So, once more to the ballet. And to a real appreciation of the other arts and how they focus the mind on aspects of one's own craft which might need more work. I watched a light descend dramatically low into a stage full of dancers at one point, and thought, gawd, had those been opera singers, two minutes would have sufficed for *someone* to have failed to heed any of the thousand warnings from stage management and been carted off to hospital with a bleeding forehead...
I know I've said it before, but they are so physically AWARE - of course the athleticism and the flexibility is amazingly impressive, but, well, I can't hope to achieve that (it's useful, though, as a comparison for those members of the lay public who believe that "anyone can sing" . . . yep, most of us can howl happily through a tune in the shower - but those who power through an evening of opera on stage are to the shower-singing what ballet dancers are to those who happily tread all over their partner's feet after a couple of beers in the pub . . .). The physical hangover of a good evening at the ballet is, for me, at least a couple of days of finding myself balancing on one foot whilst trying to extend the other gracefully (thank goodness for yoga in this respect. Most of the time, I don't actually fall over.)
Thank you to my dance colleagues who gave so much tonight (whilst I am very aware that what we as opera singers do is generally no picnic in the park, we very seldom sweat so hard that a sudden turn will send an arc of sweat droplets flying from our foreheads and catching the stage lights. That's, like, proper physical work.)
And then I get to cycle back home past the above panorama. Yep, my life is good!