She is just a few steps from me, but she fades away when I try to reach her as in a surrealist film. I hear her voice and I hear her walking down the stairs; however, I cannot see her as I go down. I try to hurry but that’s in vain. I cannot keep up her pace so I give up.
A rehearsal by the Cuban National Ballet has just ended and I go after Anette Delgado as a mad man through the facilities of the company. I’m preparing an article on their forthcoming performances; though I don’t even know what to ask her, I wish to know the dancer.
A few minutes ago I had seen her rehearsing and I didn’t recognize her at first: generally from where I applaud her performances it is not possible to distinguish the faces on the stage. Yet, it is impossible not to notice the presence of such elegant figure in the aesthetic universe, even though I’m not a connoisseur. Such combination of gentleness and energy is already a show.
On the stage, she is phlegmatic, but coquette; delicate but spectacular; empathic and at the same time distant, as Walter Benjamin qualified the artistic “aura”. When she dances, everyone watches her. I can’t imagine how her colleagues manage to focus on the choreography.
As she dances, she seems to be posing and then she starts flying as in an unpredictable turn. Her partenaire, Dani Hernandez, grabs her by the waist. She turns to look at him. She stands on the tip of her foot and raises her other leg in a perfect angle. One hand floats in the air and with the other she supports herself in an imperceptible touch. Finally she is released… Then her ankle trembles, it cannot stand anymore, it breaks; she looses her balance and she is no longer posing; but at the same time her arms intertwine in such harmony that the previous mistake just seems to be part of the choreography. Her natural grace excels her technical mistake.
When the music stops she looks shy and receptive to the advice of the maître. She is just two steps from me and I can see her breathless, but she is not concerned about hiding her fatigue. No matter how much I dig: her glamour vanished and it will not return unless music starts playing and she starts dancing again. Suddenly, I understood that “La Magia de la Música”(The magic of music), rather than the name of the piece they are rehearsing, is all about the mutation of the artist.
By retaking the choreography, it seems that beauty is derived from her footprints, and, I have to confess, in that moment I would have kissed her feet. Kissing the feet of a dancer is not a humiliation; it is like kissing the hands of a pianist or a surgeon, or the forehead of a hero. It is a display of admiration that goes beyond applauses and delirium.
When Anette Delgado finished her rehearsal I had to keep myself from giving her the flowers in my imagination. Then, she is wearingmakeup and a gala tutu. I turn my head and I see a euphoric audience, celebrating her grace and the fervor in her fouettes. Nonetheless, as the curtains drop, I wonder about the pain hidden in her dancing shoes.
Images: Raquel Caballero
