me it shall bring comfort, once to clear
My heart on thee, and thou shalt wince to hear.”
Euripides, Medea

Medea also did good things, occasionally, with her magic, and one was to make Jason’s father, Aeson immortal, by giving him a transfusion (yes, they were performed even that far back in history), and it is fairly clear to me, that her wisdom was in her ability to heal, thus, she was a doctor, and we know that they were burned until the mid or late 1700’s in recent culture. So these qualities a woman might possess could do her good or evil. Only women have suffered this duality. A man is forever seen as straight and true. Still, Jason does fall in love with Medea eventually, and by the time they reached Iolus, Medea was able to conspire to convince Pelias’ own daughters to murder him. She convinced them that if they cut their father up in pieces, he would be reborn into a young version of himself. So they did. After killing Pelias (for Hera), they fled to Corinth. With Jason, Medea had five sons, and supposedly they were happy for over forty years.

“Do not grieve so much for a husband lost that it wastes away your life.”
Euripides, Medea

It was here, in Corinth, where later, the trouble begins (as if the above were not shocking enough). Jason abandons Medea for the King’s daughter-and a younger woman-Glauce. Medea sends a dress to GLauce, covered in poison, which kills Glauce and her father, Creon. It is said, that two of her sons were murdered for their assistance in this crime. But Medea’s revenge continues, murdering two of their other sons, and leaving one remaining. She flies to Athens in a dragon-driven golden chariot, a gift by Helios (god of the sun) and her grandfather. In another version by the poet Eumelus, she kills her own children by accident, and in another story, the people of Corinth kill them (which I believe is more likely). Her murder of her own children seems to be strictly an invention of Euripides, though some scholars attribute it to Neophron. Her filicide was to become the accepted version in later or more recent fiction, however. And one writer, Pausanias, claims to have seen a monument to them in Corinth, ad records the five variants in his writings.

“Hast thou ice that thou shalt bind it
To thy breast, and make thee dead
To thy children, to thine own spirit’s pain?
When the hand knows what it dares,
When thine eyes look into theirs,
Shalt thou keep by tears unblinded
Thy dividing of the slain?
These be deeds Not for thee:
These be things that cannot be!”
Euripides, Medea

Like a sensible women, fearing Jason”s wrath, she flees to Thebes in where she heals Heracles, a former Argonaut, from a curse which Hera has placed upon him, and led to his murder of his best friend, Iphitis. Despite Heracles protection and defense of her, the Thebans drive her from their land, so she is infamous for her deeds. In this version, she flees then to Athens where she meets and marries Aegeus and they have one son, Medus. Some writer’s believe this to be Jason’s surviving son with Medea, Hesiod. Never boring for long, Medea nearly convinces Aegeus to kill his own lost son, Theseus, and just as she is about to hand Theseus the poisoned cup, Aegeus recognizes that the sword Theseus has is his own, passed down to his own son. He averts the act. Not surprisingly Medea leaves once more, returns to her home, Colchis, and finding that her father, Aeetes has been deposed of by his brother, now King, Perses, kills her uncle, and restores the kingdom to her own father. In another version, she takes her son and flies in her golden chariot to some part of Iran, living among a culture known as Aryans, who then became the Medes.

“O what will she do, a soul bitten into with wrong?”
Euripides, Medea

No less vividly represented today, the established view is not one of heroism, but rather one of filicidal tendencies and murderous methods, changing her good attributes, to those of the criminally insane, or at least evil. What is apparent is that she was a demi-god of some immortal persuasion, and that whether she lived for Jason, for a time, she moved on, and she was at least as great a warrior, with her less violent, but equally adept methods of winning battles, fearlessness, and cunning, shrewd tactics and strength of mental character, surviving the loss of her children, and in founding many cities, with which she is credited in actual history. And though intelligence in government was reduced to attempts to bring into power her own offspring, it seems as though she were caught, and suffered ostracism at times, but she always landed, like the Argo, somewhere new, like many women do. No one in art has been more represented or written about, or has surfaced in the poeems and writings of so many illustrious men, Ovid, Apollonius, Seneca, and all those poets above mentioned, employ her figure, and she rises again in literature as other warrior women do, such as Cleopatra, and Boadicea, and other Queens. What she appears to have been is an extremely brave and intelligent women, who is misunderstood by history, and cloaked in the same sort of contempt as women have been held in history by men, unable to relate to their personal battles and intelligence. Only a mother would know that Medea could not have killed her sons, even Jason’s sons, over jealousy; that is perhaps a man’s motif, but not possible of any woman, and certainly not the kind of resourceful and intelligent, even brilliant woman, Medea must have been. She is however, revered in art, staring back at us from vases and paintings, and widely apparent in Greek culture where women are revered as much as men in their chivalric deeds, and another reason why I will always be a fan of Greek culture. Medea is, like Gaia, or other earth goddesses, associated with death, and the grave, probably most evident in the chthonic culture and the due to the dramatic overtones of her slain children, and an actual sanctuary devoted to them in Corinth. The Greek word khthon is one of several for “earth” which literally refers to under the ground, or the interior of the soil, and not, like Gaia on the surface of the land. So, she is revered in death, and is probably a sub-god of Hades, or the female version.

“Stronger than lover’s love is lover’s hate. Incurable, in each, the wounds they make.”
Euripides, Medea

Whether in drama, or poetry, history, or art, and especially in Music, Medea has always caused a sensation. Thousands of references occur and much is attributable to her, and many controversies are led by association of her mostly magical and evil side, so probably she has remained very popular because she represents a vivid and interesting possible interpretation, reviving classical themes to promote some personal opinion.  She is allegory itself, in a way, and each of us, as we view our children running along a seashore, might be reminded of Medea who traveled much, did great, but possibly bad things, and was an actual person, I believe, who was raised to mythical status fro some reasons-stood out-because of her strength of character and positive attributes as a women, but whom through history men have decried as the worst type of woman. But, we should not do that to ourselves, or each other. One cannot help that believe her actions must have been those of a typically intelligent woman, who like Eve was blamed for the sins of man, thought to be naive and gullible, and dumb, and cunning, and snakelike. A woman who despite history, is found to have a story that all women can relate to, and as hard as it is to believe, was once a child who probably ran in the cold, barefoot, along the line of the shore, while her mother, picked up her shoes and followed, picking up and carrying her back to the house. It was always hard for me to picture her any other way, especially now, that I have been a mother and known that their is no greater loss in the world, at this point that of a lover or a friend, and that children will grow up and that we must continually fight to be understood, and not driven from the land, no matter how we are perceived, all women will do whatever they have to, for their children, but they would not kill them for a man.

Yuri Possokhov's Damned she read the Euripides play searching out details to incorporate into the choreography
Possokhov’s ‘Damned’ read the Euripides play searching out details to incorporate into the choreography

“Tell me, how does it feel with my teeth in your heart?”
Euripides, Medea

  • The story of Jason and Medea was familiar in many dramatic treatments in France, beginning with Pierre Corneille‘s version of Euripides in 1635. As early as 1454 however, the myth was presented as a dumb show in Lille, and, in 1489, the dancing masterBergonzio di Botta of Tortona adapted the tale of the Argonauts to a version that then became a model for subsequent danced entries in a variety of styles and tastes. In 1736, Marie Sallé, a dancer much admired by Noverre, danced the role of Medea in a version called Médée et Jason.[4] Medea was portrayed by the English ballerina Mlle. Nency who “apart from her amazing dance talent, succeeded by showing in her acting ability all the soul and expression of that incomparable actor, the celebrated Garrick, in England where the dancer, trained by Mr. Noverre, was born.”[5] Other terpsichorean roles included Fire (Medea’s burning mantle), Steel (Medea’s Sword of Vengeance), and Jealousy. Gaetano Vestris (who had travelled from Paris especially for the occasion) and Angiolo Vestris were Jason and Créon respectively.[3][5]  When the wild-eyed Furies first appeared on stage in the ballet, some audience members reportedly fainted while others fled the theatre.[5] In 1780, a Paris libretto described the work as a “Ballet Terrible, ornamented by dancing, suspicion, darkness, pleasure, horror, poison, tobacco, dagger, salade (‘hodge-podge’), love, death, assassination, and fireworks.”[5] The ballet was one of Noverre’s greatest success, and was constantly revived across Europe in the decades following the ballet’s premiere with or without acknowledgment of Noverre’s authorship or his supervision.[4][note 1][1][7]
Advertisement

Definitely an opera day! Pagliacci Muti 1997-full opera


via Pagliacci Muti 1997 – YouTube.

Also see the film, if you’d rather https://youtu.be/dSURBaT3XF4

Or the 1936 film version (Stella Dumi)  https://youtu.be/m6PI5b6YKeY

Let The Body Go – Expression of Grief


 

Let The Body Go – YouTube.

▶ T S Eliot reads his Four Quartets


 

▶ T S Eliot reads his Four Quartets – YouTube.

Birds in Ballet



//www.googletagmanager.com/ns.html?id=GTM-5DBTHW
(function(w,d,s,l,i){w[l]=w[l]||[];w[l].push({‘gtm.start’:
new Date().getTime(),event:’gtm.js’});var f=d.getElementsByTagName(s)[0],
j=d.createElement(s),dl=l!=’dataLayer’?’&l=’+l:”;j.async=true;j.src=
‘//www.googletagmanager.com/gtm.js?id=’+i+dl;f.parentNode.insertBefore(j,f);
})(window,document,’script’,’dataLayer’,’GTM-5DBTHW’);

snowy-owl-flying-across-a-field-in-falling-snow

Right now, it’s drizzling freezing rain outside. You think, “How am I going to survive this?” But, like muscle memory, it all comes back to you, and the cold is refreshing, revitalizing even. Yes, it’s cold, but it’s stimulating. Each day, there is a miracle or a tiny bit of improvement, one way or the other. Life. I watched the birds the other day, some still high in the trees, singing to each other loudly, and I wonder, “Why are you still here?” Why haven’t they all flown South yet? We are staying warm inside, but one must venture out into the cold, bundled up, breathing through your nose, though it it not that cold yet, it has hit some pretty low temps these past couple of weeks. I am still waiting for the snow to dump on us. I like layering up my clothes and wearing fuzzy mittens. Sometimes these things remind me more than ever of my childhood and my mother’s concern for me freezing my ear and other cartilage. I wonder how the birds do it. Fly South and know exactly where to come back to. If you are starting something new, something difficult, take it very slowly and practice it correctly, until you can do it correctly faster-that is one way to make improvement. Correctly.You should still do eight and work up to 16. Another thing I was thinking about is a la seconde. Pointing your foot or anything else should be like the owl pictured above spreading his wings. I mean why do it if you are not reaching, trying to fly, to get free? When you jump, you should sustain it, like a bird riding on an air current. Practice. There are so many comparisons to birds in ballet.

 

I remember when my son was very young and I was having a conversation with my mother. She said, “You may have to work very hard to support your son, you know-to get by.” I got by, and that was 28 years ago. I worked a lot of jobs. ” You might have to work two jobs, maybe waitress. I lot of mothers pay the bills by getting two jobs. You are a single mother.” I remember thinking about all of the jobs I had, working in the cafeteria at age 14, a bakery, other menial positions, but I wasn’t even a single mother then-I was supporting my mother who was sick then, and myself, paying for everything this way. Especially ballet. Ballet was the inspiration, what kept me behind the counter, so to speak. Dancing and thoughts of it, while I worked. Why was she telling me this? As if she had to remind me of my duty? Had anyone ever had to remind me of my duty? Ever? I was born dutiful. I still am. All the years she hadn’t even tried once to work came tumbling down from the shelf where I keep them, battering me. Oddly, now that she is gone, I hardly think of them. She had always said she wanted to be there for me, be a good mother. The books and little pamphlet with drawings in them that she had made to teach me French and Spanish, dancing umbrellas, birthday cats, ballet shoes and ribbons trailing, all passed by.

There was one Summer, after the cafeteria, the one in which I began ballet at Sinclair Community College, where I painted walls in the Alternative School by University of Dayton. Not painted them white or beige, but with colorful and sage advice about the optimism which comes from learning, and choices, about the values of education, to inspire passers by. The then secretary, a middle-aged woman, with one son in parochial school, whom she supported on her own, watched me in the office, tried to teach me things, like the correct ergonomics for typing, and sitting for long periods in a chair, filing, and errand running, and underfoot (probably), she pulled me from this job, and asked me if I could paint a picture for her on the entrance wall outside her office. I painted a field of poppies. Red poppies. Grass shooting up in shades of olive and army and lime.  She liked it. She said it made her happy when she came to work. Dancing and reading made me happy.

The proper way to prepare lettuce is to break it between the fingers, and not cut it-cutting bruises the lettuce. At our library, downtown, was a poem written on the wall in aluminum scroll by Langston Hughes.

“Hold fast to dreams,
For if dreams die
Life is a broken-winged bird,
That cannot fly.”

The bus stop was right across the street and so I stared at this, upon leaving the library, which is kind of the last stop leaving downtown Dayton traveling up Third Street. It’s broken down. Michelin Tire signs, brick factories, greasy spoon the size of a closet, public pay phone. And the library with a garden behind a fence. A pretty garden, a listening area, archive, microfiche machines, bathrooms. Puppet shows. Books. I went right in there and got the poetry book by Langston Hughes and read his poems and drew in my sketchbook I carried around with my dance gear, and other things.  On the way out I stopped and took out cassette tapes of Lifeboat, and jazz. Dayton always had so much potential. Behind the library was Sears. Then over another block or two was Memorial Hall. The Victory Theatre, and the bus. You could transfer from the bus to anywhere. There was this old arcade, which was a several leveled building of shops, like an indoor mall and it had been shut down many years before, and they had renovated it, reopening as a reminder of a bygone era, replete with original railed, an atrium, and stores, Mostly food and little clothes shops for secretaries on their lunch hours. But there was a lot of space for rent. While I was studying Chines with Mrs. Lee (who ran the Chinese restaurant for he daughter), I went next door to the bakery and applied. It was a kosher-Italian bakery which had been in the Jewish neighborhood in North Dayton for many many years and was expanding.I was hired and worked there off an on for a couple of years during high school and once on a break during college. The owner had asked me to stay and manage it, but I had declined, wanting to go back to school. I remember thinking, “Seriously?” I was sophisticated and living in New York, wearing expensive and chic leather boots, lipstick jeans, hair long and very trendy. Long, confident strides. One day, I was walking aimlessly around the shops in the atrium, and I saw an elderly-looking man with a cane. He was graying at the temples, and talking to a friend, sitting there. As I approached, he tried to get my attention. He looked up at me and half-smiled. That gold tooth! Mr. Booker???? Yes!!! My seventh grade social studies teacher a la militant black man. Playing Earth Wind and Fire, writing legal definitions on the chalkboard, allowing me to be a leader on a project about the Space Shuttle. A rebel, a hippie, a man I had looked up to, and one who inspired his students with his passion about equality and freedom. A man who got fired for his “radical” teaching methods. At least we never saw him again. He was friends with Ms. Atkins. A very skinny teacher of English. Very elegant and precise. I wrote a poem in her class about the night, something about envelopes and darkness and light, and riders. She sent it to a competition, and unbeknownst to me, I won. She was taking roll one day and she just dropped the certificate on my desk as she passed, and kept on walking up the aisle.  And Mr. Amos. 7 feet tall, huge afro, long white coat, playing jazz in the ceramic room with the kiln. He did weird art projects, like clay with your eyes closed in 5 minutes, reading about art in magazines and books, using found materials to create sculptures, painting old fired pieces or objects that people had left in classroom from many years before. Forgotten. Make everything in your life about art, about creating, about beauty, about love. And listen to music while doing it. Our detention for talking was to clean out the kiln-room and take home whatever we wanted because he was going to throw it out if we didn’t. This always worked with me, cats, books, whatever I was afraid would be thrown out, or left behind, simply had to come with me. I stayed after school willingly every day, and following some exercise in art, drawing or painting or listening, or reading, came the forage.  And Mr. Booker now looked up at me, with my apron and superior 17 year-old smirk, half aware, and he smiled, and said, “Hello, Ava.” Suddenly, I was me again. The smirk faded and I just stood there, 12, again. Teachers can do that to you. I remember that I about fell over from shock-how could someone age that much in such a short time? Hardship. I did not recognize his former self at first, so aged he seemed from the swaggering, 70’s rock star that had taught us about human rights, but he remembered me. We chatted briefly, he kept looking around, maybe he had had an injury, hence the cane, hence the change. I told him I was going to college, to NYU. He was proud, you could tell, and he congratulated me. We parted. Forever.

Many times there is a phoenix, rising from the ashes. The Firebird, although we never equate the two. But, there has to be ambition and a desire to see oneself as one can be, not necessarily as one is now.

I had gone back to high school, where I took that information, about what I could do, and why dreams were important, and that there was a point to an education, and toughness might be required in order to avoid getting one’s ass kicked and surviving it, if you let it happen, where eventually I graduated. I was driving in the car, with the man from the Dayton Board of Education, who headed a program for at-risk youth, and poor kids from the west side, which though black, did not discriminate against whites. He was the President.  he was an older black man and he had hired me in this program so I could continue my Summer employment. It was to paint houses on the west side of town. I must have grimaced, or made a face. She then went into the anti-snob lecture, you know about my grandpa. He was a working-class contractor. He built half of the country with a firm called Arthur Rabkin (from Cincinnati) during the war, and after. You know the type-black gangster hat (Fedora), Irish mug, piercing blue eyes, leather jacket. He was very handsome and work was his life.  I am an optimistic person. He said he never treated anyone any different, the banker or the bum. He said good morning and raised his hat to both. He said they were the same. One was not any better than the other. One might give himself airs, but he was actually no better.

And then there is Rothbart, half man, half bird of prey. The dark side of ballet, an evil sorcerer, who turns his harem of swans back into princesses at night-how convenient. He is always there, the villain, all-seeing and watching like the raven, looking for an opportunity. I think the villains in ballet are so much more interesting than the noble princes, possibly with the exception of Albrecht, who is a rascal of a man.  All of the birds in ballet. So many real characters to play. So many references in ballet to bird-like qualities. Wings, even when there are no birds, there are fairies. Man’s desire to ascend, a dancer’s desire is to ascend, to transcend. That is theater and art. But art is for everyone, too, not just the wealthy. If companies and schools do not sell all of their ballet tickets, they should reduce the prices for the rest and even give away a good number to the poor and children in school who might not otherwise be able to afford to come! That is good publicity. One never knows where the next birds will come from….

Keep on dancing!

 

Please Don’t Go


I agree. It is a shame we do not get to see more of our well-trained ballerinas, in favor of wonky-donk newcomers who lack sensitivity and artistry. 😦 I know everyone will be sad to see her retire.

Please Don’t Go.

Rawzen – tribute to Maurice Béjart-I Love This!!!


Rawzen – tribute to Maurice Béjart – YouTube.

Former dancer of Bejart comes rapper, but the rap is GOOD! (and so are the dancers and the message). We want more dance but we need more peace-we want more dance but we need Maurice! Keep on Dancing!

Shakespeare Sonnet 3


Shakespeare's Sonnets

Somethings things which outwardly do not have to do with one another, are connected, upon reflection.

 

Look in thy glass and tell the face thou viewest
Now is the time that face should form another;
Whose fresh repair if now thou not renewest,
Thou dost beguile the world, unbless some mother.
For where is she so fair whose uneared womb
Disdains the tillage of thy husbandry?
Or who is he so fond will be the tomb
Of his self-love, to stop posterity?
Thou art thy mother’s glass and she in thee
Calls back the lovely April of her prime;
So thou through windows of thine age shalt see,
Despite of wrinkles, this thy golden time.
But if thou live, remembered not to be,
Die single and thine image dies with thee.

Shakespeare’s Sonnets.

 

Shakespeare’s Plays Are a Natural Fit With Dance


Shakespeare’s Plays Are a Natural Fit With Dance – NYTimes.com.

A haiku a day keeps the influenza away!


 

haiku wren on flowers
The wren
Earns his living
Noiselessly.
– Issa

 

 

 

 

Several Strings on My Fingers and The Old Year in Review


Happy Holidays!
Happy Holidays!

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year! Perfect little cherub mine! What was important about this year? Ooh, too much to really go into detail about completely. A thinking year, rather than a writing one. What am I thankful for? Me. I am thankful for me. I am sitting at my desk, really a makeshift bingo table, surrounded by a mound of paperwork and receipts that I have to pile through, and too soon the holiday will be over and I will have to get down to business. But right this minute as I look at the reflection of the Christmas-treeless house in my toaster (which is on my desk), I am thankful for the people in my life. I am thankful to be able to accept celebrating Christmas without the fru-fru which is associated with it, and instead of looking at the meaning, finding the meaning. I have three pine cones and just two of them are on the tree currently, but the other has not fallen far away from it as it turns out. Pine cones are usually near the pine tree, but sometimes I have found one well away from any pine tree, but I always notice a pine cone-I know what it is. It stands out. I never really understood what other parents went through when a child left home, even to go to a boarding school-same thing really. In fact I have never approved of boarding schools. Once they are gone, there is always another program, another school, another reason, until they are truly gone. Don’t want to think about that! My daughter is finally home on her winter break.

I am trying to get as much out of her as I can and it is not enough information, not enough cuddling, not enough of all that is her-like a lemon that you just cannot keep squeezing because it only has so much juice. I am waited to see if she had it in her to go back, on her own. What she would do. So many questions-NO answers, only action to keep on track, keep moving forward. Sometimes sadly, one can never go back. Only in our minds. That process of looking back is a dangerous one in a way, signalling no new action ahead.

Sometimes it would be hard for a teenager to ever think that one day, they might want to go back to those days when they were with their siblings, their parents, grandparents, pets, their friends, their first loves, their naivete and innocence, but I see it very clearly (almost) now, and rushing over the rocks and coals at 15 becomes sitting on them and looking around at 100. You want to hold everyone, every moment, every nuance, look around, enjoy the tapestry that has been your real-life, cherish those memories. Right now you are busy making those memories. Maybe it is not too wise to look back too soon, for we might get into the habit of it, slowing down, thinking before we act. BAH!!!

She came home for only about 10 days and was fully encased in a stage of adolescence which I remember well-the one where you think the worst of yourself, the best of yourself, you complain, you cheer, you whine, you laugh, you are sick with a cold and things could not seem to be good at all, now or ever, and the next minute is the best time of your life-and she left not even four months ago as my baby girl. She still is though and she wants to say so, she instead says, “Mom, stop babying me.” I do not know what to say to her. I have changed, too. Sort of. But in this particular stage of adolescence you might feel miserable and you feel as if everyone sees the changes too, but they don’t. Your body is changing, you have matured suddenly, as if you just came out of a cocoon, and you are not sure the world is trustworthy or going to let you be what you want to be more than anything no matter how hard you try. Some of the things you have banked on carrying you through, fail the test of time, and you realize you are judged on more grown-up, serious merits, like whether you can deliver, and then, later, with aplomb. Other facets of yourself you have not even discovered yet, let alone polished, and it is often difficult to see those even as they appear day by day. Sometimes you feel you have wings to fly, other days you a a grounded bird.

I remember her speech when she was little, and Barney, the cat, little tiny toys and dolls, the dress-up and dancing-there was a song she sang all the time with a little lisp-“butterfee, butterfee, fee fee aweeee!!!!” and it literally brings tears to my eyes. I am a softy and ridiculous! And now right before my very eyes, as it probably should be, she has to become a young woman-there, while I am here. I do not want to miss any of it, for my own reasons. Entitlement-need I say more? While she has been gone I have let myself go-hair tousled and put hurriedly into a clip, the same shirt for sometimes two days before I notice anything, the same old clothes, food, dinners, shoes, and sights and sounds. Sometimes I do not even look at my nails. Depression, but I have been here before, and occasionally when I do think about it, I am surprised at myself, it not being worse than it is (pat pat pat), and just feeling sorry for myself and enjoying it-and that is okay-to a point. But my job isn’t really done yet, is it? I did say I was an artist, and crazy, for lack of funds does not make me an “eccentric.” It is though I am in mourning or just want to be-now if I could put that to good use. I want to be happy for her, want to encourage her, but a selfish little part of me just stands there stubbornly wanting her to melt down, admit she was wrong and needs me by her side. Quit. I am kidding myself. I find I don’t really want her to do that after all, so it becomes selfish again, and I realize that to be there for her, I have to be there for myself. Like myself, if I truly want her to succeed. The truth is she didn’t even notice. Maybe I was too officious, too smothering, too coddling, too close. Maybe she just knows I love her and feels basically secure !!!! I am sure that is it actually.

I think her mind was on more practical matters. She didn’t even admit to herself she missed us until well into the Fall semester, and then, she said, one day she just realized that she did. She missed her teachers, and me and her brothers, and her father and her cat. Even great-grandma, but she is stable and confident. So we all just miss her, really. She has moved on a little bit. But we are all part of her fabric, intrinsically. But right now, and that is the important point, is that moments should be treasured. All of them, good and bad. They all count for something later and they are all important, I think. Don’t be a would of/could of person. Do it all, if at all possible. Do everything you want to, can dream of. Don’t be shy. Open the door of opportunity.

She wanted to be here,  but she didn’t want lectured or prodded or poked and she didn’t want to take ballet class! Her foot was swollen, hurt, she had calluses on the bottom of her feet which she would not let me treat, so I had to sneak lotion on them in the middle of the night (which worked wonders). Every muscle of her body hurt and she was waiting for her achilles and her knee to stop hurting (they did). Sometimes you HAVE to show them that the medicine WORKS. Proof, or they just will not cooperate….She did not last a cup of coffee in the mornings with me, to pump her for information=would not be pumped, and refused to chit-chat about what I wanted to. She was seemingly up before the crack of dawn and busy well into her day by the time the rest of us awoke. She wrote, she watched tv, she cuddled. She needed to do a million of things-nothing at all to my eyes, but little rituals to ground her, so she knew where she stood. She took what she needed from us. She brought up subjects to talk about on her own and finally I got the rhythm and the drift of her a little better. She is light years ahead of me as usual, planning, thinking, doing, busy all the time, growing. I took her to see a few friends and she was different, more mature, more confident-still sweet and nice as usual, but more ladylike. She had a far off look in her eyes sometimes. What was that???

Nothing I said to her was correct once we got past the niceties of missing one another and not having a chance to see each other for almost four months. I could say nothing right. She waved her arms and flew back onto her perch if I mentioned the wrong thing, led the conversation away from where she was willing to go, and cut me off if I persisted by flying off thusly to her sanctuary. So, I was forced to entice the little birdie with something to make her stay, keep her close as possible, and I simply gave in-my life to hers, as always, life is too short to argue. It does not have to always be my way, my answers, my questions. I just handed her the lead and said, “ok, you drive.” She is ready. At fifteen. Now I can just watch and put in a word here and there, but I do have to try to be careful what I say. It went much better after that.It was just a matter of who was to be boss, that’s all. I was content to be the neck that turns the head. But, she does have the lead and she knows it.

I told her it was all a phase, which it is, and I somehow think she already knew, but this is for her to know I knew she knew and what little advice I can give on certain subjects-to mothers/fathers or daughters.

She has decided on things, like her height is only going to be 5′ 4″, whether it gets to be taller or not, and her weight is going to be less than 115 pounds. She did really want two leotards and I got them for her. Very pretty ones on her. She bought two pairs of point shoes (not Repettoes!), and she refused everything else-choosing dental floss over the Bun Heads stock sewing kit, which she pronounced a “waste of money.” She said she didn’t think she would do the Winter Workshop at her school because she got back late, wouldn’t be cast in any good roles with those teachers, and because she needed time to work on her schoolwork, money, and she wanted to do auditions for Summer programs. Sometimes she just likes to be accepted, she doesn’t really want to go. She likes the experience, too. She prefers a one-on-one relationship with a good teacher over the  three weeks of variety-it’s like a tease sometimes she thinks. Variety. She has certainly had that this year! Oh, and she was very sick when she came home. Flu, fever, tired and stayed in bed (mostly) the first few days.

Christmas Day she got a text from her aunt, whom she has been staying with. It said,”Please call your cousin today and wish her Merry Christmas or something. She is expecting you to.” She slept. Then, about 5pm another text read,” Don’t bother now, she is in bed. I am extremely disappointed in you.” This missive put her into a nearly hysterical spin, and tears, and she said she thought it was entirely thoughtless, cruel even and typically inconsiderate of the fact that she was sick, at home with her family, and apparently she felt safe in her cubbyhole, resenting the interference, the fact that even here, they could get to her. Even now. It almost resulted in her not being asked back and all that implies, but she took control of the situation after vetting and it worked out quite well, thankfully. I think she even missed them a little bit and they her. But she needed a place to go, to be alone, be with those who she felt really loved her and just be alone. Of course she wants us all there. She wanted someone entirely on her side. Me. She said so. What choice did I have????That she wasn’t a full-time politician? Just to be left alone-pretend they didn’t exist for TEN DAYS!!!!. Well…. yes, and no, I thought. It would only take her 10 minutes to make her “political” phone calls and be done with it. But that wasn’t the point, was it? By watching I was learning. No where to go and be alone. Important. But they in turn, are doing her a HUGE favor, taking responsibility for her, and I am grateful, even if she is not (thoughtfully) so.

She is no saint, but she is my baby. She did not have time to win them over, make them a priority and she was realizing that she could not make everything okay, make everyone like her the way she wanted to be liked-she didn’t have time, and even if she did, there were probably one hundred things she would do first, and she doesn’t care if everyone likes her.

I realize they will all take those values with them everywhere they go, that I must have done something right because they really are all terrific people, not just kids anymore. They are not dullards. Some adults or will be soon, and I have to shift gears. But I am not a sports car and I do not hit 60 in under 3 seconds anymore-or maybe I can. Maybe I can hit 60 if I give myself a chance. Maybe I just thought I was a sports car all along-it’s all perspective. Maybe this is the time for me to think of me and I am getting a window of opportunity of my own.

My daughter was having these little fits all over the place and when I told her that she could just be herself, a brat, and do all the things she could not do at her aunt and uncle’s, she just seemed to relax. She didn’t want to talk about ballet, school, nothing that I wanted to hear about-she said she had told me already. She really had, I just wanted to hear it all again. She is 15. 15, and needed to come home and let down for a little bit. Now my mother would have known that-gotten that, much more quickly than I did, or maybe not. Maybe I just don’t think I am a sports car. I might even be more like a toyota-low maintenance, but just goes, even without the oil changes. I am not a car at all! But sometimes I feel like one.

We should all be able to let our hair down at home, be who we are. It is very hard living somewhere else, under a different set of house rules, and surely everyone else to us seems more crazy than we are-there is that. Our normalcy- and it goes to who we really are, where we come from and all that. If we can laugh at it, have some good times, make some friends, take a joke, tell a joke. It’s all part of a topical patois that infects everyone. You can’t help looking around at everyone else, comparing yourselves…. She has had no one to nurture her, kiss her booboos, stretch her, nag her, and encourage her. There is jealousy at home and there, everywhere and she is tough. Support her, even minimally, and she does very well. Quite well. She has been doing it all herself and she is proving quite capable. She can’t be different, but hopefully she won’t read this yet and by the time she does, she will be. That is just the way it is, a little bit of this, of that, all goes into the melting pot, and out comes: “VOILA!” an independent person.

She came home a little lost, messy, tomboyish, rough on the edges and very tired (and sick), but she left like the queen! New coif, shoes, new boots, health and beauty supplies, shmancy leos, new point shoes and a proper wool coat. We broke the suitcase! So she had to take two of mine-and a new bookbag, so that weight can be distributed more evenly (in the future).  It seems the next step is to give her a little more control over her own schedule, life and priorities. Help her help herself even further. If only I had a volunteer-but no one takes the place of a mother, really.

She went back in good condition, feeling that the thorough rest to her muscles (completely) would put her in good stead once classes started back. People were truly disappointed she did not come to class. No doubt anxious to compare themselves to her. Yet, that is not a bad thing. She just would not be budged and then it was also the money. She needed things. Considering the abilities of all the other dancers she sees everyday, their experience with performance, the requirements of learning new technique, a new mode of thinking, new teachers, new expectations, especially of learning and performing contemporary ballet, partnering, new choreography, and a totally new environment all around, as well as the continued conditioning and strengthening to improve upon the particular attributes and physical qualities of a classical ballet dancer which she deeply aspires to have down pat, and which she does not see in herself (all of the time), she is doing pretty well, well enough to go back for another semester! I think that in itself is incredible! Back into the ring! It is my daughter I am speaking of and not someone else-I need to remember sometimes who she is after all and there is nothing to indicate she would be someone else even after four months. She is a trooper.She is a true fighter. Ahem.

So to round off the old year, I bring a new concept to my blog-the ballet haiku! More haiku should be written about ballet. I am going to get busy, but it is hard to write a meaningful haiku……

Once there was a baby

her arm was broken at birth

she has made progress!

Technically-this is correct haiku form, but prettier as

Once a baby angel fell from the sky

and in her fall her wing was broken

now she flies!

▶ ee cummings reads “Somewhere I have never travelled…” – YouTube


For our daughters….

▶ ee cummings reads “Somewhere I have never travelled…” – YouTube.

Love’s Limbo Lost



//www.googletagmanager.com/ns.html?id=GTM-5DBTHW
(function(w,d,s,l,i){w[l]=w[l]||[];w[l].push({‘gtm.start’:
new Date().getTime(),event:’gtm.js’});var f=d.getElementsByTagName(s)[0],
j=d.createElement(s),dl=l!=’dataLayer’?’&l=’+l:”;j.async=true;j.src=
‘//www.googletagmanager.com/gtm.js?id=’+i+dl;f.parentNode.insertBefore(j,f);
})(window,document,’script’,’dataLayer’,’GTM-5DBTHW’);

Picturing Shakespear. Mnsr. Vestris in  Les amans surpris / J. Roberts, del. ; Thornthwaite, sc. A favorite ballet of the time.
Picturing Shakespear. Mnsr. Vestris in Les amans surpris / J. Roberts, del. ; Thornthwaite, sc. A favorite ballet of the time.

http://www.opensourceshakespeare.org/views/plays/play_view.php?WorkID=henry8&Act=5&Scene=3&Scope=scene           (Shakespeare, “Henry VIII,” act v, sc. 3)

http://www.sparknotes.com/poetry/paradiselost/section11.rhtml   (Milton, “Paradise Lost,” III, 495)

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/hudibras-part-2-canto-i/    (Butler, “Hudibras,” part II, canto i)

(Late Latin limbus) a word of Teutonic derivation, meaning literally “hem” or “border,” as of a garment, or anything joined on (cf. Italian lembo or English limb).

Natural limbus infantium
Natural limbus infantium

In theological usage the name is applied to (a) the temporary place or state of the souls of the just who, although purified from sin, were excluded from the beatific vision until Christ’s triumphant ascension into Heaven  (the “limbus patrum“); or (b) to the permanent place or state of those unbaptized children and others who, dying without grievous personal sin, are excluded from the beatific vision on account of original sin alone (the “limbus infantium” or “puerorum”).

In literary usage the name is sometimes applied in a wider and more general sense to any place or state of restraint, confinement, or exclusion, and is practically equivalent to “prison” (see, e.g., Milton, “Paradise Lost,” III, 495; Butler, “Hudibras,” part II, canto i, and other English classics). The not unnatural transition from the theological to the literary usage is exemplified in Shakespeare, “Henry VIII,” act v, sc. 3.

Blake‘s epic poem tells the story of Sir Hudibras, a knight errant who is described dramatically and with laudatory praise that is so thickly applied as to be absurd, and the conceited and arrogant person is visible beneath. He is praised for his knowledge of logic despite appearing stupid throughout, but it is his religious fervor which is mainly attacked. Blake undoubtedly drew from Don Quixote for his witty satire about a man who thought he knew too much and gets repeatedly beaten for his views and interfering with the rest of the world’s vices. Unlike Don Quixote, who is humorous and draws our sympathy, Hudibras gets none. It was very popular in its time (1700’s), but was not a beloved story, for it spurred no ballets. However, many stories and art are descended from it. It’s main argument stems from political views and religious theorists at the time, sometimes combined into one group, and the public found this pairing amusing and ludicrous. Some writers and reviewers of the times felt Blake was too hard on certain puritan factions, so it did not please those everyone important.

My purpose in dredging up these hyperbolic entrails is that they serve to explain and accentuate my point the about idiocy of ballet politics, dance politics overall, and some characters of the world in general. It also underlines the fact that the attitude held by some teachers of ballet (certain people are destined for success and others aren’t) is fascist and not particularly conducive to the making of good dancers or art, at all. These people hold that they are the judge of the times. This self-appointed “hell” that parents pay for their children to be entombed in is called a competition studio, and not a ballet or (art) studio where expression and all great art is derived. Were it not for imperfection, there would be no art, as true art is not necessarily perfect. This is history repeated though, and nothing new occurs. It is part of the reason why it is impossible to achieve art in a school for young dancers and in many cases in a ballet theater, and probably some companies. Mothers and fathers, wooing administrators with money and work, fund raising efforts, and their own strings-attached beneficence result in the many studios I know of, which have some good elements, running a muck. At least in a ballet company these souls are excluded for the most part and the business of art may take place-and in most good ballet schools as well as in other types of other schools. At the studio my daughter was recently at, the operator had her own unique ideas about the dancers, their abilities and what sort she advanced into new levels. Each year she would change the levels around to accommodate her future plans without consideration for the families involved and especially the children whom she was hurting. If a parent was paying for more children, they got more attention, moved up, more and better roles, etc. If they contributed large sums of cash, those students could be expected to get privates and a lot of pushing even if they weren’t very good dancers, had poor technique, bad habits, arrogance, etc. A very few children, literally one or two out of each level, received her full attention and she would work with them for years, giving privates and coaching, lead roles, until she managed to get them something. She wouldn’t even give corrections (strike one) in class (especially my daughter) except to her very favorite few and she manipulated the entire class to evoke harder attempts from these few by using the others as comparisons. It was a very backward method, resulting in those few getting all the attention, etc., while the others continued to pay for the scraps leftover-even dancers who were quite good!

My daughter has spent the last several months in limbo, from an effort by this director to get her to leave. Her others students resented my daughter due to the attention she was getting from her Russian teacher, who no doubt was rewarding her hard work and effort. She also had privates with him, and in under a year was up to and in some cases better than her classmates. After six more months and more privates, she was better than her very best dancers-so she prevented her from doing YAGP- a punishment (strike 2)! Also, the other female teachers there would not giver her privates for fear she would compete with their prize students. They all held this attitude that each student belonged to a teacher-only one. It just happened that we had the best one and they ALL resented this. He also had the hardest working students and some of the younger ones and boys did competitions and they won. His won. But my daughter was not allowed by her. I did not realize it was the director controlling him, telling him to help other students who were willing to pay more money-who had more money, but it was. She would come out and not allow him to give my daughter privates when she was waiting, instead directing him to take someone else first/instead (Strike 3). Prison. Confinement, or so this mistress hoped, and by these actions she expected my daughter to be discouraged and repeatedly kept back and slowed down (2nd chance). Finally, I realized what was going on and we finished out the year-end performance and left. I did not pay her the last two of 12 equal payments for the year. Would you?

She may now yet again have a fair opportunity to enter the beatific vision of ballet Heaven. A school where she can dance hopefully unencumbered by these people who believe they hold the carrot and the key to her success. If the key is money and not art, not teaching, not learning, and performing is not possible without patronage at so early a level of training, then art sits in confinement, and talent is imprisoned, learning is sanctioned, and futures are undeveloped. There is no chance of my daughter growing into a beautiful dancer there, for the environment is evil and the hatred and jealousy running beneath the surface permeate the spirit of the dance. It was important to her to make these other students feel superior to my daughter and certain other students in an effort to keep the money coming in. My daughter was incredulous to find that she had been demoted (LAST STRAW) to a level with dancers who were ungainly (also ridiculed by her and humiliated in front of everyone else as an example-not to be overweight (seriously, in a little local ballet school????-yes, she actually calls herself a dance educator), did not even bother or try to learn (who could blame them?), and who showed zero interest in ballet (no wonder!), and whose families were not financially important (bingo). My daughter was age-level and training level appropriate for the higher level, but was being highly encouraged to leave, I would say…. I do not want to say much about the girls who were promoted, the previous takes into account their possible faults (false self-confidence, and their parents stupidity) being ignored in favor of monetary support, so I need not impune them further-wouldn’t be nice. Over time, we were able to see that each parent of each of these children held some advantage over the director, was useful, or was paying at least for two children. But my daughter was to be made miserable, to be cast down, by the director of the studio, whose arrogance rivaled Hudibras’, as if to say, “no matter how hard you try, you can never be better than my worst higher-paying student. it is a hard lesson for a teenager to learn-to see someone so cruel, and I can assure you, she was one of the best dancers in the class upon leaving. She was convinced it was a mistake, a cruel joke played by one of the parents who sent out the certificates and promotions, but when I realized it and called, I was told the director would “re-evaluate her” after the summer. The summer program there is usually pretty good, but for two years we have been unable to afford it. However, when we come back, my daughter is still more advanced than others, because she works very hard and continues her privates with her Russian teacher-who refused to teach anyone else who asked. I knew there was no evaluation or training issue, as some of the other girls in class are well behind my daughter in all areas, but I knew it had to do with money and politics. A child does not usually understand this, but my daughter readily saw the reasons for it, so it was not very hard to dispense with. She refused to go back.

This Summer that would have resulted in our being pretty much cut-off from her Russian teacher, but that dependence needed to be discouraged anyway for some other reasons. After about two weeks of this, she began to be led dancing into different directions. There were an inordinate amount of accessible master classes in the area-I wonder who was teaching at the intensives! Her vision must be pure as her luck was good! God never closes a door….

The mean Hudibras in the stocks.
The mean Hudibras in the stocks.

This kind of imposed limbo by the director was averted by the number of available classes to take. Quickly, she perked up, finding plenty of support from other teachers. The other aspect of this is that she is the kind of able, ready and polite student that everyone else wants to teach. Once they see her seriousness and rapid improvement and other good qualities they usually (not always) help her, encourage her and eventually become attached to her. Each school she went to and auditioned for this Summer she was accepted to, and she was placed in a suitably advanced level in. In each master class, the teachers praised her and helped her. She wanted to go to New York and audition for SAB, and I almost doubted her. I thought perhaps she was trying to overcome those bad qualities projected onto her by that director and frankly, I was worried that she would not be accepted. She needed to erase the self-doubt that this woman had placed in her mind deliberately. The baby in limbo infantium, innocent of real sin or error, but far away from the beatific vision sought by dancers everywhere, but I was wrong to doubt her and she has a lot more mettle than I had anticipated (as usual). You’d think I’d learn and have more faith. She did it everywhere she went. She got better seemingly without even trying-she stepped up a level, a notch in her professionalism and self-confidence. The nervous, shy young girl is mostly gone, but in her place is a beautiful, confident young lady of just 15 years old who knows all of her hard work has not been in vain, shaking the dust off of the bottom of her feet as she goes. She was happy to see the girls there and was truly pleased that most of them were happy to see her when she went back for a few classes at the end of the Summer with her Russian teacher. She is convinced once again that she is happiest while dancing, more competition is better, and she was able, while at these other studios to compare herself to their best dancers and to see where she was in comparison. She found herself close to or better than their best, different, better in ways they were not, learning more and new things, getting new corrections and insights, different stretches and work, new combinations, and working just as hard, and getting much better, being more relaxed and open, despite a shorter schedule and fewer classes. She is finally working smarter! It is as though she finally sees in herself-herself and not a victim, but a fighter (the best kind) and a catalyst. She is a dancer!

Perhaps I did not make her appear chastised enough and down-trodden, from the perspective that those mothers felt sorry for her-some of those students felt sorry for her too. It did seem as though a very few of them actually took solace from this, feeling that they were better, but some others sought me out and were very kind and understanding. None of them felt we would come back, and the director sought her out in one class to dwell upon her expression and to watch her to see whether she had improved or not over the Summer, and to witness her unhappiness. But broken spirit was not what they beheld. She was better and improved! One teacher literally glared at me when she drove up. But enough of that. The good that came from the experience, for one, outweighed the bad. In fact, she won, for she has been accepted into a very exclusive school in a large city! I would like to blame them, but I am having to be thankful for all of their actions and roles played in this would-be tragedy, except for the indomitable will, spirit and grace of my child, who is a far better person than I have ever been or probably will ever be. She met Jacques D’Amboise and then took a nearly three-hour class with him, a lifelong memory and inspiration from someone whose heart has always been in the right place-I think this inspired her to go do the Fall auditions. She decided she was interested in Balanchine and Cecchetti and she was inspired to read and research, herself, where these opportunities lay.

We were prepared to enroll her in classes with another Russian teacher who wanted to train her, and we had enrolled her into public high school, when the unavoidable happened to thwart those plans. We have had mold in our house due to some repairs from several leaks that the landlord has not made over the past several months. She was finding it difficult to breathe and I moved her into the living-room to sleep over the Summer. She complained of stomach pain, nausea and headaches as well which caused me to confront the landlord and seek to force the repairs. I have been sick, but no one else in the house has been and I did not think it was due to the mold until she was affected. So at the end of August, awaiting repairs, I sent her to a big city with family. She was already inspired to take classes and do auditions. I set them up, we took photos provided by a good friend for free and they were beautiful to see! She was accepted to a school of some prestige, but most importantly with a very good program including all of the things those here lack, and an environment and philosophy which might work out perfectly for her, AND she was placed in the advanced level, second from the top-the top being an actual company-of company-ready level performers, which she is not yet (at 15, seriously-who really is? But advanced! I just hope she can handle all of what she is about to undertake. There will be quite a learning curve considering the deficiencies at the school she has been attending. At this school, the students do get placed into companies and have numerous opportunities to dance! The faculty is really amazing and it is reportedly “not so cutthroat” as some others schools. She will have classes six days per week and one or two with the company-level dancers. She will have pilates, character, yoga, pointe everyday, partnering, technique everyday, and variations. She will learn choreography, the students have choreography done on them for performances and workshops regularly, and there are many master classes, guest teachers, workshops, rehearsals and performances. It was like God just said, there. How can I say no?  She (hopefully) can practice there, study and do her schoolwork. She has family there who also will support her and encourage her, but she will have to be a little more independent of me. No more limbo. You must keep on dancing!

Hubidbras vanquished and protected by Trulla-text supplied-in his confinement
Hubidbras vanquished and protected by Trulla-text supplied-in his confinement

Hummingbird


Hummingbird

Not just how
it hung so still
in the quick of its wings,
all gem and temper
anchored in air;

not just the way
it moved from shelf
to shelf of air,
up down, here there,
without moving;

not just how it flicked
its tongue’s thread
through each butter-yellow
foxglove flower
for its fix of sugar;

not just the vest’s
electric emerald,
the scarf’s scarlet,
not just the fury
of its berry-sized heart,

but also how the bird
would soon be found
in a tree nearby,
quiet as moss at the end
of a bare branch,

wings closed around
its sweetening being,
and then how light
might touch its throat
and make it glow,

as if it were the tip
of a cigarette
smouldering
on the lip of a world,
whose face,

in the lake’s hush
and the stir of leaves,
might appear
for a moment
composed. ~ Mark Roper

“What a strange…


Yachounomori Garden, Tatebayashi-shi(city) Gun...
Yachounomori Garden, Tatebayashi-shi(city) Gunma-ken(Prefecture), Japan 群馬県館林市 野鳥の森ガーデン (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

“What a strange thing!
to be alive
beneath cherry blossoms.”
Kobayashi Issa, Poems