Orazio and Ballet Class

Every Tuesday

Orazio was born and raised in the South of Italy. He has matte olive skin and thick, bushy, dark curls. I know Orazio is a dancer, not because he was part of the International Italian Ater Ballet company. I know Orazio is a dancer because he talks with his body. Not with his mouth or vocal cords, like you and I do. From the tip of his fingers to his toes, Orazio’s expressions are a continuous flow of movements each perfectly protraying his emotions. It makes me smile when people make fun of male ballet dancers…

When I moved to Paris one of my first priorities was getting back into ballet. So I spent hours online trying to find the perfect place. Ballet schools aren’t exactly like trendy pilates studios. Their website is often outdated with very little pictures.

“Adult ballet class with Orazio” Adult? I clicked on his bio : Italian, trained in Turin. Nicole’s hometown! Nicole is my dearest friend from college whom I miss everyday, that’s a sign I thought.

A week later, I packed my dance outfit that had patiently been sitting at the bottom of my drawer, and showed up at the studio after work. An exuberant, warm and quirky professor welcomed me into the room. “Ah, Florrrrre, oui! Bienvenoooo!”. Orazio is always dressed in black. He wears a pair of socks covered in dust from drawing so many ronds de jambes on the floor. His wife and two kids, whom he talks about so fondly, are also professional dancers. Thirty seconds into the warm-up, I knew I was going to be back.

Despite attending the class for 9 months, I never managed to remember the routines from start to end.

“No, on the right!”

“Left.”

“Iiiiiinnnnnward pirouette, not outward!”

“Other leg!’

“Other arm…”

My attention span was terrible. Like a 7 year-old with ADHD kid kind of terrible. I’d zone out 12 seconds into him showing us a movement. So I’d just follow the lady in front of me at the barre (she’s type A for sure). How would I remember all of this as a kid? As soon as the music would, play Orazio would pace back and forth to check on everyone’s posture and rhythm. He couldn’t help but laugh when it was my turn. He could just tell if I was mentally present or not. “Are-a you okayyye? You don’ta have-a your norrrrmal face today.” I’d tear up a little everytime. That kind of people. I like that kind of people. Sensitive and observant.

When the next class would show up he’d gracefully point at me with his arm and state: "Welcome to Flore’s world. Flore lives in her own world”. A bunch of millenials would skeptically glance at me and awkwardly smile back at him.

“One cigarette, one cigarette and I am back girls.’”

Sometimes he’d press the wrong song on his phone and some latin music would play instead. After a couple of salsa moves which he evidently could not hold back, the calm piano would play back. Orazio would know right away if the class was blindy repeating a movement he just showed rather than feeling it. “We do these movements to feeel the leg: Rrrrla! Tchaaak! Feel it!”

When he was in need of a “guinea pig”, he’d glanced at me and smile with his eyes. I’d sweat and stand in the middle of the studio while he grabbed my foot to show where to properly point your toes.

At the end he would make us line up in front of the large mirror. We’d all bow to the right, and then to the left. This is pretty common routine in ballet. But Orazio would dramatically bend over and wave to “the public”, the ceiling. Everybody would then clap. He deserved it.

Orazio and his class were the gas station stops on a long roadtrip. Sometimes you stop for a quick lunch excited about the next town, other times you enjoy a coffee and the view, while others, you’d rather get off the road and take a nap. But every time the tank got filled up and the driving went on. Amongst all the uncertainties of this first year in Paris there was one consistency : Tuesday nights, 7:15pm, soft pink tights, plié, fondue, grands battements, and Orazio’s uplifting aura.

There were nights I showed up feeling so defeated. The benefit of the class wasn’t always instantaneous. Some weeks, it was only the 30 seconds of adrenaline from doing jumps at the very end. But without fail, it helped.

I wonder if instructors and professors know how much they do for us…

I sure know Orazio was a key ingredient in making this first year a success. (I said successful, not peaceful ;).

Xx

Flore