A Love Letter to Dance

I miss ballet.

It was everything to me when I used to take classes at a local dance studio, starting from when I was three. I constantly twirled around on my tippy-toes and refused to take off my [white Minnie Mouse] tights and matching tutu, and imagined performing in The Nutcracker, Swan Lake, and its equivalents. As soon as I turned nine/ten, my ballet instructor recommended me for beginner pointe—something I’ve only dreamed of, and always thought of being a day so far away. I begged my mom, but she refused: I wasn’t going to become a professional dancer, so why ruin my feet and knees? She had a point; I still quit out of spite. (I was ten, you guys.)

That’s when I stopped dancing altogether. It would have been the end (and I say this in the least melodramatic way possible), had it not been for a friend who dragged me to try out for my high school’s dance team. Day one of auditions was nervewracking; what were fautees? Illusions? Pitch kicks? I almost got cold feet for Day two of the judged tryouts. Almost. But I hauled my nervous little arse (or my not-so-little derrière) for judgement day.

(The results aren’t exactly relevant, but if you’re curious, I made the JV team, then varsity as a sophomore—and it has since taken over my life during the course of high school. But I suppose if I never auditioned dance may have been nonexistent in my life! The horror…)

My love for dance was re-instilled over those four years—this year, especially. I’m finally taking dance classes again—open hip-hop and break classes—with such amazing people. Dancing makes me happy, no matter what mood I was in previously. It makes me feel alive, and connected with not just myself, but with those around me. It’s a passion, an obsession. A hobby, a way of life. Observing the way a dancer carries himself/herself is beautiful—the confidence, the poise, and the understanding of his/her own body and how it moves. The lines the ballerina or contemporary dancer is breathtaking, as captured in the shots above. The emphasis of beats by the hip hop dancer is, as cheesy as it is to say, in your blood. Boom. Boom. Cack. You begin to think in sounds and rhythm, feeling music into its very depth. The dancer expresses the music’s emotions, and his/her individual feelings. It’s complicated, yet so simple a concept. It is the language of the body, metaphorically speaking in words deeper than the written and spoken, and possesses the ability to feel.

I’ve always had a soft spot for editorials/photography that incorporates fashion and dance, where the clothing only accentuates the dancers’ body, and vice versa. And these images—they’re magical.

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{images via}