A Swell of Beauty Greater than the Eye Can Hold
- Louise Greer
- Oct 2
- 13 min read
Perhaps there is no word that better encapsulates George Balanchine’s Jewels than “rich.” Rich in hue, in feeling, in beauty; rich in gesture, in range of expression, in serenity, and above all, in the sense of splendor that seeps from the stage. To open a season with Jewels is to wash the slate clean, to present a cohesive vision that seems to encompass ballet’s many voices and its trailing history as a subplot beneath the bright beauty. Dance historian Tim Scholl calls Jewels a “balletic backward glance”, and while the plotless full-length work does undoubtedly weave a tapestry of ballet’s past, on opening weekend at Pacific Northwest Ballet, it simultaneously and unwaveringly highlighted the company’s future.
As with any ballet that hasn’t graced the stage in eight years, debuts are the rule rather than the exception, which made for a thrilling opening weekend of new interpretations. Suzanne Farrell once noted that Jewels “gave many dancers roles that made them glitter as never before,” and that was certainly true during the first three performances of the season. Jewels is a ballet that allows for unseen sides of artistry to come into the light, and after a long summer away, the growth seen in each and every dancer on that stage was an astonishing sight.
Though Balanchine’s 1967 premiere of three jewel-titled ballets was supposedly inspired by a visit to Van Cleef and Arpels (and the allure of possible sponsorship), what soon became known as Jewels has little to do with precious gems. Rather, the jewels in question are his very own dancers. Jewels pays tribute to three countries, their schools of ballet, and their contribution to Balanchine’s development as a choreographer.
Emeralds, to a stirring score by Gabriel Fauré, is the essence of Romantic-era France, letting the ballet begin with the birthplace and mother tongue of ballet, as well as representing the time Balanchine spent in France during his early career. Rubies is all American jazz-age filtered through Stravinsky’s fragmented style; intricate and inventive as only Balanchine could have done. Finally, Diamonds, a sentimental tribute to both Petipa and Tchaikovsky (lifelong, unknowing partners in his work), and filled with the essence of every great late 19th-century classical ballet. It is the world into which the young Georgi Balanchivadze was born: imperial, ceremonial, sweeping, elaborate, and as Suzanne Farrell would later put it, a world of “austere, crystalline beauty.”
Jewels is the story of a life in ballet. It is also the story of ballet itself. Though connected only in choreographic threads, they build upon each other like acts of a story ballet, and by the final curtain, have woven a picture of all of Balanchine’s best, or perhaps, all of ballet’s best in one lovely evening.
Needing a box-office hit in 1967, Balanchine strove to show the range and diversity of New York City Ballet, and tailored each piece to highlight the strengths of his leading dancers. Few ballets hold their originators so close as Jewels does, for Emeralds, Rubies, and Diamonds would be vastly different ballets had they not been shaped to the strengths of their muses. Emeralds, for the French Violette Verdy, and French-Swiss and Russian Mimi Paul: soft, melancholic, poetic. Rubies for the angular, playful power of New Jersey and Queens-raised Patti McBride and Edward Vilella. And for the stone associated with marriage, there could have been no other lead than Suzanne Farrell with Jacques d’Ambroise at her side, present yet not quite on the same plane. Diamonds was a gift to Farrell, this romantic, swooning grand vision of Balanchine’s Russia that had slipped from sight.
Originally, there was meant to be a fourth gem: sapphire, but due to color difficulties, or perhaps music choice, Emeralds, Rubies, and Diamonds premiered on a bill with Prodigal Son, and later, Balanchine’s one-act Swan Lake, both fascinating choices to contrast against what would soon be known as Jewels.
Many current and former dancers of Pacific Northwest Ballet were once lucky enough to be guided by the dancers who originated Jewels, but with their wisdom now passed down in lineage, one can still feel the roots beneath these dancers’ feet that allow them to pay homage while finding their own voice. The acclaimed dance critic Arlene Croce once said that Jewels requires “precision of execution, musical intelligence, energy, and taste,” all qualities that Pacific Northwest Ballet exhibits with tremendous vitality nearly twenty years after the ballet was first brought into repertory.
The dazzling costumes redesigned by Jerome Kaplan in 2017 are a unique addition to the beauty of Jewels. What he has accomplished in hue, texture, and regality breathes new life into Balanchine’s vision, and their details are a rapturous sight in themselves.
Emeralds lifts from the orchestra pit like a hushing, mesmerizing spell. It is an unearthly place where we land when that curtain rises: Kaplan’s brilliant emerald hues against an ebony night full of stars, nothing but peace in the crisp air. Stirred by Fauré’s heavenly melodies, there is something beautifully intimate about the necklace-like patterns that they dreamily float through: coiling, unraveling, and weaving garlands of clasped hands. It is as though, within that lush score, they brim with celestial reverence, with a velveteen beauty.
Woven into this moonlit night are echoes of Giselle, and the Romantic era-inspired “Vision Scene” from The Sleeping Beauty, all nods towards the early 19th century’s lasting impression on ballet. Emeralds exists outside of avant-garde or showy ambition, rooted instead in the human truth of seeking beauty.
Elizabeth Murphy is one of the few dancers who was lucky enough to be coached by Violette Verdy herself over a decade ago, and she returns to Verdy’s beloved role with an ethereal sublimity. The delight of a dancing hand, the beauty found in even the simplest soutenu, it’s a beautiful thought to think of Verdy passing this serenity directly on to her. Yet it is also her own, each step and breath richly ensouled with the silken elegance that was so greatly missed last season.
Reflecting on the pas de deux that she shared with Conrad Ludlow, Verdy said that it “was about sharing the music”, and Murphy’s pas de deux with the ever-more princely Christopher D’Ariano shares a similar sentiment. They bask in that stirring score, letting us see the abundant brilliance in this ballet of perfect design. Ludlow’s role is splendidly fit for the poetic D’Ariano. A refined craftsman of form and poise, buoyant thrill and effortless regality resound from his weightless lyricism. The pas de deux ends in a vision of simplicity’s beauty: they leave our sight walking backwards with steadfast purpose into the wings; arms open wide, eyes lifted to the heavens.
During Saturday’s Matinee, Sarah-Gabrielle Ryan fell into the rich beauty of Verdy’s role with genuine appreciation for its unraveling marvels. Her nuanced felicity, charisma, and full embodiment of Fauré’s score were ineffably potent. She was so beautifully charmed by the sight of her own hand catching the light, that a vision emerged of a young girl dancing alone in her living room, filled with nothing but self-contented joy.
On Saturday night, I could not help but think of how a role can wait for someone, can be an unknown destiny until at last that moment arrives. Some debuts feel like career-defining moments that reveal the epitome of a dancer’s artistry, and Madison Rayn Abeo carries the grace of Emeralds deep within her, pervaded by a steady calm.
Violette Verdy must have been smiling somewhere, for in her beloved “bracelet variation”, there was no thought of coaching or instruction, no thought of placement or choreography. It was simply a blooming delight that Abeo had found for herself. The hand must dance and sing for its dancer unforced, a deceivingly simple task that, when fully realized, is an extraordinary moment of charming distinction. Abeo’s presence, her airy fluidity that stretches each flourish of beauty further, not to mention the time-stilling attitude turn that captured every breath, was nothing short of enrapturing.
In Emeralds, Abeo shows us her greatest gift as a dancer: to let us see the beauty of a dance through her eyes. She shows us its internal wonder with innate clarity and naturalness, and with unwavering devotion to each small, blessed thing.
The second variation, originally danced by Mimi Paul, was fully Amanda Morgan’s own realm on opening night. In such a soft role, we see a completely different side of her artistry: lighter than air, like a willow in the breeze. There is wonder woven into every step she takes, ushering in peace with her supple purity. To make simplicity so captivating, one must believe that each step is the most beautiful thing, and on this breath-robbing night, they were.
I’ve always found that there is an exquisitely timeless quality that LilyWills possesses, and in Mimi Paul’s role, it seemed completely plausible that she might be dancing across from a young Verdy. Some believe that this variation can be seen as her dancing with an invisible partner, and Wills’ interwoven, tender sorrow carried such possibility in its otherworldly lilt.
Yuki Takahashi brought a heavenly levity to the role, seeming to exist in a world of her own, untethered from gravitational pulls. One could have heard a pin drop as she and Zsilas Michael Hughes sank into the tender abundance of beauty that they had spun for themselves in the moonlit dusk.
The spritely pas de trois lifted us from our dreams for a moment and brought a whirlwind of memorable debuts during opening weekend. Clara Ruf Maldonado’s full embrace of the music and soulfully imbued dedication, Yuki Takahashi’s sprite and exquisite arabesque, Juliet Prine, ever so vividly lyrical, sinking into the beauty of it all, and Dylan Calahan, a soaring blur in double tours that won’t soon be forgotten.
Emeralds is a lovely, long dream whose romantic spell lingers long after the curtain’s fallen. There could be no more beautiful an ending than three dancers in the deepening dark, who kneel and arc one arm towards the sky: all the beauty contained in that one potent gesture.
There is a soft musical bridge that carries us from Emeralds to Jewels, but Stravinsky’s stretched dissonance soon makes it known that we’ve landed in a different world. Punctuated, energetic, and precise, Rubies is a visual marvel of joint modulations and contortions of classical form. Of Jewels’ three acts, Rubies is most vigorously quintessential Balanchine: revelatory, daring, and athletic in every capacity.
Many Balanchine works devise an orderly fashion to make sense of Stravinsky’s wilder strains, but in Rubies, I find that he occasionally gives in to some of this chaos, or rather, makes the electrifying busyness of the score visible. Full of prances, kaleidoscope patterns, Rockette-like flung limbs, and Broadway-inspired poses, Rubies is, as Arlene Croce put it, a “flagrantly dissonant middle panel…Rubies refracts instead of reflecting.” Arriving from the world of Emeralds’ soft breath, it’s difficult to believe that the same choreographer so focused on crafting a dream-like world could also create the bold forms of Rubies.
On opening night, the entire cast glowed with the delight of undertaking such a work, but none quite as bright as Angelica Generosa and Jonathan Batista. The electric energy that darted between them was a conversation all their own, one of genuine playfulness and vitality. In their flirtatious, charming pas de deux, Balanchine’s strivings are clear to see: what can one do with two bodies upon a stage? Direction changes, weight shifts, a speed so quick the eyes can hardly follow, twisted maneuvers, and the opposition of tautness explore this question with technical prowess.
Even in such a light-hearted, vivacious role, the elevated artistry that has blossomed in Angelica Generosa since Roméo et Juliette last April is apparent in each little wit and vibrancy. Her eyes gleam with zealous delight, and there’s a story being written there in every moment of connection and dissonance. Her musicality and ease of expression, not to mention the brisk intricacies that appear impossibly facile, have a magnetic partner in Jonathan Batista, whose agile precision and vigor seemed to know no bounds on opening night.
It would be far too easy to compare the “Tall Girl” in Rubies to the creaturely Siren in Balanchine’s The Prodigal Son, for in temperament, silhouette, costume, and style they may be sisters, and she seems to borrow from the Siren’s mighty command. Amanda Morgan’s debut was full of the sharp, distorted energy that the role requires. Her capacity for both explosive might, and control made patterns gleam in her presence.
During Saturday’s matinee, Clara Ruf Maldonado and Kuu Sakuragi were a striking pair, flitting between strong command and breezy playfulness. Kuu Sakuragi seemed to nearly burst with energy, a firework of chiseled, surging power, while Maldonado, all sophisticated refinement and sparkling anticipation, met his intensity with defined strength.
As predicted, Sarah-Gabrielle Ryan and Noah Martzall’s debut on Saturday night showed their innate ability to make any work fully their own. Consuming space with mischievous glee, this 58-year-old pas de deux felt wonderfully spontaneous in their hands. Full of fiery charm and scrumptious depth of character, every intricacy and radiant joy that flooded from that stage was contagious.
Balanchine believed fullheartedly in letting a role be molded to another’s skin rather than copying past interpretations, and Saturday night’s cast felt particularly authentic in their presentation of these beloved roles. As I’ve seen time and time again, one of Ryan’s greatest assets as an artist is her ability to bring herself fully into a role and turn it inside out with her perfectly decadent expression. In Rubies, Ryan is completely in her element, and it’s pure delight.
And as for Noah Martzall, he simply packs a punch. An unstoppable force of drive and might, he has a much-needed promotion written all over him. While I often can’t watch Rubies without seeing Jonathan Poretta in every step, this was all Martzall: precision, airborne power, and elation above all.
Diamonds is a love letter to the art of classical ballet, imbued with the grandeur and timeless elegance of ballet’s greatest creations. If Jewels is a “balletic backward glance”, then here in Diamonds is where we find the treasures of the late 19th century that had such an impact on Balanchine’s life and career.
Glimmers of Swan Lake appear again and again, steps brought from another world that are perhaps expected to be recognized, for they deepen the pas de deux with their intrinsic meaning. These familiar forms cannot be danced with Swan Lake’s emotional intensity, or as if they are Swan Lake, and yet… there in the steps lies everything. The score for Diamonds, Tchaikovsky’s Symphony No. 3, was written two years before Swan Lake, and over a decade before either The Sleeping Beauty or The Nutcracker, but musically, phrases hint at these worlds that blend together in Diamonds. In fairy-like poses and grand formality, The Sleeping Beauty resounds, while in the swirling canons of demi soloists, The Nutcracker’s snow scene (and its whirling flutes) comes to life for a brief spell without a flake of snow in sight.
I say this knowing that Balanchine might despise one trying to find meaning within his work. As Selma Jeanne Cohen once wisely wrote: “To him a ballet is like a rose: you look at it and you delight in it, but you don’t ask what it means. Balanchine’s explanation for the variety of forms his roses have taken is always the same: the music.” Perhaps, with a score by Tchaikovsky, Balanchine could not help but hear the stories that were guided and formed by that beloved musical hand.
The pas de deux, the ravishing centerpiece of the entire evening, is a story ballet stripped to its purely choreographic beauty. Lucien Postlewaite described his view of the pas de deux as being “old, wise love looking back”, which for a dancer embarking on his last season before retirement, makes these nods towards the great highlights of a career even more sentimental.
On opening night, every ounce of that nostalgia and gratitude brimmed upon the stage as both Leta Biasucci and Lucien Postlewaite made their debut in Diamonds. The pas de deux continues the walking theme woven through Jewels, and begins as quietly as a whisper. They simply step towards each other, yet the space between them must ring with destiny; the path must be the most important walk they will ever take.
As Suzanne Farrell remembers in her memoir: “It was very difficult to make an entrance with great ceremony and yet no steps, no technical fireworks with which to catch the audience’s attention. One somehow had to produce an atmosphere full of almost eerie foreshadowing that would make them sit on the edge of their seats even though very little was happening.”
There was royalty in the air as Biasucci and Postlewaite approached one another with the feeling that they had been waiting a lifetime to do so. Postlewaite later stated that they “meet each other in another plane”, and indeed they do. Biasucci’s sublime details of extravagance and Postlewaite’s youthful eagerness made me wish that time would slow down for a moment and let us soak up this beautiful, ever-fleeting present. They were perfectly aligned in that moment, fully present as they whirled through the choreographic nods that exude memories of all the stories we’ve had the pleasure of watching them bring to life.
A guest artist at Pacific Northwest Ballet is an extraordinarily rare occasion, but on Saturday, audiences were in for a treat as Benjamin Freemantle, a former Principal dancer with San Francisco Ballet, began that same mesmerizing walk towards Elizabeth Murphy. What he brings to the role is a Romeo-like quality, for he looks at her like no one else exists. Light on his feet and nimble beyond belief, the way that he caught the audience’s eye was just as beautiful as his conquest to devour space. There is no word more fitting for Murphy’s pristine elegance than exquisite, and with Freemantle at her side, sublimity swelled the theater.
The finale of Diamonds holds all the same grand glory as the end of a happily-ended story ballet. As Suzanne Farrell put it, the “sheer exaltation of thirty-four bodies” overwhelms the stage with a maze of geometry. It’s a testament to the company’s strength as a whole, and each and every night, they left the theater buzzing with the energy of thirty-four bodies coming into impeccable patterns of bewildering speed.
In Jewels, Balanchine shows us the magnitude and range of his artistic eye, the range of a company, and of ballet itself. I can think of no better way to start a season than with such a sentiment of acknowledgment.
Bravo!
Pacific Northwest Ballet performs Jewels through October 5th, and streams October 9-13 for digital subscribers.
Sources:
Apollo’s Angels by Jennifer Homans
Mr. B by Jennifer Homans
Holding on to the Air by Suzanne Farrell
From Petipa to Balanchine by Tim Scholl
Next Week, Swan Lake by Selma Jeanne Cohen
Interview with Violette Verdy from “I Remember Balanchine”
“A Balanchine Triptych” by Arlene Croce, 1983