Rescatada por Mr. B

Hablar de Balanchine en público me ha demostrado que I will survive, a lo Gloria Gaynor. Es llegar Mr. B from the outer space y de pronto todos los demás se ponen en su sitio; por favor, colóquense cada uno en su casilla y sin colarse, que estoy mirando. ¿Puede un port de bras bien hecho ayudarte a mantener la cabeza up high? Pues sí, porque de pronto recuerdas que no somos todos iguales. Ojalá, pero no. Los hay muy grandes. Y los demás somos muy pequeños. Ah, lo lamento.

¿Por qué hablando de Balanchine aprendo tanto? Pues no sé, pero me ha bastado volver a ver a las 17 mujeres ordenadas como naranjas de California en Serenade para sentirme felizmente avasallada y hasta bendecida. Afortunada de tener a ratos Agon y Concerto Barocco en mis manos y en mi bolso, y sonreír para mis adentros cuando descubro tantos detalles extraordinarios cada día.

Lo malo de todo esto es que a partir de ahí, el resto de las cosas -es decir, las chorradas- empiezan a importarte un pimiento; así, abiertamente. Pero es estupendo descubrir, como en la canción, que as long as I know how to do a battement tendu à la Balanchine, I know I’ll stay alive. Era algo así, ¿no?

Speaking about Balanchine in public proved to me that I will survive, as if I were Gloria Gaynor. Mr. B is back from the outer space and suddenly everybody else move back to their places; please, go each one of you to your own box and do not sneak in, because I’m watching. Can a beautiful port de bras help you to keep your head up high? Sure, because you suddenly remember that we all are not equal. I wish we were, but we’re not. Some people are just great. And most of us are very small. Oh, I’m so sorry.

Why do I learn so much when I talk about Balanchine? I don’t know, but when I saw today those 17 women placed as Californian oranges in Serenade, I just felt overwhelmed and even happily blessed; fortunate to have Agon and Concerto Barocco in my hands and in my bag from time to time, and smiling to myself as I can still find so many extraordinary details every day.

The trouble is -let’s be honest- that once you are there, you can’t care less about the other things (I mean, all those nonsense). But it’s great to find out, like in the song, that as long as I know how to do a battement tendu (Balanchine way), I know I’ll stay alive. It was something like that, wasn’t it?

* Photo George Balanchine © Tanaquil LeClercq.

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