The lights dimmed and as I blinked to focus, a hand reached through the darkness and nudged me forward. My stomach dropped and my mind went blank. Then the fluorescents blazed, the music began, and my feet started to move as if I was in a trance. I was not a small, goofy six-year-old but an elegant ballerina. My arms hit every pose, my feet precisely placed in every combination, and my little face full of glee. Then, without notice, the music began to fade and I felt myself settling like a superhero returning to the modesty of his disguise. Once again I was engulfed in blackness and the mysterious hands nudged me back to the tangled wings of the stage. As I stood off stage, I looked down at my perfectly polished, saddle-colored tap shoes, and …show more content…
My sister Alex’s costume was a great swirling mass of ruby and ivory, checkered to resemble the familiar pattern of a picnic table cloth. My costume was a childish combination of a milky color and onyx. The costume consisted of small black felt ears, fashioned to fit the theme of livestock, that itched my little head to no end. The randomly placed charcoal spots completed my transformation into a small cow. The recital was planned for the evening of Father’s Day. That morning ignoring my protest, my mama, sister, and I all headed to church. My miniature body wiggled and stretched, just trying to pass the everlasting minutes of church that seemed to drag on with my anticipation. My mind was completely spaced from the loud shouting and the soulful singing that usually identified church. When church was over, I rushed to my mom’s baby blue Honda and shuffled my feet waiting for her to end her ritual conversation with my …show more content…
It appeared that a tornado of glitter had whirled through Little Rock. Clothes were tossed off, tights ripped in their hurry to get them on, and kids were stuffed into their costumes after their unplanned summertime growth spurts. I entered with caution and searched for a seat to escape from the crowd. I finally managed to wiggle my way to an empty spot and my mama, mimicking the actions of the other parents, began to dress me in a similar haze. After dressing me and adding the finishing touches to my sister and my makeup, she returned to her seat to leave me drowning in my
From the time when Anna was a child, she had an active imagination and love of fantasy. She believed these aspects of her personality are what drew her to the world of ballet. Although her family was poor, her mother was able to afford a trip to the Mariinsky Theatre to see the ballet production of the Sleeping Beauty. After seeing this performance, Anna was so amazed and inspired that she decided she wanted to become a ballet dancer herself. Anna’s mother supported her every step of the way and did what she could to make her daughter’s
The author of this article focuses on the art of dancing, specifically ballet. This ballet shares many plot elements with other
“Get up!!!” The whistle of the bullets flying past my head was like nothing I have ever heard ending anything and everything in it’s path. The roaring sound of bombers Echoing down roads and through homes Like a song of the devil himself. My life flashed in my eyes. And now to think it was over was nerve racking. Fire’s blazed in homes like a flower blooming in mid spring… The year Is 1944. Me and my men are going to a place where happiness Was imprisoned and not to be let free for it would be executed at once.A place Where the sky was black as coal.a place I’d never call home.The ekos of family's cries over gone loved ones for to them there end was also there beginning. The smell of gunpowder, mud ,and maggots in my food was not what
As I sat there, I watched the mariachis get ready to play. They stood at the stage tall and proud with their heads held high. The suits that they wore glistened, shinny and colorful, with the spotlights shinning straight at them. About a minute later they held up their instruments and began to play. As they played, I couldn't believe my ears.
Once we arrived at the school, butterflies fluttered in my stomach. I paced back and forth, while waiting for our time to shine. My time's up, and I trembled up the stairs to the stage. As I walked out, I felt my heart pounding through my chest. My mind raced back and forth from I can to I can’t. While my head still spun, the sound of claps roared through. Anxiety blurred my vision to an illusion of a thousand people with lights shining through. Oddly, it appeared as a nightmare instead of a dream come true. My eyes watered up, and I ran off the stage with my hands trembling. I backstage, and my brother bowing before the crowd showed a new perspective of our bond. We looked up to each other so much as musicians. We never actually made one thing, we always remained as two different things that connected through envy of one another. My brother and I led each other along to the light at the end of every tunnel, still from that moment on everything
Ugh, why must it be one’s fate to wake up this early in the morning, my head is banging like a drum up there, I’m starving, I don’t want to go to school, I want to stay at home and do nothing. Sister stop with your complaining, you complain every time you wake to go to school, you don’t see me complaining every day, said a girl with long fuzzy black hair and chubby cheeks. Maybe for you, since you barely do anything and you don’t receive a huge piles of homework like I do.
I packed my things into a small U-Haul. We were leaving the town I had always known, Houston, to go someplace I barely knew, a small town named Navasota. We moved when I was four because my parents wanted us to experience a small town like they had grown up in. Would I find new friends? Would the people there like me?
“Your turn to roll the dice,” I said. We were sitting in the living room playing a board game. I had just gotten home from the factory. That was where I used to work. My wife was cooking dinner while I was playing a game with my two kids.
I had been consistently avoiding anything and anyone that might jeopardize my decision. My usual passion and enthusiastic spark were gone, replaced by a deep longing to understand why, exactly, I had ever fallen in love with this painstaking art, committing my life to its perfection. The variation would take what was left of me, a discouraged and weary ballerina, and slowly reveal the silver lining to the complicated mess of my emotions.
I don't know where you're going, but I know I’m the one you want to forget. I may say that I don't care what you think, but I'm two quarters and a heart down, and I don't want to forget how your voice sounds. I want these words to make things right, but it's the wrongs that make the words come to life. So thanks for the memories even though they weren't so great. Come on, make it easy.
The second half of the recital did not go as fully planned. What started off as a small number of minor mistakes quickly elevated into a full-blown mess of dynamics, speeds, and wrong notes. I ended the last song with tears in my eyes, striking the note with what little pride I had left. The spark of long applause was not enough to cheer me up, and I sank into the hugs of my mother, father, and piano teacher. Always a perfectionist, I was upset and miserable at not having played the songs with complete smoothness, as I had rehearsed and practiced on my own countless times.
The night of the dance finally arrived, after a whole week of sitting in class a day, daydreaming about the dance. I awaited my entrance cue; every moment feeling longer than the one before. While I stood there, I caught a voice whispering. I figured that one of the
It was a sunny Thursday in April and we had just gotten back from spring break. I was tan, well-rested and I still had in my cornrows that I had gotten done in Aruba. After getting my pizza, my mom told me we were going to the mall as soon as I finished. Slightly confused, I ate my pizza and got in the car. Once at the mall, we looked around the dress section of Lord and Taylor. I picked a fun, ruffled yellow dress. I went to try it on, but it sadly did not fit. While we were walking to put back the dress, a familiar voice shouted, “Surprise!”
We walked into the school grabbing our cases from the truck and the buses. I walked into the building with the rest of the band. Moments have passed before it was our time to go on stage. My heart was pounding and it felt like my legs would give out any second. We went out in front of the audience, standing in front of our seats waiting for our cue to sit down. A few moments later we started our first song. It went as great as could have. Now it was time for “The Witch and the Saint”. It was time to play the piece that I’ve been waiting on since we received it. It’s time. All of our hard work was about to pay off. This was our time to shine. It was our time to show everyone that we aren’t just an opening act to symphonic band. Our band was
Just like painters use different kinds of strokes or poets different rhythms, choreographers use various types of movements to embody different emotions, feelings, ideas or images. “The ballet’s function is ‘symbolic’; each step is ‘a metaphor’, (...) Only our poetic instinct can decipher [a ballerina’s] ‘writing of the body’. Her dance is a ‘poem freed of all the apparatus of writing’.” Due to the fact that the Wilis were spirits, the ballerinas wanted to give the impression of floating. Thus, the romantic fragile, ethereal, supernatural, ghost-like figure was exceptionally achieved through pointe work which introduced a whole new arena of movement that enhanced the qualities of grace and lightness so desired by the choreographers. Now one of the basic elements of ballet, dancing on pointe embodied the romantic ballerina’s pursuit for the ethereal as a romantic ideal of feminine perfection. One of the choreographers, Perro...