Night

Tonight, K called his style of teaching a "dying breed". It is an old style of teaching that treats ballet as the conceptual art that it is. Its poses and moves are motivated by abstract concepts, ideal shapes and consideration of perspective from audiences real or imagined.

As a dancer in training, one could go through the entire training process successfully without knowing or giving a damn about these more elevated aspects of ballet. Technically, one need not know that the aim of the arabesque is to give the illusion of an "inverted firmament"-- a curved line extending infinitely into space-- in order to achieve the pose. The imagery is admittedly "lofty", but then again, I've always been attracted by lofty ideas. What could be more lofty than the studies of relativity and mathematics? But in ballet as in math, one can learn to perform the functions and operations without understanding their deeper significances, and that is perfectly fine.

In terms of mathematics, this doing without knowing would be like being told that sqrt (2) is irrational and learning even to perform operations on irrational numbers without ever having seen the proof that sqrt (2) is irrational. Is it necessary to see the proof? Not in the least. But does seeing or better yet deriving the proof bring one's understanding and appreciation of mathematics to a whole new level? Indubitably. The lack of understanding of the motivations behind moves seems to be the case in most ballet studios: one learns to execute the moves without knowing why. It becomes a "gymnastic feat" rather than art.

Tonight, I was reminded of why I was here in Philadelphia. It is within the walls of the studio on 19th in Chestnut that the art of ballet is endowed with a special spirit and rigor that is hard to find elsewhere in the country and most of the world. And moreover, my instructor seems to believe in the goodness of human beings despite having seen the detritus-- the most banal examples of our race. In fact, it is one of the most interesting and inexplicable aspects of K's personality, that he is drawn to and seems to interact most comfortably with the kinds of characters that the rest of society shuns due to their obvious deficiencies in morals, mental soundness, or other typically valued human traits. I can only theorize that he does so because he himself understands what it is like to be shunned especially having come from the viciously competitive and egocentric world of ballet.

And yet, despite everything-- despite having decided he hated ballet because of its musty museum piece-like quality, and despite having experienced the worst human behavior in the very world he represents, he continues to teach ballet precisely because in his opinion, it takes the best parts of being human and displays them in unconscionably beautiful forms, whether static or dynamic. Now that I think about it, I feel extremely lucky that as a mere student of ballet not aiming to make it a profession, I will only ever expose myself to the good and beautiful side of ballet and not the dirty side. Unfortunately we cannot be so blissfully naive about our actual professions.

Tonight after ballet class, as I walked through the city streets in the dimness of night and balmy summer air, dwarfed by massive skyscrapers reaching to the heavens, I came to the realization that I've been wrong in thinking I needed to find a purpose to support my ballet habit which brings me so much happiness. My happiness is my purpose, and I don't need anything more. Even photography is superfluous.

While walking through the dim, muted streets of Center City surrounded by towering skyscrapers, I recalled a few nights ago how I had gone for a close-to-midnight walk with my camera and wandered into the most unearthly scene of children and lovers, friends, mothers and grandmothers playing in an enormous fountain shooting out magnificent jets of illuminated water like liquid moonlight. On the other hand, homeless folk lay on the benches and grass covered in thin white sheets like the dead.

The two children, years later, will remember nothing but a great big fountain, jets of water spraying in their faces, marble statues bigger than life, and pearl-colored water arcing into the limitless navy sky like white rainbows. For them, nothing will exist outside of this fountain at least in their memories. The grown-ups on the other hand will very well remember that an entire city lay outside of this fountain-- the Moore building, the Franklin Institute, City Hall in the distance, the homeless closer by. The next night, I awoke at three in the morning with the word "kinderspiel (child's play)" bouncing around in my head, and obeyed a sudden urge to take night shots from my rooftop.

Tonight after ballet class, about a block from the El on the way to a tango practica in Fishtown, I would see an owl on a rooftop, hoot at it to see if it was really an owl, and then continue on wondering if it was good luck or bad luck to spot an owl in the night. When night falls, everything becomes a little bit more mysterious and magical.