I didn’t know

If I were to frame the shot, I’d bring the camera in through a window streaked with rain or steam or fog. Or better yet through an open door with the focus soft, the Watcher’s gaze landing on the figures beyond: people stretching on their own at the barre, on the floor, or using the seat of a chair. Quads, hamstrings, piriformis, calves, ankles, lats… In the background, the music plays softly—Chopin, perhaps Nocturne Op. 9 No. 1 in B-flat minor.

It is in every way an ordinary ballet class, students stretching on their own between Barre and Center, except for one thing. As the focus clears, the Watcher can see that these women aren’t young. They’re older: 50s, 60s, even 70s, with different levels of flexibility, proficiency, and experience.

I didn’t know how deeply I’d be impacted when I chose to return to classical ballet after 20 years away from the studio, dabbling in Ballroom, Latin, Tango, Zumba and other forms of athletic dance, none of which tax the material of the body like ballet. Although its foundation supports any other style.

On my first day back, I rediscovered a soul I hadn’t touched for years. That and the company of others, different in so many ways, and united in one love.