Last night was like the IHOP of ballet classes. Pas de basque....Italian changements.....and let us not forget All. That. French. Additionally, La Danseuse decided to teach class to orchestral music rather than the traditional piano etudes. A little Italian opera, a little German symphony...I have to say it was a nice change, but it actually threw me off quite a bit, as I found myself listening to the music rather than focusing on my dancing.
Now, my background is in music. Started piano at 9 years of age, and I'm still playing today. Throw in about half a dozen other instruments I learned over the years, and I could have my own one-woman symphony. I love music. It can make me cry, make me giddy, make me sleepy....you name it, there's an Opera for that. But for some reason, my brain cannot concentrate on dancing and Cavelleria Rusticana with the same attention span. Never was that more apparent last night than during Italian changements.
In my all-consuming hatred of frappés I forgot about the seething ire I have for Italian changements. La Danseuse only made us do them once or twice in all of last year, and last night, set to Rossini, I just couldn't do it. Imagine, if you will, a frog trying to jump rope. Or go over hurdles. That's what I looked like. Not a pretty sight.
I hate when you have a class that leaves you feeling defeated. Ce n'est pas bon.