Footloose

I am not a person who’s naturally inclined to dance. I might nod or tap my foot to a beat, but even after a couple drinks, I rarely have an urge to jump up and shake around. I tend to dance only when pressured.

The balcony scene from "Romeo and Juliet" by the Oklahoma City Ballet. Photo by Jana Carson.

Though I‘m averse now, I did learn ballet as a child. My mother enrolled me in pre-ballet, which appeared to teach me the art of tripping and awkwardly rolling around the floor in front of an audience. A couple years later, she enrolled me in another class. The teacher was the mother of one of my school friends, a retired dancer from the San Francisco Ballet, who glided weightlessly across the studio floor. Unlike the tiny, bird-boned girls I danced with, I was a more solid product of American breeding; probably better physically suited for fighting or pushing a wheelbarrow. I loved the fashion of ballet more than anything—spinning around in a black leotard with a matching mesh skirt and pink satin slippers—but landing gracefully from a leap was a feat that eluded me.

The highlight of my short-lived childhood dancing career was greeting the Bolshoi Ballet from Moscow when they arrived at Sea-Tac Airport in 1990 for the Goodwill Games. Our dance class handed out roses to each member of the company that passed by. To me, meeting these stoic and elegant Russians was far more exciting than learning to dance. I’m still no dancer, but I appreciate the mentally and physically taxing work of those who twirl, whirl, and pirouette on stage. These beautiful and seemingly effortless performances require an incredible amount of work from not just dancers, but choreographers, costumers, stage managers, musicians, artistic directors, development managers, and so on. As they say, it takes a village.

Over the years, I’ve been lucky enough to attend a couple Oklahoma City Ballet dress rehearsals at the Civic Center, so I can attest to their magic firsthand. I most recently saw Romeo and Juliet in February with my co-worker Karlie. Between the storybook set designs, opulent costumes, and a romantic, soaring soundtrack provided by the Oklahoma City Philharmonic, it felt like a pretty perfect performance. Lady Capulet’s ornately jeweled burgundy gown was the stuff of fashion dreams.

Lady Capulet with Juliet in Oklahoma City Ballet's production of "Romeo and Juliet." Photo by Aaron Gilliland.

One way or another, I always come back to the clothes. Ballet shoes fascinate me. Each season, according to its website, the Oklahoma City Ballet spends more than $70,000 on pointe shoes—the custom, handmade, hard-toe shoes that allow female dancers to balance on their toes. It may sound like an outrageous amount, but when you consider The Royal Ballet in London spends the equivalent of more than $320,000 a year, the OKC Ballet’s cost is comparatively low. Their principal ballerinas each go through about fifty pairs per season. A pair of these shoes can usually survive about fifteen hours, but sometimes only for the length of a single performance, depending on its demands. To help offset this cost, the ballet created the Pointe Program, where donors’ $100 contributions cover the cost of a new pair of shoes.

Of course, beyond shoes, there are a number of other opportunities to support the Oklahoma City Ballet. Although Romeo and Juliet's run is over, there are more performances this spring showcasing choreography from artistic director Robert Mills and others. From April 17 to 19, in (e)motion(s): A Triple Bill, Mills will honor those affected by the Oklahoma City bombing with an artistic work that addresses that day, the aftermath, and the resilience of the community. During the next 2020-2021 season, audiences will get to see Cinderella, The Nutcracker, Lady of the Camellias, and showcases Future Voices and Made in the U.S.A.

For more information about the Oklahoma City Ballet, visit okcballet.org.

Written By

Megan Rossman

Megan Rossman is Oklahoma Today's photography editor.