Bolshoi Summer Intensive
So on Saturday night, while my peers were making plans to go out with other twenty-somethings, I was undercover with a bunch of high schoolers, auditioning for the Bolshoi Ballet Academy's summer intensive in New York.
The summer intensive is for ages 15-22, and since I will be 22 this summer, it was my last chance to audition.
The audition itself was rescheduled. Super-mega-apocalyptic-uber storm Jonas hit on Friday the 22 and the audition was to be on Sunday the 24th. In a very Russian move, the Bolshoi sent an email on Friday evening that stated full intention to go trhough with the audition, only cancelling it after the THEARC center itself closed, leaving no venue. It was then postponed to Saturday, which meant I also had to reschedule my Joffrey NYC audition (no problems there, though).
I arrived on the metro (the Green line--my first time on that particular line), probably the only person who wasn't driven by a parent. Sign in was uneventful, but the woman checking us in (who I believe was Maya Butovskaya) asked me, with a smile, how I was.
Terrified, I wanted to say. I can't even do the splits consistently and all of these girls are five years younger than me.
But I didn't say that. I smiled back, said I was fine, and pinned the number 30 to my leotard.
I took a spot on the barre at the side of the room and fumbled my way through the combinations. There were moments of utter confusion, like when everyone else knew the standard Russian curtsy to start barre; there were moments of mortification, when I totally ended up facing the wrong way; and there were moments of pride, when I took pirouette en dedans at the barre and nailed the balance at the end.
Center was equally difficult--there were attitude turns, arabesque turns, and Italian fouettes. The Bolshoi audition was the second time I'd ever done Italian fouettes, the only other time being in a tiny, dark, slippery studio in Monterey from a class taught by the daughter of an Imperial Russian refugee. Thankfully, I retained enough of that one experience to fake my way through them. Pointe was simple and rushed--we only had ten minutes left after center. It was limited to echappes and pirouettes, and (for dessert, said the audition teacher) pique turns.
And then I called an Uber and went home.
The next morning, I was in pointe class and then technique class, and then Bikram yoga like nothing had ever happened, but in my heart, I was singing. I had walked into that audition feeling nothing but thick, dark, fear. I found myself breathing hard and gasping--not my usual labored breathing after physical activity, but the sort of breathing pattern that first appeared when I was applying for colleges, the breathing that I need to do to fill my lungs due to what my doctor essentially told me was a stress-induced asthma. I gulped air throughout that audition, but it soon became clear to me that I was not too badly out of place. My extensions were passable, my balance excellent, and I retained the combinations better than some of the other girls. I smiled at people and they smiled back, and we all laughed when told to relax, and then we did, in fact, relax.
I had such a good time with that audition, and while I know that I'll be panicking and breathing weird for the last two auditions this year, I also know that I will, in fact, be okay.
The summer intensive is for ages 15-22, and since I will be 22 this summer, it was my last chance to audition.
The audition itself was rescheduled. Super-mega-apocalyptic-uber storm Jonas hit on Friday the 22 and the audition was to be on Sunday the 24th. In a very Russian move, the Bolshoi sent an email on Friday evening that stated full intention to go trhough with the audition, only cancelling it after the THEARC center itself closed, leaving no venue. It was then postponed to Saturday, which meant I also had to reschedule my Joffrey NYC audition (no problems there, though).
I arrived on the metro (the Green line--my first time on that particular line), probably the only person who wasn't driven by a parent. Sign in was uneventful, but the woman checking us in (who I believe was Maya Butovskaya) asked me, with a smile, how I was.
Terrified, I wanted to say. I can't even do the splits consistently and all of these girls are five years younger than me.
But I didn't say that. I smiled back, said I was fine, and pinned the number 30 to my leotard.
I took a spot on the barre at the side of the room and fumbled my way through the combinations. There were moments of utter confusion, like when everyone else knew the standard Russian curtsy to start barre; there were moments of mortification, when I totally ended up facing the wrong way; and there were moments of pride, when I took pirouette en dedans at the barre and nailed the balance at the end.
Center was equally difficult--there were attitude turns, arabesque turns, and Italian fouettes. The Bolshoi audition was the second time I'd ever done Italian fouettes, the only other time being in a tiny, dark, slippery studio in Monterey from a class taught by the daughter of an Imperial Russian refugee. Thankfully, I retained enough of that one experience to fake my way through them. Pointe was simple and rushed--we only had ten minutes left after center. It was limited to echappes and pirouettes, and (for dessert, said the audition teacher) pique turns.
And then I called an Uber and went home.
The next morning, I was in pointe class and then technique class, and then Bikram yoga like nothing had ever happened, but in my heart, I was singing. I had walked into that audition feeling nothing but thick, dark, fear. I found myself breathing hard and gasping--not my usual labored breathing after physical activity, but the sort of breathing pattern that first appeared when I was applying for colleges, the breathing that I need to do to fill my lungs due to what my doctor essentially told me was a stress-induced asthma. I gulped air throughout that audition, but it soon became clear to me that I was not too badly out of place. My extensions were passable, my balance excellent, and I retained the combinations better than some of the other girls. I smiled at people and they smiled back, and we all laughed when told to relax, and then we did, in fact, relax.
I had such a good time with that audition, and while I know that I'll be panicking and breathing weird for the last two auditions this year, I also know that I will, in fact, be okay.
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