Bernara Karieva: A Life in Dance
The dust of the Uzbek plains swirls around my feet as I pirouette in the dusty courtyard. A single, faded red rose lies beside me, a forgotten treasure from a past life, or perhaps, a life yet to come. This is my story, a tale woven with the grace of arabesques and the grit of survival, set against the vibrant tapestry of my homeland, Uzbekistan.
Born in 1936, a year marked by revolution and uncertainty, my early life was one of unassuming beginnings. We lived in Tashkent, the capital, a city brimming with life, yet shadowed by hardship. I can recall the harsh sun beating down upon our worn courtyard, the rhythmic clatter of looms weaving silk, and the vibrant, melodious voices of our neighbours. The world was a whirlwind of colours, textures, and emotions, but one thing shone above all else: a yearning for something more. A yearning for beauty, for elegance, for the poetry of movement.
It was at the age of five that I encountered the world of dance. I was captivated by the swirling silks of the local Uzbek dancers, the elegant flicks of their wrists and the fluid grace of their movements. They painted stories in the air with their bodies, tales of love, sorrow, and resilience, each step an eloquent brushstroke on the canvas of their emotions. That day, I knew I had found my calling.
My parents, despite their own humble backgrounds, were resolute in their support. They saw a spark in me, a yearning for a different life, a yearning they were determined to nurture. We struggled, making ends meet by stitching fine silk garments, but they spared no effort in finding a dance instructor for me, a stern but loving woman named Galina. In her austere studio, amidst the worn wooden floorboards and the faint smell of lavender, I learnt my first steps, the foundations of a future I could barely imagine.
My early years of training were an intense ballet immersion, an apprenticeship under the harsh glare of discipline and the sweet promise of potential. The barre became my confidante, the floorboards my dance partner, the mirrors my relentless judges. I trained diligently, pushing myself to the limit, yearning to translate the graceful stories of the Uzbek dancers onto the pristine canvas of classical ballet.
But life, as it often does, had its own plans. At the age of twelve, a storm descended upon my world. World War II, that dark and distant rumble that had been lurking in the back of our minds, reached our doorstep, casting its shadow on every aspect of our existence. The world of silk weaving vanished, the laughter of children hushed, the dance studios shuttered. Our family life was a blur of wartime austerity, my training curtailed, my future uncertain.
Even then, even amidst the darkness and despair, my spirit refused to be extinguished. I danced in our tiny courtyard, my movements weaving a silent narrative of hope, a silent plea for a better tomorrow. When the war ended, bringing with it the cautious whispers of a new dawn, my parents knew my spirit needed to soar, that my yearning for the stage could no longer be confined to the dust of our courtyard. They sacrificed their dwindling resources, scraping together enough for me to attend the prestigious Bolshoi Ballet Academy in Moscow.
The Bolshoi, with its magnificent, grand scale and the aura of legendary dancers who had graced its stage, was a different world. My Uzbek spirit, tempered by the struggles of war, collided with the world of discipline, structure, and sheer brilliance. I was but one amongst many, a young aspiring ballerina vying for a place in a highly competitive world. The intensity was overwhelming. There were endless hours of practice, grueling physical demands, and the relentless critiques of demanding instructors. But my resolve was undaunted. The hardships of my youth, the lessons learned in our dusty courtyard, had forged a steel within me, an unyielding dedication to my craft.
My journey at the Bolshoi was marked by relentless practice and a yearning for self-improvement. It wasn't easy. I encountered jealousies and rivalries, faced the weight of expectation, and struggled to find my place in a world obsessed with technical perfection. There were nights when the tears flowed freely, moments of doubt and despair. But I persisted, driven by a fire within, a determination to make my mark. It was in those grueling hours, when exhaustion and frustration threatened to consume me, that I found my greatest strength. The dancer in me rose above the physical limitations, the dancer in me embraced the discipline, and the dancer in me discovered a grace that was not just about technique, but about storytelling, about connecting with the audience through a language of pure emotion.
My breakthrough came in my final year at the Bolshoi. I had been cast as the Sugar Plum Fairy in a student production of "The Nutcracker." It was a daunting role, one I approached with a mix of awe and determination. As the final act began, I was nervous, yes, but more than anything, I was excited to finally showcase the story I had woven within myself for so long. My performance was well received. I captured the hearts of the audience with my grace and effortless movement. And for a brief, joyous moment, I was no longer the small girl from Tashkent, but the ethereal embodiment of the Sugar Plum Fairy, dancing upon a stage bathed in the magic of Tchaikovsky's score.
Upon graduating, I joined the esteemed Kirov Ballet in Leningrad. This was a new chapter, a world of legendary dancers and unparalleled artistry. In Leningrad, my dance took flight, reaching new heights of beauty and expressiveness. My repertoire blossomed, ranging from the lyrical beauty of Giselle to the dramatic intensity of "Swan Lake." I performed alongside renowned dancers, toured internationally, and shared the stage with some of the greatest dancers of the age. My life was now a symphony of swirling skirts, breathtaking jumps, and emotions delicately woven through every pirouette and arabesque. But there was a shadow lurking beneath this newfound brilliance, a hidden truth that would come to define a critical turning point in my life.
For years, my commitment to my art eclipsed any thought of love or personal relationships. Dance consumed me, demanding everything. But behind the smiles, the applause, and the curtain calls, I was aware of a yearning that extended beyond the confines of the stage. My heart was beginning to whisper, demanding its own space, its own story.
That year, during a performance of “Don Quixote” in Vienna, I met a man. He was a talented writer, a man whose words danced in a manner no less captivating than my own movements. His eyes met mine, his smile filled me with a warmth I hadn't experienced before. I fell in love with him, head over heels. And for the first time, I found myself contemplating a life that extended beyond the confines of the ballet world, a world where dance shared its space with love and perhaps, a new beginning.
The world of ballet, as enchanting and inspiring as it was, also had its share of hardships. Injuries plagued me, the unrelenting pressure of performances began to weigh me down. I discovered a truth that many dancers know: this beautiful world, like any profession, demanded sacrifice. For years, I danced with a throbbing knee, pushed myself through exhaustion, concealed the strain of demanding routines, all for the love of the art form. I questioned the cost, not of my physical health, but of the sacrifice I made for this dream. This beautiful world, I realized, was no longer the fairytale it once was.
And so, I took a step back, not from my love for dance, but from the relentless grind of the world I had known for so long. My journey continued in Vienna, where I had met my husband. He helped me see a different side of myself, a world where my stories could be told through words, through the creation of beautiful narratives that would move the hearts and minds of people far beyond the stage. He encouraged me to write, to share my experiences, to inspire young dancers who looked up to me as an icon, a role model of dedication and resilience.
The Enduring Spirit
Looking back on my journey, I see a tapestry woven with both hardship and triumphs. I see a life fuelled by an insatiable passion for dance, a commitment that extended beyond the pursuit of technical perfection, into the realm of storytelling, of sharing the human spirit through every graceful step and soaring jump.
The stage might have been my platform, but my true home was found in the depths of my own heart. There I found my strength, my courage, and the fire that fuelled my every pursuit. My dance, much like my life, has been a continuous journey, an ever-evolving expression of my spirit, my experiences, and my ever-present connection to the world around me.
There have been moments of doubt, moments of weariness, and times when the shadow of disappointment threatened to engulf me. Yet, like a lone dancer navigating a moonlit landscape, I always found my way back, driven by a force stronger than any obstacle. I am proud to call myself a dancer, a woman who has lived and breathed for the magic of movement, the beauty of the art form that continues to inspire and captivate generations.
And though my career on the stage might have concluded, the dance of my life continues. I now share my stories, the wisdom I have gained through years of dedication, in the hope of inspiring young aspiring dancers to chase their dreams, to embrace their own individual expressions of grace, and to let their love for the art form be their guiding light.
My journey is not merely a reflection of the Uzbek spirit, but a testament to the enduring human spirit itself. We all possess within us a yearning for beauty, for meaning, for a way to connect with the world around us. And through dance, through storytelling, we can find ways to express that yearning, to give voice to our own unique symphony of emotions, dreams, and triumphs. It is my hope that my tale will serve as a source of inspiration, a reminder that even in the face of challenges, our spirits, like our bodies, can find a way to dance on.
The story of Bernara Karieva is far from over. My life continues to unfold, and I welcome every new chapter with the same passion and resilience that has shaped me throughout my journey. And I continue to believe that the true beauty of dance lies not just in its physical manifestation, but in the timeless stories we choose to weave through every delicate pirouette, every soaring leap, and every whisper of emotion we share with the world.