#french ballet

[xoxomissfoxy]

[tilbageidanmark]

Her collection of old pointe shoes...

[artthatgivesmefeelings]

Edgar Germain Hilaire Degas (French, 1834-1917) L'école de danse, 1864 Musée d'Orsay, Paris

[ballet-symphonie]

POB Q+A (trying to get caught up)

Speaking about up and coming talent at POB, have you seen anything from Guillaume Diop ? He seems very good, danced Roméo, Solor and Basilio while still in the corps, and now seems to be cast as Siegfried with Dorothée Gilbert. If it's not management preparing a future étoile, I don't know what is.

I have seen him dance, he's got an excellent sense of placement and very good balance. Not surprising to see his promotion and such an elegant, precise dancer like him is very likely to keep going up.

what do you think about the results of the recent concours at POB?

Honestly pretty much agree with the results. Bleuenn Battistoni was a no-brainer after her emergency Giselle and I'm happy for her. As discussed above, Guillame Diop's promotion was also not a surprise.

While I knew a lot of people wanted Ines Mcintosh to be promoted, I understand the administration wanting to wait a bit more to promote her, she's still a touch young to be a principal. She's still clearly 'ahead' of the game, the two very talented women promoted to sujet, Hohyun Kang and Clara Mousseigne are around the same age and just now reaching the same rank as Mcintosh.

Thoughts on Marie Agnes Gillot?

Terrifyingly good, especially in roles like Raymonda, O/O and Myrtha. Her presence on stage was so strong, so intimidating yet I could never look away, even from the videos. I know a lot of people find her cold, but I think that was part of what made her so hypnotizing, apart from her immaculate footwork. And then there's her control, she could hold poses forever and really showed the beauty of lowering her legs elegantly and exaggerating those moments musically.

Hey there, hope you're doing well! Any chance you can rate your favorite POB dancers?

It's coming sometime soon I promise. Just don't have the time for long posts nowadays and it keeps getting put off.

Thoughts on ballerinas being photographed by male photographers like Stephane de Bourgies (who’s been known to photograph a ballerina from POB “independently”? Is there sometimes a “sexual” component/interest to these type of photo shoots lead by male photographers do you think?

I don't know much about this particular photographer, I looked him up and I don't recognize much of his work. I will say that independent photoshoots are quite common, especially in the current IG marketing era. A ballet dancer's body is both their livelihood and their biggest marketing tool...these are very thin lines for exploitation. I'm certainly not going to pass judgment on this case as I don't have nearly enough information. However, while there are great, professional photographers around, I have definitely seen some questionable shots taken and posted by certain photographers and also know of some incidents that have turned inappropriately sexual..

[dance-world]

Alexandre Vecchierelli -  Ballet de Catalunya

[balletroyale]

Ludmila Pagliero and Mathieu Ganio in Onegin (Paris Opera Ballet) 

[cheyennemarie0923]

Ballet Before it Became Ballet

Today's society views ballet as a dance form offered to many but achieved by few with years of specific training to build the skills and technique needed to perform at a high level. Some even view this art to be done mostly by women with men being an afterthought throughout the performances. Long legs are showcased with tutu’s and tights, the slippers fitting the foot of the dancer to perfection in order to show the lines used within the dance. However, ballet wasn’t always filled with grace alongside difficult patterns using specific steps, jumps, and turns. Ballet is offered in almost every town and city in the U.S. for all ages and skills. The dream of being a principal dancer for a ballet company has never been so tangible yet ambitious than right now.  

In the earliest forms of ballet during the 16th and 17th centuries, Louis XII used court ballet to establish his authority as king[1] and to leave a memorable mark after his reign. During this time, ballet was performed by noblemen and women led by the king and queen. The shows started late at night and lasted between 4- and 5-hours showcasing grace and elegance rather than strength and technique. The dancers performed to music as well as spoken word and song versus derived from literary texts most popular at the time. The audience would receive what we know today as a programme, or show pamphlet, to explain the theme and intention of the performance. The main purpose of the ballets was to “glorify the state”[2], or the ruling monarchs of the time. Eventually commoners were able to perform alongside the noblemen and ballet was about ability and not so much about ranking within the hierarchy. The peak of the French court ballet was reached during the reign of Louis XIV.

The high degree of training and skill that is seen in ballet today was not executed until the mid-17th century. In 1661 Louis XIV granted letters to the Academic Royale de Danse to create a patent to improve dance instruction, training, prepare aspiring masters, and sharpen the skills of dancers. The five positions of the body that is taught at the beginning levels of ballet was codified by Beauchamp as well as the basic technical skills we know today. These positions and movements came from social dances during this time period. Most performances were much like the minuet, men and women danced at a polite distance in straight, linear lines, only touching when placing hands gently on top of one another’s for a mere moment while dancing in a circular pattern for 4 counts to break away and continue to dance at a distance. This style was adapted for 120 years until the 18th century when the allemande became popular. This dance had more articular footwork and inspired a dance revolution- the intertwined hands along with the small space between man and woman were this dance’s signature. The allemande could be compared to how Swing dance revolutionized dance in the 20th century.

[1]  Au, Susan, and Jim Rutter. Ballet and Modern Dance. Third edition /ed. Thames & Hudson World of Art. (London: Thames & Hudson, 2012), 15.

[2]  Ibid, 12.

[artificialqueens]

(treat me nice) never let me go [branjie] 11/15 - pinkgrapefruit

[ chapter 11. sing me a song, your voice is like silver ]

“If I forget to tell you this later, I had a really great time tonight,” she tells Brooke, her voice so sincere, so raw, it makes Brooke emotional. She lifts their intertwined fingers to her mouth and presses her lips to the knuckles.

“Shall we, beautiful?” She asks, head tilting towards the door.

“Let’s go!”

[ pretty woman au ]

A/N - i’m really on a roll! i hope you enjoy!

They meet in the lobby again. Brooke waits at the bottom of the stairs in a deep green, satin dress, the cowl neck accentuating what she lacks in cleavage. Her hair is perfectly curled and falling over one shoulder, and her heels only make her tower further into the sky. She has a black, velvet dinner jacket slung over one arm and a box in the other hand. She inhales deeply and then smiles.

Vanessa descends the stairs like she is made for this. She’s dressed in a deep red dress, one that hugs her curves and flairs out only at the bottom. She makes Brooke’s mouth go dry as she watches her hips sway. Fuck.

“Do I look okay?” She asks as she reaches the bottom of the stairs, the train of her dress gathering at her feet. Her caramel curls are pinned into a loose bun, and a few strands of hair frame her face. In the mid-afternoon light she looks ethereal.

“Mhmm,” Brooke hums as she blatantly stares. Vanessa snaps her fingers with a smirk to get Brooke’s eyes to meet hers. “Mhmm,” she repeats but this time she’s grinning. “I think there’s something missing,” She mock muses, waving the box.

“Nothing else is gonna fit in this dress, Mary, I’m telling ya,” Vanessa jokes as she twirls in it, feeling like a fairy princess for the second time in a week. Brooke smiles and raises an eyebrow.

“What about something from this box?” She asks with a cheeky smirk as she slowly lifts the lid. Brooke watches Vanessa’s face move from teasing to excited as her face is lit up by a pattern of light refractions. “I don’t want you to get too excited babe, this is just on loan.” Vanessa’s eyes are like orbs by the time she looks up, full puppy dog in effect as she practically begs Brooke to put it on her.

“They let you borrow this from a store?” Vanessa asks in wonder as Brooke fastens it securely around her neck.

Brooke chuckles as she makes sure it’s sitting correctly, “I’m a very good customer.”

“Yeah, but how much would it cost?”

“A quarter of a million dollars.” Brooke deadpans, standing behind Vanessa, who is examining the necklace in an ornate mirror in the lobby. She bursts out laughing at Vanessa’s shocked expression.

“Sweet baby Jesus,” the girl mumbles under her breath before turning on her heels and pressing a light kiss to Brooke’s cheek. “Okay, where are we going?”

Brooke just winks and tries to grab her hand to pull her out of the lobby, but Vanessa gives her hand enough of a tug to stop them both in place. She smiles in a way that seems more intimate than the excitement they’ve been sharing.

“If I forget to tell you this later, I had a really great time tonight,” she tells Brooke, her voice so sincere, so raw, it makes Brooke emotional. She lifts their intertwined fingers to her mouth and presses her lips to the knuckles.

“Shall we, beautiful?” She asks, head tilting towards the door.

“Let’s go!”

*

They sit too close together in the taxi, Brooke’s bare thigh pressed against the smooth red fabric of Vanessa’s dress, but she can still feel the warmth of her body. She directs the driver minimally, preferring to pour her attention into the way Vanessa can’t meet the intensity of her gaze as her eyes trail the open skin of her neck. Her hair tumbles over the shoulder Brooke cannot see and she’s somewhere torn between grateful and unbearably tempted to lay wreckage to the pristine skin. But where they’re heading - a love bite would not be an appropriate attire.

She straightens her back, leaning forward just a little to whisper into Vanessa’s ear. “Have I told you yet you look beautiful?” She asks in a low timbre that sends shivers down her counterparts spine.

“Not nearly enough,” Vanessa quips, voice quiet and shaky.

Brooke lowers her mouth until her breath is ghosting over Vanessa’s open skin. “You look beautiful,” she exhales, and the way Vanessa grips her thigh indicates she’s achieving exactly the effect she wants.

Before she can continue any further torture, the driver pulls up at the enterance of an ornate theatre. It looks to be built for opera with its rounded design and white columns.

Brooke holds her hand out to help Vanessa out of the cab, and the two of them stand on the street for a second, hands clasped together as Vanessa looks on in awe. She is reminded, in the best way, that Vanessa is not accustomed to this life. The grandeur - the pomp and stance of these events are foreign, and she hopes the shorter brunette will bring a new view to it all - invigorate it.

She lets go of her hand only to offer her her arm instead. “Would you do me the honour?” She asks - the question leading, but Vanessa understands what she’s being asked.

“I would,” she answers with a still awed smile, and they step into the entrance together.

*

Despite knowing Vanessa is out of place - Brooke would not be able to spot it, the woman practically floating through. They spot a little girl in a puffy tulle dress and Vanessa crouches to her height - scrunching her nose at the tiny blonde in an effort to make her laugh. She does laugh, and it’s contagious and beautiful, and then she asks if Vanessa is a princess and the brunette looks like she could cry. Brooke helps her up, handing her the complimentary champagne and laying a soft kiss on her exposed shoulder.

“You make me feel like a princess,” she admits - sipping the champagne with little of the decorum she’d be showing off earlier.

“It’s an honour,” quips Brooke, hand on Vanessa’s lower back to guide her through the archway into the main theatre.

“You never said why we’re here,” Vanessa points out as she’s guided up a narrow flight of emerald carpeted stairs.

“I promise you’ll like it,” responds Brooke, refusing to give the game away, but also astonished Vanessa didn’t pick it up from the mass marketing at play within the theatre. She removes a strand of blonde hair from where it’s caught on her lip gloss and takes a large swig of champagne - free to be as brash as she wants while they’re out of the watchful eye of old theatre goers and the upper echelon of Malibu.

They come out into a box at the top of the theatre with a prime view of the stage and - Brooke’s favourite bit  - the orchestra pit. The seats are red and plush velvet, the kind that bounce back when pushed with a finger, and yet you could sink into them and not move for hours. Vanessa sits, but almost immediately stands back up - her inability to find stillness evident as she struggles to contain her excitement. Brooke thinks it’s like watching a puppy learning to sit, and she finds it immensely endearing as she places a hand on Vanessa’s now trembling knee. She’s grateful for the privacy of the box now - that she can enjoy it with just Vanessa.

“If you’re afraid of heights, why did you get seats up here?” Vanessa asks openly. She looks like she’s trying to dive deep into Brooke’s soul and for a second Brooke wants to let her in.

“Because they’re the best,” she answers simply before amending, “you deserve the best.”

Vanessa hums in understanding, but turns back to examining the fine gold detailing on the railing ahead of them.

“Your glasses are in there.” Brooke points to the pocket embedded in the wall - pulling out a pair of deep red binoculars affixed to a stick. Vanessa makes grabby hands at her, Brooke passing them over willingly and watching as the brunette tries to figure them out.

“They’re broken,” she whines as she holds them backwards. “Everything is small.” She pouts like the girl they saw in the entrance, and Brooke raises an eyebrow at her affectionately.

“They’re backwards,” she chastises lightly. Vanessa’s mouth makes an ‘O’ shape for a second as she starts to re-examine the scenery just as the lights begin to dim.

“Welcome,” Brooke announces softly, “to french ballet.”

Vanessa’s eyes widen in the dark, her mouth curving upwards as she understands the significance before frowning slightly again. “If it’s french, how am I meant to understand it?” She asks, nose scrunched in confusion.

“It’s all about the movement and the music,” Brooke reminds. “It’s powerful.” She’s already absorbed in the opening notes, transported back to her childhood.

“There’s a band,” Vanessa exclaims under her breath - finding the orchestra pit with her binoculars and staring interested at the Cellist. “That’s cool.”

“People’s reactions the first time they see it are always very dramatic.” Brooke states, eyes still mesmerised by the opening movements of the long introduction. “They either love it or they hate it. If they love it - they will always love it. If they don’t, they might learn to appreciate it,” she looks at Vanessa, a different look, new and more open, “but it will never become part of their soul. It is a part of my soul.”

They sit in silence for an hour and a bit, Vanessa leaning forward at times, captivated by the dancers. Brooke moves her feet under the chair - mirroring the movements like she has done them. If Vanessa sees a tear fall, she doesn’t mention it, simply slipping a hand into Brooke’s and renewing her attention on the beauty on stage. It reminds her of the night they spent dancing in the gold-embellished hall- a feeling of longing she did not know was within her. She longs to dance with Brooke again - to evoke the emotions she’s watching the blonde display.

At the act break, Vanessa goes with the rest of the children to purchase an ice cream with Brooke’s money, as the blonde sits in contemplation of what she has become with Vanessa. The brunette returns, handing Brooke change and a tub of artisan vanilla ice cream. “Seemed like your speed,” she quips as she buries a plastic spoon in a pot of chocolate cinnamon swirl, and Brooke laughs because she is right.

They sit through the second act with ease - Brooke spending more time watching Vanessa, because she knows this ballet well, and Vanessa is more interesting than art to begin with (and more beautiful).

They descend the stairs into the crowd like two young women at a debutante ball - Vanessa’s fingers looped around Brooke’s surprisingly firm bicep as she tries not to fall over, tipsy in high heels.

She rests her head on Brooke’s shoulder in the cab home - or back to the hotel - and has to resist the urge to fall asleep as Brooke ghosts her lips over her forehead. She feels secure, safe, satiated. She’s happy.

Brooke all but carries her up the stairs and into the bed - removing the fancy dress with the ease of someone who’s done it before and will undoubtedly do it again - leaving them both in their underwear as she pulls out a vest and a pair of shorts for herself, letting Vanessa potter around in her pants taking off her makeup.

They fall asleep with the aircon whirring, Vanessa’s cheek on the point of Brooke’s shoulder, sheets pulled up to her chin.

“I had a good time tonight,” Brooke whispers into her hair. “Wonderful, really.”