It’s a dangerous job, really. Folks over here in the states don’t often realize it, but it’s true. The Bolshoi Ballet is not a place where the weak apply for work. If you want an easy gig, go work Russian construction. The Russians, deservedly so, are fiercely proud of their ballet, and they follow it with the religious fervor Brazilians reserve for soccer and we Americans reserve for stuff like the Superbowl, probably for the same reasons: art and sport are a metaphorical concentration of humanity’s best and worst themes: beauty, violence, passion, discipline, power, grace, greed, sacrifice, struggle and strength. The Russian ballet draws out the heart of the most passionate among the Russian people, and these passions are fueled by both love, but tragically, also by hate.
One must be built of iron to work in the arts in Russia, and especially at the Bolshoi (translation: big, grand). Sergei has a heart that is built of beauty and iron and grace. The type of heart that should be lauded:
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After Sergei Filin, the relatively new artistic director of the Bolshoi Ballet, was attacked by a crazed fan, or perhaps a crazed colleague (the investigation is still ongoing), who threw sulfuric acid into his face, severely burning his skin and his eyes, Filin was not only subjected to the prying instruments and painful procedures necessary to attempt to heal his wounds, but he was subjected to the prying microphones and pens of the press. One such prying pen asked him, “How are your spirits?”
He replied, through pain and bandages, “I am not in bad spirits. Sometimes I am able to see all the fingers on my hand. This gives rise to optimism and hope.”
This, my friends, is beauty. It is faith and hope, spoken from a wounded and aching heart that is also full of the greatest of these: love. It’s no wonder the man can fly, and no wonder he chooses to spend his time here:
