Premier Magazine - London

London, August 16th, 2010

Just a few more days until the premier, then it will all be over.

Some other task will await me.  

I will miss being Tchaikovsky’s muse, dancing to his music, dancing his soul, his death.

Today I woke up again at the crack of dawn, around half-past four, before the alarm sounded. Same routine for the past three months. Practice, practice, practice. I stretch under my warm quilt and feel my body, weary and worn out, sink like lead into the bed. It pleads with me to let it rest another half-hour. We negotiate and agree on ten minutes. I dance the piece in my head and remind myself of the things the choreographer mentioned the day before.

The other dancer who is dancing Tchaikovsky never actually touches me during the performance, but the invisible thread that binds us should always be visible. Inspiration, fate, love! Love of art, where he was truly able to be free in his sentiments. Life is full of trials and tribulations. None of us escapes. But it is our decision how we extricate ourselves from them. The freedom of decision and the freedom of action are our responsibility.

One of my favorite parts of the choreography is when I am dying in the role of the composer’s soul, for everything that he went through is condensed in that moment. His answer to the dramas of his life was death.

What a great mystery life is! Everyone around me is seeking happiness, as am I. But if everything must someday come to an end, how can we hold fast to our happiness?

I am rehearsing in the Royal Opera House with choreographer Viviana Durante. After some three or four hours of practicing the door opens and a beautiful Chinese woman with graceful features steps in, the widow of the Oscar Prize winning director Anthony Minghella, Carolyn. We dance the piece for her. She loves it!

There is no skin on my toes, the shoes have worn them till they bleed. My knees are covered with blue and green spots, which is hardly a problem in England in the summertime, since in the brisk weather one has to wear pants anyway. And nevertheless, how good all these torments feel, to know you are creating something that touches people’s souls in the midst of this increasingly worthless “reality show.”

The world-renowned Bolshoi Ballet is practicing in the neighboring room. They are lovely and slender. I watch them a bit, hoping perhaps to catch some secret of the trade.

I walk home in a state of pleasant weariness across Hyde Park while enjoying the feel of the sunshine caressing my face and the cool breeze playing flirtatiously with my hair. I can hardly wait to see Tamás’ face when I give him the three slices of cake I have brought, for he, at least, is allowed to eat his fill! He is not doing a premier at the Edinburgh festival!

Perhaps the moments of eternal contentment in life are when we give and love unselfishly, for this comes from the heart, and the treasures of the heart can never be taken away.