Hiatus and the Opera House

Tchaikovsky played from the suspended speakers. Seasoned performers gracefully leaped into the air, to land balancing on their toes. A beautiful set that changed as quickly as the dancers moved.

I went on a trip sponsored by my university to see a production of The Nutcracker by the Texas Ballet Theater presented in the Margot and Bill Winspear Opera House. It was spectacular. I was inspired—and put to shame.

Between focusing on the ballet, I pictured intense rehearsals of a time-honored art form. I visualized people holding bags of ice to their ankles, rising with a smile, and starting again from the beginning. I imagined greatness and witnessed it.

I like the word “hiatus”. To me, it sounds edgy. As if some exclusive and anticipated project is gaining momentum behind doors that you don’t know about.
In my case, hiatus meant procrastination. It meant thoughts or moments from the past, and human mistakes in the present, bombarding me with doubt and anxiousness. It meant I wasn’t creating anything.

I go weeks or months without drawing at times, and I don’t like that. I don’t like giving my sketchbook the “hello darkness, my old friend” look, and not “talking” to it again. I want to take the necessary steps to change that. I looked through the program, at the profile descriptions of dancers who started training at as young as three years old and was amazed. I daydreamed of a work ethic like theirs.

I admire their efficiency, precision, and resilience. I can’t wait to see the TBT again in the future and to find out what else I can learn from them.

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