Hallberg - A body of work: dancing to the edge and back

Thank you for downloading this Simon & Schuster ebook.

Get a FREE ebook when you join our mailing list. Plus, get updates on new releases, deals, recommended reads, and more from Simon & Schuster. Click below to sign up and see terms and conditions.

CLICK HERE TO SIGN UP

Already a subscriber? Provide your email again so we can register this ebook and send you more of what you like to read. You will continue to receive exclusive offers in your inbox.

We hope you enjoyed reading this Simon & Schuster ebook.

Get a FREE ebook when you join our mailing list. Plus, get updates on new releases, deals, recommended reads, and more from Simon & Schuster. Click below to sign up and see terms and conditions.

CLICK HERE TO SIGN UP

Already a subscriber? Provide your email again so we can register this ebook and send you more of what you like to read. You will continue to receive exclusive offers in your inbox.

Touchstone

An Imprint of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

1230 Avenue of the Americas

New York, NY 10020

www.SimonandSchuster.com

Copyright 2017 by David Hallberg

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information, address Touchstone Subsidiary Rights Department, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020.

The dancers and stage managers appear through the courtesy of The American Guild of Musical Artists, AFL-CIO.

Certain names and characteristics have been changed.

First Touchstone hardcover edition November 2017

TOUCHSTONE and colophon are registered trademarks of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

For information about special discounts for bulk purchases, please contact Simon & Schuster Special Sales at 1-866-506-1949 or .

The Simon & Schuster Speakers Bureau can bring authors to your live event. For more information or to book an event, contact the Simon & Schuster Speakers Bureau at 1-866-248-3049 or visit our website at www.simonspeakers.com.

Interior design by Kyle Kabel

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Names: Hallberg, David, author.

Title: A body of work : dancing to the edge and back / David Hallberg.

Description: New York : Touchstone, 2017.

Identifiers: LCCN 2017031000 (print) | LCCN 2017042462 (ebook) | ISBN 9781476771175 | ISBN 9781476771151 (hardback) | ISBN 9781476771168 (trade paperback)

Subjects: LCSH: Hallberg, David. | Ballet dancersUnited StatesBiography.| BISAC: BIOGRAPHY & AUTOBIOGRAPHY / Entertainment & Performing Arts. | BIOGRAPHY & AUTOBIOGRAPHY / Personal Memoirs. | PERFORMING ARTS / Dance / Classical & Ballet.

Classification: LCC GV1785.H258 (ebook) | LCC GV1785.H258 A3 2017 (print) | DDC 792.8092 [B] dc23

LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2017031000

ISBN 978-1-4767-7115-1

ISBN 978-1-4767-7117-5 (ebook)

For Mom and Dad, who never doubted and always nurtured my passion.

For Mr. Han, whose tireless commitment shaped that passion.

I remember what it feels like to dance. To move so freely that my body releases and creative intuition takes over, leading me beyond the worry of executing technique to a realm where nothing exists but the movement, the music, the emotions. I miss those memories of freedom, but they are embedded in my mind and body. I can replay them whenever I wish.

I think of the ballroom scene in Romeo and Juliet. She is seated, plucking a lute, while I dance for her, spinning, boldly flirting, an unapologetic intruder at the ball, unable to contain my magnetic attraction to this enchanting stranger as destiny binds us. Finally, the other guests leave the ballroom and we are alone, face-to-face, longing, gazing. We dance, playfully and innocently for the moment, but with an undercurrent that will soon reveal itself as tempestuous passion.

When the scene is over, I dash offstage. I pant in the wings, out of breath. I slip out of the heavy, sweat-drenched velvet tunic Ive danced in for the past forty-five minutes and wipe my face on a towel to remove what is left of my stage makeup. I put on a flowing white shirt, which clings to my still-damp body. My dresser drapes a floor-length brown cape over my shoulders. My lungs burn; I desperately fill them with air in preparation for bounding onstage again.

All around me, the anticipation is palpable. I feel it backstage: from the dancers watching in the wings, from the stage manager cueing the lights in a hushed tone, from the musicians in the orchestra pit caressing their instruments as they play the hypnotic Prokofiev score.

The scene changes. Juliets balcony appears in the distance. The audience waits in the piercing silence. The stillness, the soundless stage shrouded in dim lights, creates an atmosphere that is alien, unique, almost unearthly.

I stand there, awaiting my entrance, eyes closed, seeking to break free from nerves.

When the first notes of the pas de deux begin, I open my eyes. My Juliet is there, on her balcony, bathed in moonlight. The sight of her gives me strength, arouses me emotionally and physically. Erases all doubt and fear. I move toward her, beckon to her, enfold her, as we speak with our bodies in ways far more profound than mere words. It is love, I am convinced. Both real and staged. The lines are blurred. There are no boundaries. We dance as one person, one thought, nothing held back. No gesture ruled out, as long as it is truthful.

Moments like this are worth it all. The doubt. The sacrifice. The injuries. The scrutiny. The burden of expectation. Those moments of living so intensely and fully on the stage are why I danced. Now, each day, I face one towering question: will I ever experience that euphoria again?

* * *

AT THIS POINT , the lengthy time Ive been injured seems like a purgatorial dream from which I cannot wake. My life as a dancer seems distant, like another lifetime. Moscow. The stages I danced on. The partners I loved. The prime shape I was in. Circling the world once, twice, three times each year. I cant let myself remember too much; when I do, it invokes despair and a knife-sharp pain of loss. It forces me to face what still seems unthinkable: that I no longer have the ability to be the dancer I was, the person I am meant to be. To answer my calling.

Dancers say, Our bodies are our instruments. We know we must take care of them. Not abuse them and wrongly assume they will always be at the ready.

But when you are healthy, you have no way to imagine how it would feel to be stripped of your art, your means of expression.

Im locked in a desperate fight. A fight with my body, which does not work for me anymore. And the longer I go on fighting, setback after setback, month after month, I lose, in a very slow but inexorable way, the ability to envision myself back on the stage.

Its been more than two years since my life became divided into two distinct parts: before the injury, and after. Before, I was dancing at full force, in one grand opera house after another. But I began to sense something was wrong. It was a gradual, encroaching sensation, barely noticed at first. In any case, I had a lot at stake and couldnt be bothered. I danced in pain because I had to.

MRIs, X-rays, CAT scans later it was determined that my injured foot needed to be surgically reconstructed. Wear and tear. A bone embedded in my deltoid, slowly fraying the ligament. No massage therapy, no acupuncture, no other known treatment could help. An operation would be a radical move; making the decision to do it left me anxious. But soon after that, I felt calm. Or was it simply resignation? Or immobilizing fear? In any case, I was desperate to be well, to fix the problem that had plagued me. Nearly two years after that initial operation, and the rehabilitation process that followed, I still had not returned to dancing and had a new and different cause for anxiety: the fact that everyone knew how wrong everything had gone.