Mao's Last Dancer

The power of the persuit of happiness!

Le Sacre du Printemps and the chosen one - Coco and Igor

The first time I heard le Sacre du Printemps was in New York, part of my husband's classic music appreciation exercise. We went to Avery Fisher Hall and after the show went to the Empire Hotel (torn down or moved) opposite Lincoln Center. I remembered the dark velvet curtains at the hotel bar. We met a former high rank executive of Pfizer who just underwent a throat surgery due to heavy smoking. He could no longer talk so he took the option of heavy drinking.
Then par hazard I saw the ballet in a long haul airplane - contrast to Nicolas Roerich's colorful costumes, it was a group of faceless and colorless individuals. Too chic. It was the movie that truly carved the music in my mind with it's power of dissonances and asymmetries. Listening to him is like to appreciate Picasso. What a comparison to the delightful Tchaikovsky violin concerto which is the hallmark of beautiful music!
So, what happened in the mind of the chosen one, the lucky one and the doomed one when she was chosen? If I were her, I would be dancing and eying the village elder, strangle him or kick him in the head, make it an efficient sacrifice of two to God - if that helps.

Moscow does not believe in tears

Girls are out, braving the spring cold with short skirts. Vodka is poured. Warm it up - we can't do anything to the cold, but we can do something to our body and to our mind. Don’t expect it to be so good. Don’t expect it to be so bad either. You are in Russia. In the roughest roughness there might be the finest fineness or, vice versa!
Moscow tried and will always try. Moscow failed many time but one thing still holds: Moscow does not believe in tears. Cheers!

Sketches of Russia

The land is covered by snow. The snow is so white that it looks blue. Everything is frozen. Napoleon failed, revolutions staged and ideologies born and dead. Dr Zhivago’s mother got buried, into this bluish fridge, like the Tsars family. Who said that there is no equality?
The snow covered land extends to the horizon, to the faintest blue. The lighter the color, the further the distance. The mountains look at discarded skeletons. The rivers look like a snapshot of rivers on a map – with its stand-still streams meaning nothing but a sign. The desert ignores all other existence – because to a great stretch it is the only existence.
A road, with nobody and nothing on it, cut through the snow. It seems that someone just tried to wake up the earth with a giant whip, a straight strike, so deep and so painful. The road leads to more harsh, dry and rough land.
All of a sudden, a tiny village appeared, like a few bricks accidentally dropped in the middle of nowhere. This is what all the journey is worth for.