Sylvie Guillem, Swan Lake Ballet

Sylvie Guillem, Icarus and extreme beauty of dance, said Princess Haiku

I am musing about the absolute beauty of dance and the sacrifice that it requires. In Sylvie Guillem's art we can imagine the dangerous flight of Icarus, beauty and the capability of the human spirit to soar.





Icarus
Son of Daedalus who dared to fly too near the sun on wings of feathers and wax. Daedalus had been imprisoned by King Minos of Crete within the walls of his own invention, the Labyrinth. But the great craftsman's genius would not suffer captivity. He made two pairs of wings by adhering feathers to a wooden frame with wax. Giving one pair to his son, he cautioned him that flying too near the sun would cause the wax to melt. But Icarus became ecstatic with the ability to fly and forgot his father's warning. The feathers came loose and Icarus plunged to his death in the sea.

How far to the edge of the human experience can artistic beauty go?


Sylvie Guillem
Diva. Rebel. Perfectionist. And the most dynamic dancer of her era. Tim Adams meets the radical ballerina.

In the mood for something gorgeous, said Princess Haiku

Falling asleep and awakening to discover one is in a poetic journal. The only medium of desire or expression is metaphor. Or one is lost on a desert and the only water
that suffices is a need to hear a particular musical phrase. This music- this ravishing work of art, dance, sculpture and not another. Earlier, I discovered some videos of Sylvie Guillem dancing. Her dancing temporarily took me into that place I go when my senses are overwhelmed with beauty. In this mood I am not particularly interested in why an artist wanted to create, perform, write, compose etc -only that they did.

The art itself is liquid fire; amber dripping from the heart of the oracle, and transforming into a dragonfly. Later, I may be convinced to engage in intellectual discourse. I suppose that this is a poetic discourse but it feels like it has flesh and bones.

Tonight, I was briefly transported by the dancing of a Sylvie Guillem. She was the protegee of the late Rudolf Nurevev, former director of the Paris Opera Ballet. His influence is apparent; a certain languid, almost feline grace.







This is a revisitation of a post I enjoyed writing.