Whatever style of dance we like, whatever appeals to us in the art, whatever virtue we deem most important in a dancer, there's that one single quality which to us epitomizes the work and the talent of the dancer: grace. We think of grace as the defining attribute of the good dancer, that which distinguishes them from their peers, that which makes them who they are as a dancer. Ballet, after centuries of its evolution, has taken on many forms and has developed along lines very different depending on the schools over the world which have cultivated its excellence. And therefore for instance the French are the traditionalists, whose pure and classic technique demands perfection as the rule, while Russian Vaganova style emphasizes high extensions and a dazzling, bravura style on stage. Italian Cecchetti also has its determining attributes, and so does the English Royal Ballet or the Danish Bournonville method. But when we look at one specific dancer of the early 20th century, the defining quality of grace that comes to mind, is almost epitomized. And that dancer, whose name has become synonymous with the art form, is: Anna Pavlova. In belated tribute to her 143rd birthday, the 12th of this month, we're going to explore a little more of what made her truly exceptional, first in her artistic development, and then in the image she has maintained for posterity.
Anna Pavlova was born in Russia at a time when the Imperial Russian Ballet founded by a Frenchman, Jean-Baptiste Landé, held artistic sway over the Russian scene. The main choreographer who worked there later in the 19th century and produced his ballets with the company was Marius Petipa; his works have become synonymous with the Golden Age of Classical Ballet, and have given us the most well-known and beloved pieces of the repertoire such as Swan Lake, Sleeping Beauty, La Bayadère, and many others. The Imperial Ballet was the predecessor of today's famous Vaganova Academy of Russian Ballet. Pavlova was swept into that world as early as 1890 as a nine years old sickly child, when her mother made her audition for entrance in the Imperial Ballet School. She was rejected at first, but accepted a year later.
Anna Pavlova, (kneeling on the left, holding the cage) as a student at the Imperial Ballet School in Marius Petipa's Un Conte de Fées, 1891.
The Imperial Ballet School was the official school of the Imperial Russian Ballet, and it had a strict standard of how a ballerina should look and move; young Pavlova painfully strayed from that standard. Much like an earlier phenomenon, Marie Taglioni, she had long limbs, thin ankles, and severely arched feet, for which she was taunted by her fellow students. However it seemed there was unlikely energy slumbering in that frail child, for already at that age she set for herself the moral bases which would be her support throughout her sadly short life. She was undeterred by the taunts and the disheartening factors that surrounded her training: she took extra hours of training with great instructors of the day, including Pavel Gerdt and the great Enrico Cecchetti, founder of the eponymous Italian method; and her determination paid off when she was cast into many roles within the Imperial Ballet productions in her final year with the school. She graduated at the age of 18, and made her début as a coryphée in Pavel Gerdt's Les Dryades prétendues.
French-Russian choreographer Marius Petipa (1818-1910) whose name has become synonymous with the most famous & beloved ballets of the classical repertoire.
Marius Petipa still held sway when Pavlova became part of the St Petersburg company, and the rule was a strict academicism against which clashed the new dancer's poor technique & frail physical presence - these somewhat reminding the public of the earlier style of Romantic ballet exemplified in La Sylphide, Giselle, and other early 19th century works. For some reason however, her style elicited praise from renowned critics and the general fascination of audiences, to whom her ethereal stage presence was an epitome of what a ballerina truly should be. This did not cut short her ever-present difficulties, however: her weak ankles were a constant cause of misfortunes to her, including when they gave way and sent her falling in the prompter's box. And it was her teacher Pavel Gerdt, who during a lesson when she was attempting to imitate Pierina Legnani's famous fouettés, gave her the counsel which would remain with her for the remaining length of her career, and make her into the unique artist she became: he told her to give up imitating others, because her own body and stamina would only make her a poor version of those she wanted to emulate. Instead, she was to use her own specific qualities of delicateness and grace, to become a unique performer. It was after that incident that, becoming a favourite of the aging Petipa, she effected a meteoric rise through the ranks in the company, learning the title role in Paquita from Petipa himself, and performing in numerous roles including Giselle and the Pharaoh's Daughter.
The Imperial Ballet School, predecessor of the Vaganova Academy of Ballet, in St Petersburg, around Pavlova's time.
Anna Pavlova even worked briefly for Sergei Diaghilev of the Ballets Russes, refusing a role in The Firebird - consequently offered to her rival Tamara Karsavina - to interest herself only in the classic styles of early 19th century ballets which she alone loved. And then she founded her own company, touring the world for 20 years until her death, through England, China, Europe and even the United States where she was introduced by Max Rabinoff. Interestingly enough, the ballerinas in her company were mostly English girls with Russianized names. That was the time when she made her own adaptation of The Sleeping Beauty, and acquired the most glowing reputation: there are at least five memorials to Pavlova in London alone.
So what was it about her that made audiences so fascinated by her, when she had none of the technical demands made of a ballerina at the time? Today, when we see footage of her we realize the lack of technique in her movements, which would probably have turned her away from any self-respecting company of academic level; and yet, her performances have an undefinable charm, an almost magical quality, which is hard to explain in the light of our athletic view of dance. Indeed lay audiences have been awakened by social media and the like to the extreme demands of ballet upon the body of the dancer, in stamina, flexibility, and strength; thus that we no longer regard the ballerina as a graceful, idle being floating on stage, but as a full-blown athlete, developed through cross-training and possessor of extraordinary vitality. And yet, there is something in the particular quality of these performances of Anna Pavlova's we can see in short, low-definition footages, that thrills us beyond measure as though the lack of technique was supplemented by some unknown other talent which, unfortunately, is absent in most of the performances today. The drama is expressed differently; there is a spirituality about the movements, their expressivity, the ethereal quality of the dancer's presence, which all contrive to give superior emotional & artistic power to the performance. It is something which has been lost with the extreme and absolute focus on technical prowess; the fixedness of the dancer's facial expressions; the lack of true dramatic sentiment originating in the viewing of dance as a sport, and no longer as an art of bodily expression.
From top to bottom, Pavlova in a few of her roles: Giselle, the Dragonfly, unknown.
That ethereal quality, that grace we see in old performances, and which I've attempted to define here, Anna Pavlova epitomized it with unparalleled purity. The solos that have been recorded of her, La Nuit, The Dying Swan, The Dragonfly, others which - great news!!! - you can all find on youtube, all highlight this special quality of her dance and have a good enough definition for you to be able to witness the unique charm of her performances: I'm sure you'll see what I'm talking about when you see them. And even though we've now evolved, in our study & practice of ballet & dancing in general, to other spheres of perfection, and commitment to excellence, it is to be foreseen that we'll never cease to draw inspiration from these immortal phases of the past, which have brought posterity an eternal source of wonder, so often an object of emulation. There is a reason, indeed, why things are so; and in time we might learn, that we still have many things to be taught from the past, among which, what makes Art truly Art. And if we combine this with the amazing technique acquired in dance over the past five decades or so, one can only imagine what the glorious results will be.
A tender image of Pavlova with her pet swan.
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