The second-movement pas de deux in Sir Kenneth MacMillan’s Concerto is widely considered to be one of the most precious jewels of 20^th-century ballet. The ballerina who created the central role, Lynn Seymour, describes it as “a romantic impressionistic sequence which resulted from Kenneth slyly observing me working alone, an hour on pointe before evening rehearsals. He transported curving movements of concentrated simplicity – an arm slowly dropping, a leg stretching sensuously – into a joyous pas de deux.”

Many ballerinas have performed the central role created by Seymour since its premiere in 1966. This year in the British Liaisons program, Amber Scott, Miwako Kubota and yours truly have been given this honour. In an abstract ballet like Concerto, and while respecting the parameters of the choreography and music, one dancer’s interpretation is going to be different to the next. This is especially true for a pas de deux, where partnership dynamics and chemistry come into play. I am always fascinated by how different one piece of choreography can look on other dancers – not just owing to the different shape of movement that another physicality will articulate, but to the personal nuances that dictate a different mood or emotional intent. For this pas de deux, individual expression is at the crux of its beauty. To illustrate this, I thought I would offer you an insight into three different interpretations by asking Amber and Miwako for their thoughts, and then offering my own too.

Amber

This pas de deux is luminescent, harmonious and luxurious. The music develops from a delicately restrained opening to a more passionate climax through the pas de deux, finishing full circle with a return to the deep tones of the opening. The choreography is reflective of this emotional passage of time and builds on itself from the most simple of movements, such as the thoughtful and deliberate opening ports de bras en pointe, until later on when the movements almost encourage a break from classical form into a more abandoned shape in the arms of your partner.
I enjoyed every performance of this beautiful ballet in Sydney, but I have to say the opening night was unforgettable as I was made a principal artist on stage after the finale!

Miwako

To me the music is the most important element in this pas de deux. To prepare for this role, I listened to the music a lot and researched how I could flow my movements to be in complete harmony with my partner.
I like to get carried away by my imagination. Onstage, I feel like I am having a picnic in the park under the full moon or sunset.
My first show of this pas de deux was particularly special. It was my birthday and I got to dance with one of my favourite dance partners, Kevin Jackson. Can’t complain about that!

Juliet

To me the beauty of this pas de deux lies in its simplicity, which stems from the restrained majesty of the solo piano. MacMillan’s choreography bears his nuances and trademarks, but is in essence pure classical ballet, and utterly expressive of the music. The choreography throughout Concerto speaks the music; principal couples for the melodies of the piano, the corps de ballet for the orchestra. The dancers move across the stage as music notes dance across the stave, so Shostakovich’s music is literally brought to life onstage.
The second movement andante score is pensive, quietly radiant and romantic. Even though this is an abstract piece, to me the music alludes to a journey. The pas de deux begins with the couple walking, trance-like, from opposite ends of the stage, and begins with the famous port de bras motif to establish not just the meditative mood, but the beginnings of a conversation between the man and the woman; at first innocent, then rapturous and passionate, and finally melancholic, as though they are reluctant to leave this dream-like moment and return to reality. They leave the stage together, with their arms around each other’s shoulders. When they first met onstage they were like disparate chemical elements, then with the music as their reagent, chemical reaction occurs and they leave the stage united as one organism.
It’s a pleasure dancing with Andrew Killian – he is a masterful and sensitive partner and I have learnt much from him through the process of getting this ballet onstage. I felt with every show in the Sydney season that we explored different depths of movement together and each show felt very different to the next. Live performance is by its nature at the mercy of circumstance, so before every show I remind myself to keep an open frame of mind. When all we have onstage is the two of us, the choreography and the music, with no story or set to conceal movement and expression, it’s especially important to ‘feel’ and respond to your partner in a new and natural way each show. I liken it to greeting a colleague in the morning – you’ll always say the same words: “hello, how are you?”, but every day your tone and the response you get will be different, depending on what sort of a day you and the other person is having.
I look forward to the Melbourne season and the new path of discovery we will forge therein.

See Concerto as part of the British Liaisons program, running in Melbourne from 25 August to 3 September.

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To succeed in ballet photography, Jim McFarlane says: “you’ve got to be ahead of the motion”. Perfect technique is vital and the main challenges come with capturing fast motion in low lighting conditions and lighting changes. Jim relates shooting the “fast, exciting and dynamic” Dyad 1929 as a real test for any photographer. “With classical ballet you have a bank of lights and the follow spots, but with modern ballets the lighting is extremely contrasted and dim, which makes it very hard.”

Technically live ballet photography is very demanding and, while you may not associate the subject matter with grown men in pajamas and zinc war-paint thwacking a cricket ball for four, Jim suggests cricket photography is its closest rival. “What they have in common is they both demand extreme alertness, lightning reflexes and very strong concentration, plus there is only ever one chance and if you’ve missed the shot, it’s gone forever.”

The conditions of working as a ballet photographer have always met with restrictive deadlines. Traditionally the turnaround between capturing dancers at two rehearsals and processing the printed film involved a manic 24-hour schedule where Jim had to develop the film and deliver the proofs by 10am the next morning.

Such a frantic approach seems horse-and-buggy when compared to the immediacy of digital photography. “Digital has revolutionised ballet photography,” Jim says. “You’re not encumbered by lack of lighting at all and the colour saturation in dim light is incredible.” He points to photographing Manon’s beautiful pas de deux with its large segments that were once too dark to photograph. “Now with digital we can shoot the whole lot.”

Prior to digital, colour film hadn’t changed significantly throughout the 1980s and ‘90s, although black and white film did make great advances. The most exciting development was auto-focus. When it came into prominence in the mid-1980s it provided the motion photographer with their own portable time machine, enabling them to distil unpredictable movement into heightened images.

After spending many years doing publicity photos Jim now focuses on live performance, a role he relishes for the autonomy it offers. “I enjoy it as I feel I have more control. As far as taste [of the photos] is concerned the most important influence is still the artistic director.”

Jim’s intuitive conviction that “great photos are not about the obvious thing” is given form in the photography of one of his personal inspirations, Irving Penn. Among his favourite works by Irving are a frozen food series that provided a commentary on how we control nature, commanding group portraits such as the American Ballet Theatre series and the painterly Vogue photos that bridged the gap between commercial photography and fine art.

For Jim, who still shoots one shot at a time, the main criteria for being a good ballet photographer is to know the subject. “I’m used to watching ballet, which really helps. And it’s all about timing. You get adrenalin from the pressure. Your senses are sharp.”

The recent production of Peggy! was a nostalgic moment for Jim McFarlane.

His first assignment was to photograph Dame Peggy van Praagh’s farewell speech in Melbourne. That memory is a throw back to the old days, when The Australian Ballet was based in the former tyre factory and Jim’s partner Yvonne (who is now the company’s director of special projects) was also working there, after coming from a ballet teaching background herself.

The seed of Jim McFarlane’s passion for ballet came from his mother, a Japanese war bride, Setsuko, who met the Ringland Andersons while on the boat ride to Australia in the 1950s. Setsuko’s voyage to Australia was preceded by Cherry Parker, the first Japanese war bride to come to Australia, at a time when the White Australia Policy still loomed like a pasty spectre over the cultural landscape. Cherry’s being here was so deeply unpopular that she required a personal bodyguard, McFarlane explains. It is evident when talking to McFarlane that his involvement in ballet is the legacy of Ringland Andersons’ generosity towards his mother, who went on to become friends with them. “My association with them is a deep one and the fact that they were kind to my mother at a time when it was unfashionable has been an inspiration to me,” he says.

Dr Joseph Ringland  Anderson is well known for his moving pictures of the Ballets Russes tours during the 1930s, and McFarlane has fond memories of visiting their house in Toorak as a child. The connection to ballet continued to flourish when McFarlane’s mother became friends with Algeranoff, who was introduced to her by the Ringland Andersons in the early 1950s. McFarlane had always been interested in photography and recalls admiring issues of National Geographic and the British Journal of Photography. He trained as a draftsman and by 17 was working as a technical illustrator at General Motors, a stint which he describes as being “like stuck in a box”, although it did give him a good technical grounding. He went on to study fine arts at Prahran College, where he found his true calling in what he describes as a transformative art form. “Look at the recognition of figures like Nureyev, who was loved as a dancer. The arts transcend religious and political barriers and politics is no issue.  I’m living proof of that.”

After nearly a decade with The Australian Ballet Soloist Jane Casson is hanging up her pointe shoes to pursue other passions: motherhood and her own business. Jane has performed much of the classical and contemporary repertoire and has been lauded for her versatility and comedic portrayals. With a business already under her belt, Jane is looking forward to the new challenges ahead. Interview by Lydia Gibala

As a native Kiwi, you began your ballet career with the Royal New Zealand Ballet and joined The Australian Ballet three years later. What enticed you to make the move?
In short, I would say love. My now husband joined The Australian Ballet a year earlier and the long distance relationship was really hard. I also wanted new challenges, new repertoire and the opportunity to work with great choreographers. I never looked back, so it was a great decision on my behalf.

What are the top highlights of your career?
I won a Green Room Award in 2007 and feel really honoured to have received such a prestigious award. Another highlight was opening night of Graeme Murphy’s Swan Lake in Sydney, 2008. I danced Baroness von Rothbart alongside Principal Artists Robert Curran and Madeleine Eastoe. It was a huge opportunity and very last minute. And on a personal note, developing my second family at The Australian Ballet. Even though I’m leaving, the company will always be a part of my life.

You’ve been praised for your animated portrayal of comedic characters such as the ‘bad dancer’, Felicita, in Scuola di ballo. What are some other comedic roles you’ve performed?
I’ve done a fair few comedic roles. One that stands out is the girl with the whip in Molto Vivace. It was great fun creating the role with Stephen Baynes. The Australian Ballet has given me so many opportunities. Felicita, for example, was so much fun and one of my final performances on stage. It was quite an amazing experience to dance this hysterical role with the serious knowledge that I was a mother-to-be.

What is the most challenging role you’ve danced?
Other than Baroness von Rothbart, I would say Queen of the Wilis when Maina Gielgud staged her version of Giselle. You have to be so dominant; almost ruthless. The role had so many layers. There were really soft, delicate movements one minute and the next I’d come on with a big grand jeté sequence. Maina pushed me to boundaries I never thought I could reach and I think I broke down barriers, both internally and physically.

What are you looking forward to doing in the future? Without a doubt my main priority is being the best mother I can be to Alexander. I’m looking forward to sharing and experiencing his milestones. And I’ve started my own business, Pilates for Mums. Having done pilates for over 15 years, I wanted to help time-poor mothers work out and meet other mothers. It’s a playgroup for mums!

George Balanchine famously stated: “I don’t want people who want to dance, I want people who have to dance”. I was reminded of this quote when I had the privilege of seeing the incomparable Stephen Fry talk at the Regent Theatre in Melbourne. Regaling us with charming and often hilarious tales of discovering and pursuing his passions, at one point he recounted the scene from the cinematic masterpiece The Red Shoes in which our aspiring ballerina Victoria Page first encounters ballet company impresario Boris Lermentov:

Lermentov: Why do you want to dance?
Page: Why do you want to live?
Lermentov: Well I don’t know exactly why, er, but I must.
Page: That’s my answer too.

Fry used this analogy to exemplify the difference between mere desire and inexplicable need. Like involuntary functions as mundane but vital as breathing – for Fry, writing became his lifeblood; essential to his existence. I walked away from Fry’s talk feeling inspired and compelled to introspection. I was fascinated by this notion of want versus need and how pertinent it is in shaping one’s destiny. I also wondered whether, like an involuntary function, its manifestation is so natural, so right, that it is imperceptible, or whether someone has to experience a single defining moment to know that they are fulfilling their true calling. I’m often asked at what point in my life I decided to become a ballet dancer. My answer is always vague, a patchwork of various turning points and epiphanies (the day that my teacher Mrs Jenkins suggested to my parents, when I was ten years old, that I come in for private ballet lessons after school because she recognised talent in me; going to see Sydney Dance Company in Graeme Murphy’s Berlin aged 12; watching Alessandra Ferri and Julio Bocca perform the ‘Balcony Pas de Deux’ from Romeo and Juliet on video, aged 14; witnessing the pride and enjoyment it endlessly gave my parents and those around me and realising that I shared those feelings in my dancing). Is the fact that I am now eight years into a happy career and have been dancing for a total 21 of my 26 years enough to confirm that dancing was my lifeblood? Do I want to dance or do I need to dance?

Juliet Burnett. Photography Jo Duck

I thought that imagining my life without dancing might be a good way to find out. The thing about pursuing a career in dance is that hours and years of training must be dedicated to it, and because it demands such finely tuned physical and emotional skills, it is by its very nature an all-consuming art form. In other words, it is hard for me to imagine living without dance simply because it has defined my life. But that’s not to say that it is all of my life. I hold many passionate interests outside ballet – the visual arts, music, nature, writing – all of which are intrinsically part of my life and whose influences nurture my approach to dancing. I have the occasional flight of fancy in which I pursue one of these other passions; indeed someone like Fry seems to do quite a good job at writing, speaking, hosting TV shows and acting. He manages to maintain his lifeblood while engaging himself in a multitude of other creative vocations.

Interestingly, the central theme of The Red Shoes is that of the struggle between one’s passions – between romantic love and artistic expression; between real life and life onstage played out in front of an audience. The two passions are depicted as impossible to coexist in harmony in one artistic soul. Oh, the torment! One could easily construe the moral lesson of the film to be as black and white as that (which today seems preposterous, given the number of happily married dancers in The Australian Ballet at the moment), but I would argue that the lesson is that in order to truly and wholly live life, we can’t let ourselves become blinded by our passions to the point where they become obsessions. Being obsessed implies obstinacy and blindness, which would lead to an imbalanced and unhappy life. When you experience an inexplicable urge, when you simply need to or must do something, pursue something – that is not an obsession, it is response to instinct.

And so when I do imagine my life without dancing, it’s not such a bleak picture that flashes before me. At this stage in my life, of all my passions, I have only experienced the inexplicable urge, the need, the instinct to dance. I feel wholly fulfilled by the joy that dancing gives me. Perhaps the magic I experience onstage shows that my need to dance transcends analysis. And I guess that is all the confirmation I could hope for.

Those other passions can remain – if they have been such an enriching part of my life thus far, why would I let them go? And besides, I need to harbour them, for a dancer’s career has a ruthlessly brief timeframe. Inevitably, there will come a day when my body will protest relentlessly after years of push and pull, and no amount of passion and persistence could convince it to continue dancing. Or maybe it is my heart that will, just as imperceptibly as when it had instilled my need to dance, take that very need away. I wonder, then, what adventures the next chapter will hold – in which I immerse myself in one of my other passions and discover I have a new lifeblood? I guess I’m counting on old friend Instinct to kick in, when it’s time.

Since joining The Australian Ballet 15 years ago, Principal Artist Olivia Bell has performed many powerful lead roles: Clara’s dream ballerina the Sugar Plum Fairy in The Nutcracker, the warrior-like Flavia in Spartacus and the duplicitous Manon. After a short hiatus, Olivia returns to The Australian Ballet to perform the leading lady in red in Stephen Baynes’ At the edge of night. As she prepares for the role, Olivia shares some of her favourite performances to date.

The Nutcracker, Sugar Plum Fairy
Tchaikovsky’s score makes this magical ballet a favourite of mine. The Sugar Plum Fairy solo in act two is one of ballet’s most recognised pieces of music and, for me, epitomises the music of mystical dancing fairies. I have one particularly special memory of performing this role at the Sydney Opera House with my family in the audience as I was promoted to principal artist and presented flowers on stage by my husband, Nicholas. A moment I hold close to my heart.

Other Dances
This is a pas de deux choreographed by Jerome Robbins originally for Natalia Makarova and Mikhail Baryshnikov, two of my all-time favourite dancers. I was plucked from the corps de ballet to perform this ballet. It contains all the elements I love about dancing. The dance gradually builds up in intensity and technical complexity until it finally explodes in a flourish of fluid and luxurious movements. It also combines subtle Russian undertones that reflect my heritage.

Manon
A dramatic story about love and betrayal. I always love the process of becoming a character. From the early rehearsals when we’re understanding the character behind the story, to the performance when I no longer think and just fall into the role and tell the story through every inch of my body.

Ballet Imperial
Every Balanchine ballet is a challenge. They’re always technically difficult with very precise choreographic demands and built-on stylised movements. His ballets require coaching from specialised Balanchine repetiteurs weeks prior to the performances.

Spartacus, Flavia
This was my first full-length principal role. But I was in the trustworthy hands of my long-time friend and colleague, Robert Curran, who has been dancing with me since I was 10 years old! The ballet is both emotionally and physically exhausting, but the music keeps you going. The score was composed by Khachaturian, who created an incredible atmosphere. Some parts are so beautiful I have had tears in my eyes on stage.

Edge of night opens tomorrow night in Melbourne and opens in Sydney 11 November

Olivia Bell in Suite en blanc. Photography Justin Smith