This week, we take a look into Louisville Ballet dancer Annie’s mind and what motivates her to dance.
What Do You Want to Do When You Grow Up
Music speaks to the soul. From a very young age—for as long as I can remember—it has told my soul to dance. It breathes movement into my limbs. Controlling my body—freeing it. In the mall, at the grocery, downtown on the street—wherever I heard music, my body followed with dance.
Ballet became my passion. My Joy. My first true love. The discipline, the technique—and addiction. Consuming. My drug. My escape. My Art.
What do you want to be when you grow up?
A little girl’s favorite ballerina.
Music soothes the soul. Medicine for the spirit. Teaches us to feel. Teaches us to love. Reminds me of my purpose. My destiny. Breaks my heart and heals it back. A companion to misery. A bringer of joy.
Music speaks its own language. A foreign tongue only the heart can understand. Translated with each aching pulse; each excited flutter.
Why dance? Why ballet? Why art? What is the point? Ballet makes the world more beautiful. A teacher once told me. What greater point is there to life than to leave the world more beautiful than before? What greater mission than to create beauty in a broken world? What greater way to learn and grow than through art. In art I find myself. In art I become who I am. Shed the layers off and find the core. The Truth. Let the music speak to each hidden part of myself. Tucked away. Veiled. Draw them out and meet them. Discover them. Develop them. Mend the broken parts. Reveal the ugly ones. Enjoy the pretty. And create something beautiful with it all.
Transform myself into the story, the movement, the feeling. And find the truth behind it all. Frightening to be so vulnerable. So exposed. And exhilarating. Sharing something so deep with the world. Teach the world to feel. To see. Give them joy. Give them peace. Sorrow, anger, betrayal. And express the beauty beneath it all. Even the darkness of life has beauty. The sweet, bitterly beautiful triumph of the human spirit that can overcome. And the bitter beauty of loss—what can be found, though not retrieved. Beauty in lessons, in growth. In failure. Redemption.
Without art would we ever see true beauty? How would we learn? How would we see?