PLIÉ “A dancer, more than any other human being, dies two deaths: the first, the physical when the powerfully trained body will no longer respond as you would wish” - Martha Graham. Lines Curves Lift Reach Suck in, “Your lunch is showing.” Imagine a string passing through the top of your head That passes through every vertebra From the ceiling through the soul to the floor.
Now remember these things, And do it all at once.
Look effortless. Apply maximum effort.
I took my first ballet class at 3 years old. I continued until I was 18, then I returned to the barre after a four-year hiatus at 22. I’ve been doing this routine all at once, or trying to, for as long as I can remember.
This is not a sport, This is an art. And to perfect it, you must be a purist.
I did not know at 3 that ballet would become a defining part of my being. I didn’t know much then at all. At 22, dance flows through my body as naturally as blood — always there.
We begin at the top of the body.
At 3, you’re ideally taught the plié, and if you’re really lucky, how to point a toe. A ballerina will continue to learn the plié forever.
Your neck should be straight and long. Chin lifted, Slightly tilted, Adjusting as instructed with each step. Port de bras. Don’t forget to smile. The shoulders should be held back and pressed down, elongating the neck, With each blade crossing toward its opposite hip. The ribs closed, never protruding beyond the skin. Vigorously shake your hands, Then freeze — Let your fingers fall naturally into a flawless, relaxed state. Now, memorize that feeling forever. Engrain it into your being. Pointer finger slightly lifted, the others delicate and dainty. With energy shooting through every fingernail. Your gut is a vacuum. Energy looping endlessly toward the spine and around. Hold your torso with poise. Your core always engaged, Yet always appearing deceivingly soft. The hips should be tucked under, Never flying or opening when lifting a leg. Everything comes from the hips, effortless and unseen. Through the legs, each minute muscle is engaged. From hamstring to heel, each member must do their duty. Be sure to bend the knee when landing. Plié. The power behind every movement, the spring for all airborne strides. Disobey the plié, May the body’s artful career be forgotten in an instant. And always, Always, No matter what, Through each phalange and metatarsal, Point. Your. Toes.
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But not just the toes, The entire foot. The 33 joints and 26 bones, Collectively performing to form the quintessential structure. Turned out from the master hip, With heel lifted toward the sky, The callused tip of the big toe serving as the foot’s only connection to the ground: Tendu.
Plié is a French word that translates to folded in English. To plié is simply to fold or bend the legs. Through every ballet sequence, step and landing, you can find a plié. It is the base, the foundation itself, of ballet. It is so simple, yet if performed incorrectly or absently it can all be over — just like that. Injury. Death of the ballerina. To me, ballet is not only an art or a sport, but a way of life. I knew ballet before I even began to know myself. At my core, I am a perfectionist. I’ve spent countless hours in therapy speaking of my innate strengths and weaknesses that swamp me daily, most stemming from my devoted perfectionism. At its core, ballet teaches you to be perfect — or to always strive to be. You must do it all at once — suck in, stand tall, point your toes, plié, be strong, be delicate and all while not showing any struggle. The art of ballet is looking effortless, but the artist knows the effort that goes into such a facade. I am no stranger to picking at my body. Of course, I want it to be perfect. I want everything to be perfect; that’s how I was raised. But I also know that my body is my art form. Without a body, my silhouette even, a part of me would die. This is why, beyond the art, a ballerina must do it all. A ballerina must plié, Because ballet is as much a lifeline to the ballerina as a heartbeat. Ballet is grit and sweat and perfectionism and comparison and tears and blood. But it is also so much more. I escape the world when I do ballet. I am an extension of myself, a depiction of love and life and a moving work of art. I am every emotion that’s been pent up inside that I often can’t let out and I am focused on so many tasks of pointing my toes and pressing down my shoulders and lifting my elbows and remembering the choreography and still being graceful and smiling and so that for just a minute, my mind may forget everything else. My knees are already starting to ache, and my hips are worn and tired. And I’m nowhere near perfect. But as long as I can stand, My body will plié. words ABBY JONES