Your Monday mote

Tchaikovsky and tears: an evening at the ballet

I went to the ballet yesterday.

It’s been many decades since I’ve seen a professional production and it was utterly thrilling.

When I was tiny, I remember my grandma and mum taking me to see The Nutcracker, in London, at Christmas. Unlike many young girls, I never had a single shred of desire to become a ballet dancer. In fact, I’d have run as fast as I could in the other direction if it was offered but I completely appreciate the artistry and commitment required to join the professional ranks.

Years later, I was lucky enough to see Matthew Bourne’s legendary 1995 revival of Swan Lake, which featured an all-male cast of dancers. It was magnificent.

And that was it for 30 years. Until last night, which was once again Tchaikovsky’s masterpiece, Swan Lake, but this time presented by the Varna International Ballet Company, who hail from Bulgaria.

It’s a strange transition, going about your day and doing all the pedestrian tasks such as the laundry, rearranging your sock drawer and making lunch, to being thrust into a magical world of dancing swans, sequinned tutus and fantasy.

I was so near the action, I could hear the brush and thud of the dancers’ shoes on the stage.

And because our local theatre is being remodelled, there’s no orchestra pit, so being only six rows back in the stalls, I was able to study the musicians up close, which made the experience even more immersive.

At the end, spoiler alert (haha), when the swan, Odette, ‘dies’, I had tears in my eyes and couldn’t speak for a good few minutes after curtain down.

What can I say? It was beautiful. But mostly, it was an much-needed antidote to all the crazy that’s going on in the world right now. I swear it changed my body chemistry.

The only shame, I feel, is that productions like this are becoming prohibitively expensive. Our tickets were a squeeze and they were a Black Friday deal but everyone should be able to escape into worlds like this, and often. It truly nourishes your soul.

Later, at home, I sat on the sofa with a hot chocolate, and welled up again because I feel that I should have been more of a committed artist. I still don’t feel like I have enough to show for all the years of writing and that’s mostly down to me and maybe, a soupçon, down to luck.

Their artistry made me want to double down on my everything I’m trying to achieve right now because I would love, more than anything, to be able to touch people in some way, even if it is by making them laugh more than cry. Or cry with laughter?

That’s the lofty goal. And, I hope dearly, that it’s on pointe.

Have a productive week everyone.

Lisa