Autumn in the World of Balanchine
The New York City Ballet closed its “Balanchine + Ratmansky” program for the Fall 2024 season on Oct. 10. Outside, the season raged, plucking yellow leaves off Central Park’s trees and tossing them to the ground. But, inside David H. Koch Theater, Manhattanites hung the jackets they previously abandoned in the name of spring’s rebirth on the backs of their chairs and watched Fall dance onstage.
The program’s first piece, George Balanchine’s “Mozartiana,” is a deeply romantic reflection of the tension of fall: the clash between who we are and who we are becoming. He choreographed to the score twice—once in 1933, at the beginning of his career, and once nearly 50 years later for one of his final works. This resulting piece layers a youthful exploration of style with a mature demonstration of craft.
Balanchine pioneered a new approach to ballet, one that mirrors New York’s attitude of finding beauty in conflict. Classical ballet has invariably been about technical beauty; where legs are high and straight and turns are plentiful and clean. But, Balanchine never sacrifices intrigue in the name of one-note beauty. In the final pose of “Mozartiana”, the principal ballerina hits a technically flawless third arabesque, but she doesn’t stop there; she follows the music’s last note with a contortion of her spine and turns her head back to the audience, laying it on her partner’s shoulder.
In this way, Balanchine gives us a thesis for style: one in which beauty for beauty’s sake is seen as sterile. Through his unique choreography, Balanchine argues that transgressing the rules in a way that forges drama is where true beauty lies. We might pair baggy jeans with ballet flats and a tight, white blouse complete with frill trim for the collision between masculine and feminine. Or, wear a pop of red in our sneakers to contrast a muted gray and brown outfit. Masterfully wearing both silver and gold jewelry demonstrates a knowledge of fashion beyond doubt. To be truly creative is to appeal only to contradiction.
In fall, layering is our utilitarian weapon against unpredictable temperature and thus becomes the methodology for demonstrating this thesis. There is maturity in these layers, where only through a deep knowledge of craft does our flesh not get lost in fabric. A white shirt spills of out the collar and hem of a sweater. Socks peek out of the top of brown boots. An artful tuck showcases a belt. A scarf falls to reveal a jacket, which falls to reveal a cardigan, which falls to reveal the long sleeves on which we wear our hearts. In maturity, we find we no longer wish to cover up the parts of ourselves we dislike, but rather radically accept our frailties in tandem with our strengths. In “Mozartiana,” the ensemble’s tutus are an inky shade of black, whereas the principal ballerina is distinguished by a single top layer of black tulle transposed over a white tutu.
The program proceeds with paired pieces “Monumentum Pro Gesualdo” and “Movements for Piano and Orchestra,” where the audience is stunningly haunted by lines intact, and lines broken. The costumes in “Monumentum Pro Gesualdo” are simple white leotards with short, white satin skirts. The simplicity of these costumes is reminiscent of a young ballet student’s uniform, reflecting fall’s profoundly academic nature. Our shirts have collars, our skirts have pleats, our glasses return to our noses. This essence of intellectualism relies on abandoning the frivolous nature of summer to prepare for the hibernation of winter and by doing so, finding some core truth of life. You have experienced, now show us what you have learned. We strip ourselves down to the studs: a simple sweater passed down from our grandfather, a classic baseball cap paired with a college crewneck, a beige trench coat for the rain.
In “Movement for Piano and Orchestra,” the white skirts are replaced with small white belts, establishing a study of the bare lines of the body as the piece’s forefront. The foundation of ballet is the line. We point our feet to extend the line of the leg; we reach our fingertips to elongate the line of the arm. Only from there do we build shape. It seems that line, too, is the foundation of our aesthetic projection. What does someone see as we walk away from them, far into the distance? Silhouette—horizons of the body.
This concept becomes increasingly important as the air cools. Outline is where we find femininity past the flesh: a tight sweater, perfectly-tailored dark-wash Levi’s, the exact point of interaction between a skirt and the waist.
But, as with the uncanny embraced by October’s foreboding essence, the masterful breaking of line leads us back to Balanchine’s central thesis. Throughout “Movement for Piano and Orchestra,” rogue notes of the piano are paired with the sharp snap of a line: a foot flexed, a wrist flipped. It is beautiful precisely because it is unexpected. Human nature forces us to look for patterns and resonate deeply where that pattern falters.
The program’s final act, Artist in Residence Alexei Ratmansky’s “Concerto DSCH,” directs attention through color. Its explosive entrance showcases ensemble dancers in blazing reds and oranges leaping across the stage. Then, a trio of playful soloists dressed in grays and blues drive the piece forward until the world pauses for the tragedy of the pas de deux couple. They glide across the stage as the music softens, distinct in costumes of muted sage green and pink. As their fellow dancers lead the couple to opposite sides of the stage, we are shown the volatility of love and in turn, the volatility of life.
Nothing stays the same for very long. The warmth of burgundy, rust orange, and even a muted olive dominate fall, as if we attempt to hold onto the warmth of the air through warmth in the colors of our bodies. “Concerto DSCH” reminds us that our highs only come with our lows, and looking to the future, we cannot fear inconsistency. Although a plaid is common in fall, we can turn to stripes, polka dots or a cold, navy blue to demonstrate to the world that we know it doesn’t stay the same, and neither do we.
As I left Lincoln Center, I stepped on the bottom of my skirt coming down a set of stairs, ripping a hole in its inner lining with the heel of my black slingbacks. Luckily, I grew up sewing ribbons onto my pointe shoes, so I will patch the hole and fish my old tights out from my childhood drawers for an extra layer of warmth against fall’s brisk mornings.
