Maria Khoreva overview of Vaganova Academy focusing on years 1-5
My very not perfect translation:
Perhaps in this video, Iâll be able to debunk some of the untrue mythsâand bring the true ones to life, one way or another.
Today, I want to share my learning experience with you. I studied at the Vaganova Academy from first through eighth grade, completing the full course of secondary vocational education. After that, I enrolled in the correspondence bachelor's program at the Faculty of Performing Arts, where I studied for three years. And now, this year, Iâm finishing my masterâs degree in the Faculty of Pedagogy.
Iâm incredibly gratefulâto the city, my family, my country, the circumstances, and all the people who supported meâfor giving me the opportunity to gain such unique knowledge at the Vaganova Academy. To be able to touch this place steeped in history has truly been a gift.
Now, Iâm excited to talk about how certain events influenced my lifeâand how different moments during oneâs training can shape a studentâs future in general. In our pedagogical masterâs program, we study how to properly design a ballet training curriculum, how to combine physical and psychological aspects, and how to approach administration. Looking back now, especially at my time in the performing faculty, I see myself in a very different lightâhopefully, a more accurate and kind one.
So today, Iâd like to revisit those memories with you. I think it will be very interesting. Letâs get started!
(By the wayâspeaking of whichâit might be a good idea to make a separate video someday about the whole admission process to the Vaganova Academy. Itâs a big topic on its own. But for now, Iâll skip that part.)
I want to start my story with the schoolâs opening ceremonyâour âline,â as we call it. If I remember correctly, it took place on September 7, not the 1st, because the Academy doesnât always follow the standard rules of regular schools. Of course, Vaganova combines both general academic subjects and specialized ballet training, but Iâll talk more about that later.
So, our ceremony was on a rainy, cold day. There's a tradition at the Academy: a strong, stately boy graduate carries a tiny first-grader on his shoulder, and she rings a bell. This ritual is known as the âFirst Bell.â Every little girl in our class probably dreamed of being the one to ring itâincluding me. About 30 ambitious girls were admitted to our class, and from day one, everyone wanted to be first. I wasnât chosen for that honor, unfortunatelyâbut thatâs okay. More was to come.
At first, I thought the hard part was over once I got inâbut that wasnât quite true. The first lessons were... strange, and to be honest, a little boring. I remember my very first classical dance class. We started doing slow movements, facing the barre. The teacher talked about âsupporting legsââthe ones we stand onâand âworking legs,â the ones that move. She said they âwork,â like workers in a factory.
I was placed at the side barre, on the first lineânot a prestigious spot. The central barre positions were the most desirable. We were placed randomly at first, and I remember standing there, staring out the window, far more interested in what was outside than in the slow, repetitive movements we were doing again and again.
In fact, during our very first classical dance class, I donât think we did anything besides those tendus. It amazed me.
Before joining the Academy, I was involved in rhythmic gymnasticsâI had already done some fouettĂ©s, a few jumps, and choreography classes were part of our training. So, when I started at Vaganova, I couldnât understand why we were going back to such basic, seemingly simple movements. It all felt too easy to me.
But I couldnât have been more wrong.
My first classical dance teacherâwho, in ballet, is considered one of the most important figures in a dancerâs lifeâwas Elena Georgievna Alkanova. A truly wonderful, soulful woman, who still teaches at the Academy. She brought a remarkable balance of discipline and love for the art into our classroom. She was meticulous with us, especially when it came to the most foundational elements of classical dance.
To me, being the head teacher of an elementary-level class is the hardest job in ballet. Children arrive either knowing nothing or, worse, having learned things incorrectly. Some come in with fixed ideas of what ballet should be, while others are simply bored. The teacherâs role isnât just to teach proper technique from the very beginningâitâs also to light a fire in their hearts, to instill genuine love and motivation for the art. And doing that with young children is no small feat.
The method of Agrippina Vaganovaâafter whom the Academy is namedâemphasizes a gradual progression: from the simplest ballet movements to the most complex variations. This means that in the first few years, there's no place for imitation of adult performance. Vaganova herself was a unique figureâa brilliant dancer who became a visionary theorist. She laid the foundation of the Russian ballet tradition that has amazed the world for generations.
In her writings, she stresses that the most important thing is to master the very basicsâbattement tendu, for instance, which is simply extending the leg along the floor to the side, or demi-pliĂ©, which is just a bend in the knees, but in a turned-out position. These movements may seem minimal, but theyâre absolutely essential. From these foundations, all future grace, strength, and precision are built.
She even warned against assigning overly complex combinations too early in training. Why? Because when you skip the basics, students lose the ability to control their technique during more advanced movements. Ballet is built on perfect geometryâevery line, every position must be precise from the very beginning. Without this, true mastery is impossible.
And yes, for all the beauty in Vaganovaâs meticulous method⊠it could feel mind-numbingly boring. The exercises were slow, corrections were constant, and as young students, we didnât yet understand why we had to "suffer" through such repetition. That was probably the biggest challenge of the first year.
Eventually, the movements became more difficult and more interesting. But to execute them correctly, we needed to rely on a growing internal mechanismâlike mental gears slowly turning. I could feel new neural connections forming as we learned to process and apply the technique.
One correction from first year Iâll never forget: I was asked to lift my leg to the back, but keep my hip bones completely straight and motionless. I couldnât wrap my head around it. How could that be anatomically possible? I was supposed to maintain a perfectly square alignment of my shoulders and hips while raising the leg behind me. But thatâs exactly what classical ballet demands. We had to memorize this âgeometryâ so deeply that it would become second natureâeven in the most advanced movements later on.
Looking back, classical dance lessons were without a doubt the most vivid, unforgettable part of my time at the Vaganova Academy. They were also the longest. Every day, we had what we called simply classics, and each session lasted around an hour and a halfâthough in reality, it was often longer. That's because we always ended up eating into our breaks for the sake of classical class. Typically, we had two double lessons: like real university-style sessions, with a break in the middle, and then another break before the next subject in the schedule. So, when you factored everything in, our âhour and a halfâ of classical dance often stretched quite a bit longer.
Now, Iâd like to share how training is generally structured at the Vaganova Academy, especially the combination of academic and ballet subjects. Children enter the Academy after completing the fourth grade in general education. From there, they continue their academic studies alongside intensive dance training. Subjects include math, history, physics, chemistry, social studies, geography, and others I may not even remember now. We had etiquette lessons. We had English and French. French, in particular, was crucial because ballet terminology is still entirely in French. We had to learn not only the names of movements but also basic grammar and sentence construction to understand the meaning behind those termsâwhat exactly we were being asked to do in each movement.
Thereâs a common belief that in specialized institutions like music or ballet academies, general education is weak. But honestly, that wasnât the case at all in my experience. Our academic standards were very high. In our cohort, there were two classesâA and Bâand ours was an all-girls class for the first few years. Oh, how we all tried to be straight-A students! The competition was fierceânot just in the ballet studio, but also in our academic classes. We even competed in math! Iâll never forget mental arithmetic. It was terrifying. Our class teacher, Aleksandrovna Putina, and our math teacherâwho was firm but progressiveâused a very particular method. She would hand out a sheet of paper, quite small in size, and dictate math problems out loud, one after another. If you didnât finish solving one before she moved to the next, your whole plan could fall apart. These were complex tasks tooâdefinitely not easy. We trained our brains as much as we trained our bodies. Especially in those first few years, the workload was intense. The combination of general education and ballet was a huge challenge.
Our daily schedule typically started at 9:20 or 9:30 in the morning and ended around 6 p.m. Most days included a classical dance lesson in the middle. Lessons at the Academy usually began either at 9:00 or 11:00, depending on the class and level.
But one thing was certain: classical class always had to come early in the day. Thatâs because classical dance serves as the foundation and warm-up for the rest of a dancerâs training. It prepares the body, sets the tone, and tunes the mind and muscles for everything that followsâwhether itâs rehearsal, another discipline, or a performance. That daily ballet class is essentialânot just physically, but mentally. Itâs the core of academic classical dance, and everything else builds from it.
To properly integrate into the rhythm of academic classical dance, it made no sense to schedule ballet lessons later than early afternoon. Thatâs why classical classes were always set for either 9:00, 11:00, or at the latest, 1:00 p.m.âto accommodate all the various student groups, levels, and teachers across the Academyâs many halls.
Naturally, not everyone could take class at the same time. So, we were split across those three time slots, and our class almost always got the 1:00 p.m. slot. Only in the first year did we study at 9:00 a.m.âand I remember clearly how much I disliked it.
Imagine this: it's 9:00 in the morning, youâve just rolled out of bed, and youâre already heading through the cold, damp streets of St. Petersburgâwhich somehow feel chilly even in summer, and downright miserable in winter. You arrive half-awake and have to immediately start moving your legs, performing precise ballet movements.
And what were we wearing? Well, in first grade, the uniform was just a simple leotard and socks. No warm-up gear, no tights covering the legsâcompletely bare. It was always cold and terribly uncomfortable to begin the day like that.
Later on, starting at 11:00 or 1:00 felt far better. We never had lessons at 11:00 during our entire time at the Academyâand I always thought that would have been the perfect time. I was so happy when I finally joined the theater and had the luxury of taking class at 11:00 every day.
As for the ballet studios themselves, the Academy had a quirky naming system. At first, I remember the âfirst topâ and âsecond topâ halls. Then after a few months, we started using names like âfirst bottom,â âsecond bottom,â âthird A,â and so on. Only two studios had special names. One was âthe hall,â where all senior exams were held. The other was âthe large hall,â where major rehearsals for our graduation performances took placeâthe same performances that traditionally took place on the prestigious stage of the Mariinsky Theatre.
So, classical dance classes were slotted into that central daily space, and everything elseâacademic subjectsâwas arranged around them. We studied Russian, Piano, music, math, chemistry, physics, social studies, and so on. We started physics and chemistry a little later in our studies, like regular students in a typical school.
We even took the Unified State Exam like everyone else in Russia. We struggled through practice tests, official exams, and written assignments across all our subjects. We really did try to keep up with academic life and took it seriously.
At the same time, we had ballet-specific subjectsâboth practical and theoretical. As I mentioned earlier, we had etiquette and French from the first grade. I think French ended around the fourth grade, though to be honest, I don't remember exactly. We also had a course called âmusical game,â which later evolved into music history and cultural education.
These cultural classes gave us inspiration, helping us become more educated and artistically awareâespecially within the context of ballet and the broader cultural world.
All of thisâthe combination of general subjects and specialized classesâhelped us grow into educated specialists in the field of ballet, culture, and dance. One of the first special disciplines we were introduced to in the first grade was historical dance. Itâs actually a very interesting subject. We were taught ballroom dances, courtly steps from different erasâit was a completely different rhythm compared to the slow, mechanical exercises of classical dance. Historical dance gave us a chance to actually dance a little, to start feeling our own movement coordination, to get a sense of our organic relationship with dance. Thatâs so important at the beginning, because classical lessons at that stage were filled with endless repetitions of the most basic mechanics. So this subject gave us a breath of fresh airâsomething playful and expressive to balance things out. It was also one of the rare classes where we got to stand in pairs with boys, laugh, feel awkward, and slowly learn to overcome that awkwardness. Of course, that discomfort would eventually disappear in our later years at the Academy, and especially once we entered the world of theaterâbut in the beginning, it was a whole experience in itself.
Our teacher was Nina Viktorovna Ivanovna(?)âa very beautiful woman, always graceful in how she demonstrated movements during historical dance classes. Sometimes sheâd raise her voice, but always with warmth, never in anger. We only had historical dance for 45 minutes, twice a week, but even so, those lessons had something truly magical and engaging about them.
I wonder what image you have in your mind right now. What do you imagine when you think of the Vaganova Academy? What do you see when you picture the primary school students? Little girls with neat ballet buns and perfect posture, already imagining themselves as future ballerinas?
Well, let me tell youâwe didnât have a strict school uniform, but we definitely had a set uniform for ballet class.
While we were in our general education classes, there was a sort of unofficial dress codeâsomething black and white, ideally a white top and black bottom. But in reality, it was hard to stick to these rules because we constantly had to change clothesâbefore and after classical dance lessons. And we always ate into our breaks, so we had very little time to switch outfits. Before class, we also had to warm up properly, so our clothing needed to be functional and warm. In the corridors and classrooms, it could be quite draftyâwhich, honestly, seems inevitable in any school in our cold northern city. So of course, we all tried to adapt as best we could. Our moms tried to dress us as cozily and warmly as possible.
At one pointâI canât quite remember which grade it wasâwe were even allowed to wear special tracksuits, custom-made by the Grishko company. These were lilac-colored and specifically designed for students at the Academy. We wore them over our ballet uniforms, with our leotards underneath.
In first grade, the uniform for classical ballet class was all white: white leotard, white skirt, white socks, and white soft ballet slippers. Actually, in the very beginning, we werenât even allowed to wear skirtsâwe had to be in just the white leotard. At the time, we didnât really notice how uncomfortable that was⊠but looking back, it definitely was.
Now, as an adult, Iâd never go into a ballet class wearing just a leotard from the start. I need warm-up clothes at the beginning of a lesson to properly heat up my muscles. Then I can gradually peel off layersâtake off my woolen warm-up gearâand be left in just the essentials, which allows for better visibility of muscle work during the lesson.
Over time, the Academyâs ballet uniform evolved a bit. For the younger classes, the leotards were turquoise. Then, starting in 4th and 5th grade, they became lilac. From 6th to 8th yearâwhat we called the âcoursesââwe wore coffee-colored leotards, like a latte shade.
And speaking of classes, thereâs an interesting detail about the naming of grades at the Academy. You enter the Vaganova Academy after finishing 4th grade in a regular school. So, in terms of general education, you're starting 5th grade. But at the Academy, that same year is considered first grade. So the sequence goes like this:
1st year at the Academy = 5th grade general school
So, while we were studying general school subjects like 10th and 11th grade students elsewhere, we were also receiving a professional secondary education in ballet.
Girls were allowed to start wearing special ballet leotards from the second year. So we got used to all of this from a young age.
Now, about this eternal debate: âa leotardânecessary or not?â Ballet uniforms are an essential part of a dancerâs wardrobeânot just in class, but also on stage.
I remember going through a bit of a rebellious phase when I first started working at the theater. I stopped wearing leotards and tights to ballet class. It felt like now that I was a real artist, I should be as free as possible. I thought, âIâm not a student anymore; I donât need to follow these rules.â So for a while, I didnât wear a leotard in class. And yes, in some ways it really was more convenientâyou didnât risk ruining a leotard or tights that you might need for a performance.
But after a few years in the theater, I came to realize that ballet leotards and tights are, in fact, one of the defining symbols of an artistâs discipline. And now? I wear pink tights every day for classâbecause I want to see my legs exactly as theyâll look on stage, in front of an audience.
I also remember that for quite a long time, I was totally lost trying to navigate the Academyâs corridorsâI was constantly confused about where everything was. Although to be honest, compared to the Mariinsky Theater, the structure of the Academy building is actually quite simple.
The building itself is beautiful. It was designed by the Italian architect Carlo Rossi, and it stands on a stunning streetâone of those perfect architectural imperial ensembles. The street ends at the Alexandrinsky Theater, and the entire row of buildings is painted a soft, pale yellow that gives the whole area an imperial, majestic feel.
I remember being told in class that the streetâs length is 220 meters, its width is 22 meters, and the height of the buildings lining it is also 22 meters. Even the numbers speak to a kind of beauty. And the love for beauty wasnât taught only in ballet lessons, but also in our general education subjects. It was in everything around usâeven just walking down the corridors.
Portraits and epigraphs hung on the wallsâimages of legendary ballet dancers, iconic figures of our art. And of course, all of that couldnât help but inspire you.
Even now, when I return for exams during my masterâs program, I look at those portraits with deep respect and admiration. Now, of course, I understand so much more. I can truly appreciate who these people wereâand thatâs exactly why they leave such a strong impression on me.
But even back then, something was being built inside of meâa foundation for a lifelong love of this art. A love thatâs stayed with me for my entire career... and for life, really.
But after such an enthusiastic monologue about how wonderful, beautiful, and inspiring it all was, itâs only fair to move on to a harder topicâan alarming one, and for us students, the scariest of them all.
Even now, I still remember, with a flutter in my chest and a kind of inner shiver, the classical dance exams. It seems strange to talk now about how anxious we were, but honestlyâthere are no words to convey the fear. It was pure horror.
And you had to fight that horrorâright up until graduation. For some reason, this exam remained the single most terrifying part of our lives as students at the Academy.
The thing is, each year the Academy holds exams in all of the core dance disciplines. But the classical dance exam? Thatâs the most important one. Sixty students were admitted to our class. By graduation⊠maybe only half remained. Every year, students are weeded outâthose who didnât manage to master the program. Because the Academy simply canât produce that many ballet specialists. The training process is grueling and intense.
And here, of course, we have to talk about something heartbreakingânot just the academic challenge, but the physical toll. The tragedies that come from the body not cooperating.
Sadly, and to my deep regret, it happens: some students enter the Academy, study for yearsâeven just one year is a lot, especially for a fragile childâs mindâand they canât imagine any other path than becoming a dancer. Theyâve become totally immersed in this life, in these ideas, in this systemâa beautiful system, yes, but also a strict one. And suddenly⊠the body fails.
Maybe like a weightlifter, your body becomes too muscular. Maybe you begin to grow too fast, or you lose strength. And itâs a tragedy, because that child has no control over it. Itâs just genetics. Itâs some cruel mix of factors that canât be influenced or predicted.
Ballet is an aesthetic art. And unfortunately, the jury sitting at those classical exams must assess not only performance, but whether a student matches the visual and physical ideals of the art form. Those who donât fit that standard... are expelled.
I hate that wordâexpelled. Expulsion. âYouâll be expelled.â We heard it constantlyâfrom teachers, from classmates. That word burrows into your subconscious. It has a kind of dark, heavy power.
And yes, precisely because of that wordâand not only because of itâbut because of everything around it, those classical exams were so frightening. It felt like everythingâabsolutely everythingâdepended on that one day. How you looked that day. Whether you could nail certain pirouettes or other elements. Whether your turnout was enough on that day. Whether your skirt was correctly aligned with your leotard on that day. It seemed like your entire future would depend on the commissionâs evaluation of that day.
But in truth, thatâs not how it works at all.
What really matters is how well you know the material. How attentively youâve listened to your teachers. How engaged and present youâve been throughout your training. And strangely enough, how much you can remain yourselfânot following anyone elseâs instructions except your teachers', not trying to mold yourself into what you think the system wants, but working diligently, persistently, with your hands, your feet, your whole beingâon yourself.
Thatâs what truly determines your path.
But at the time, we were convinced the whole world hinged solely on those exams: on that one momentâon that exam.
The anxiety would start building at least a week in advance. A whole week where I could barely breathe. I couldnât even take a full sigh. And oddly enough, it felt like you had to keep yourself wound up before the exam, just to stay sharpâto make sure you didnât forget anything, to boost your concentration.
Even now, before performances, I donât get as nervous as I used to before those exams. And our teachers? They were just as nervous as we were.
After I passed the classical exam, all the othersâeven those in other special disciplinesânever seemed quite as terrifying.
For example, in the fourth year at the Academy, in addition to historical dance, we had a subject called character dance. On stage in classical ballets, this includes dances like the Hungarian, Polish Mazurka, Russian, Spanish, Gypsy dancesâall the national folk styles. In ballet, these are called character dances.
The exam in character dance was also challenging and unpredictable. We were definitely afraid of itâbut not as much as classical.
I remember starting this whole story with how bored I used to beâjust standing there, watching people move their strange little feet, doing strange movements with no meaning. But that boredom faded very quickly. The teachersâ demands grew, and we slowly began to understand what was expected of us. We started to realize how important it all was.
And then came this enormous sense of responsibility. Responsibility to ourselves. To our families. To our parents who supported us through all those years at the Academy. Their supportâhonestlyâit was immeasurable. I donât know⊠it seems to me they were far more nervous than we were.
And youâd think, âHow is it even possible to be more nervous than we are?â But Iâm sure of itâour parents were.
That responsibilityâto all those who believe in youâstarts to sink in. You must get a good grade. You must make your teacher proud. You must prove to everyone that you can.
That understanding hits quickly. It hits when you see how your classmates are managing certain movementsâwhen you notice that you canât do something someone else can. Or vice versaâwhen you suddenly can do something others canât. And then your name is used as an example, and you feel like, âOkay, I have to do even better. Even better.â
And of courseâit was unbelievably interesting. Thatâs when our journey as ballerinas truly began. Every one of us thought so.
I wonât say it was easy. But I canât help but admitâit was genuinely fascinating.
Speaking of fascinating moments: one of the most fun parts of our training was stage practice. Especially in the first few years, stage practice was pure joy. Because it happened on the stage of the Mariinsky Theater.
The thing is, in many classical ballets, there are roles for very small childrenâlittle ones, who look almost like babies on stage. And thatâs where first- and second-year students came in. We were those âbabies.â
I donât even know why it worked that wayâbut somehow, we really did look much younger than we actually were. Maybe itâs the costumes, maybe itâs the magic of ballet.
And you know what? That illusion of youth continues all through Academy training. Ballet girls and boys⊠somehow always end up looking older later, and younger earlier.
They seem to mature later. Maybe because of the immense workload. Maybe itâs the refined atmosphere inside the Academy. Who knows?
So, on the stage of the Mariinsky Theatre, we probably didnât go out right awayâbut the Academyâs students did, in various performances. There was the Waltz in Sleeping Beauty, the childrenâs dance in Shurale, the elves in A Midsummer Nightâs Dreamâand that one was one of my absolute favorites. I got to perform in it as a child, on the stage of the Mariinsky Theatre.
I even took part in the premiere of that ballet. The directors came from the Balanchine Foundation to stage it. It was a completely new experience for usâwe werenât dancing classical choreography, but something fresh, modern, and unfamiliar. George Balanchineâs choreography was introduced to us for the first time as students, and it had us doing these unusual, fascinating movements on stage.
We got to try on new costumesâsewn just for us. Brand new elven headdresses. This whole elven fairytale world of A Midsummer Nightâs Dream was magical.
By the way, this balletâMidsummer Nightâs Dreamâif it ever comes back to Russian stages, I highly recommend seeing it. Itâs like a gentle fairytale, but also a breathtakingly beautiful visual story set to Mendelssohnâs music. It makes you think about things. It makes you marvel at the beauty of Shakespeare, the brilliance of Mendelssohn, and the elegance of Balanchineâs choreography. If you ever get the chance, do watch it.
There were some standard roles for the youngest children in stage practiceâlike the children kidnapped in the Waltz from Sleeping Beauty, or the children's dance in Shurale. But I didnât get cast in those partsâI was a little taller than what was needed for those roles.
So instead, in my first year, I danced⊠a dwarf.
Yes, a dwarf! It was actually a really funny part because kids were supposed to look cute and endearingâand we wore these enormous masks. Honestly, I donât even know what they were made of. Maybe papier-mĂąchĂ©? The dwarf masks looked amazing from the audienceâadorable and just fun. But inside the mask? Honestly⊠you could barely see anything. At least in mine. I danced that dwarf part several times in a row, in different castsâbut I still donât understand how I managed to dance properly in that mask. It was like moving through a fog. At the Academy, weâd rehearse everything in the studio without the masks, super carefullyâbut as soon as we put them on, and went out on stage, it was chaos. And then, right as we entered as dwarfs, the lightning and thunder effects would start. In the darkness, with those masks on, we couldnât see a thing. We bumped into each other, missed our marksâit was kind of a disaster, but also kind of hilarious.
That ballet is still performed now, by the way, at the Minsk Theatre. Itâs a beautiful production, a fairytale againâthis time about a bird-girl and the arrival of evil spirits. It gets very dark on stage during those scenesâso, naturally, we couldnât see anything then either. And, as little kids, no one really tells you how to handle that kind of thing. Still, it was a fascinating experience. I think it was actually more exciting than some of the standard childrenâs dances.
I danced dwarfs in Shurale. I danced elves in Midsummer Nightâs Dream. And I also participated in the annual Nutcracker production.
The Nutcracker was performed entirely by the Academy. The graduating students danced the lead rolesâMasha and the Prince. Students a bit younger danced the snowflakes, the waltz of the flowers, the parents at the Christmas partyâand the youngest children performed as kids at the tree. Every age had their part. In third grade, I danced the pas de trois. And I also danced the doll. It was always an immersion into another, completely magical world. My warmest first memories of the Mariinsky Theatre come precisely from those days of stage practice.
I recently wrote about how even the apples and cutlets in the Mariinsky Theatre buffet left the brightest and most delightful impressions. Just getting to rehearse and perform there was specialâbut those little details made it unforgettable. Sure, we could dance these same parts in the Academyâs rehearsal halls, and we did, for a long time, over and over. But to actually get to the Mariinsky Theatre⊠to feel it not just with your hands and feet, but with all your sensesâthat was a different kind of magic. The cutlets, the cottage cheese casserolesâI adored them. They even gave us those big liter juice boxes for a while, and it all felt so amazing. It seemed to us that someone cared so much about us there. At the Academy, of course, people cared too. But it didnât feel the same. At the theatre, we felt like royaltyâjust because we were given such delicious food. Afterwards, we would dance, rehearse, and walk around with joyâcompletely absorbed in the enchantment of ballet.
Thatâs probably all I can share with you today, if I try to keep this in the format of a regular conversational videoâ10 to 20 minutes. Otherwise, I could go on for tens of hours. I could honestly talk about this endlessly.
I am infinitely grateful to all the teachers who guided us through that journey, to everyone who surrounded us at the Academy. Iâm grateful to my classmates. To the older students who helped us. To the younger students who stressed because of us.
It was such a beautiful, magical processâand I canât wait to tell you about my time in the senior classes. Thereâs so much to say about that. We started having special disciplines, the stakes got higher, the emotions deeper, and everything became much more difficultâand sometimes even painful.
