Antoinette Sibley: A Life in Dance
To say I was born into ballet is almost a literal truth. I arrived in 1939, the very same year my mother, Phyllis Sibley, took her first steps on the London stage with the Sadlerās Wells Ballet. As a child, our family flat, tucked away above a butcher's shop in north London, pulsed with the rhythm of dance. The music was a constant soundtrack to our lives, and the scent of my mother's theatrical greasepaint hung in the air. I even attended a few of my motherās rehearsals, although I wasn't quite old enough to take in the art form just yet. As the child of a dancer, I knew my path. I was going to be a ballerina.
As I grew up, my own steps took shape at the Royal Ballet School. I could already leap and twirl like a seasoned professional by the age of nine, yet somehow I still managed to feel hopelessly awkward at times, as most young girls do. Still, with a fiery determination, I carved a place for myself in the school, a little spitfire among the young, aspiring dancers. Even my early training was fraught with moments of triumph and challenges. The rigours of training at the Royal Ballet School, and later, my performance career, forced me to embrace both discipline and spontaneity. I would often spend hours upon hours practising, honing my skills, pushing my body to the limit. But sometimes, you know, I simply didn't want to do it, so much so, it felt almost like a chore. On other days, though, my dance floor was like a canvas for dreams, and Iād find myself totally consumed by the power of ballet.
At just fifteen, I was offered my first professional role with the Royal Ballet. I landed a part in the Sleeping Beauty as one of the Rosebuds. It felt almost too good to be true! And this was just the beginning. That experience ignited a fire in me; it pushed me to hone my talent. As I stepped onto the stage, it was the magic of storytelling, the raw beauty of movement, and the emotional tapestry woven through each sequence that captivated me. Each performance was a chance to breathe life into a character, to inhabit their joy, their sadness, and their yearning. With every graceful arc, with every swift movement of my body, I transported myself and the audience into a world beyond reality.
Within the ballet world, I knew it was vital for me to learn the art of the adage, as much as any grand jetƩ or pirouette. Ballet, like any craft, is honed through consistent dedication. For me, dancing meant listening to my body, finding balance and fluidity. It was an act of creation. Ballet was never just about the steps, it was about feeling the energy flow from the centre of my being outwards. The grace, strength, and artistry demanded rigorous practice. We were taught that no ballerina simply landed on a role. I studied, I experimented, and I never ceased to question how to improve.
But ballet isn't solely about the studio or the stage. It's a shared journey with other dancers, and I formed some lifelong friendships during this period. You might think that competitive spirits could flourish in this field, but itās not so! The support, understanding and shared experiences with dancers, like the talented Lesley Collier, bonded me to my colleagues for life. The company at the Royal Ballet was like a family. Itās been a privilege to share this world with those amazing women, through both happy times and challenges, like that terrible car crash Lesley suffered when she was driving to rehearsal. Luckily, it turned out to be a relatively minor crash and a near miss. My friendship with Lesley just cemented what it means to share your life as dancers.
The Royal Ballet was also where I first met my soulmate, David, an equally talented dancer who shared my love for dance. It was during one of the long rehearsals for Cinderella when David caught my eye, dancing with such grace, he seemed to move like a dancer on an enchanted moonlit stage. The ballet itself, a triumph of fantastical storytelling and captivating romance, reflected our blossoming relationship.
We shared so many beautiful experiences together. My career flourished, and in 1963 I had a turning point in my career with my very first lead role, that of Aurora in Sleeping Beauty. Iāll never forget the overwhelming sensation of taking the stage as Aurora. But it was not just my dancing that resonated. That moment highlighted the artistic and intellectual synergy between David and me. Dancing together meant becoming part of a story that transcended mere movements, we embodied an unspoken conversation, one that would make the stage an emotional crucible.
From there, my career began to soar, each new ballet a feather added to my crown. I performed in some of the most cherished ballets of the time, including roles in Giselle, The Nutcracker, Romeo and Juliet and, one of my favourites, Swan Lake.
It wasnāt all glamour and fairy tales though. Just like a dancer has to learn to land as gracefully as she takes flight, I also had to navigate some personal challenges. The pressures of maintaining a top career in ballet could be incredibly intense. Balancing this, whilst raising a young daughter at the same time, pushed me to find strength I never knew I had. Being a ballerina doesn't always mean the joy of pirouette, but that is also a part of the art and an aspect of me. Even then, David never wavered, and his dedication never faltered.
One of the highlights of my career was being the muse of Frederick Ashton, the legendary choreographer, during his tenure at the Royal Ballet. It was a humbling experience to be part of his creative vision. Working with him on his iconic choreography for Ondine, which I consider to be the role that was most aligned with my artistic sensibilities, was simply magical. The way Frederick moved with grace and vision made it seem so easy. But as a ballerina, one has to learn that behind every delicate move lies an intensity that is more about what we donāt see than what we do.
As the years rolled by, I had the opportunity to perform abroad, sharing the art of ballet with diverse audiences around the globe. It opened my eyes to new cultures and experiences. This gave me an entirely new understanding of how the art form transcends languages and cultures. Itās amazing to realise that dance truly can unite people across continents. And my experience also instilled a passion within me for encouraging others in their artistic endeavors, so I set up an organisation called āDancing Dreamsā. This was designed to provide aspiring dancers, especially from disadvantaged backgrounds, access to professional-quality training. Nothing was ever about the spotlight with Dancing Dreams. We only cared about providing these talented dancers a chance to share the beauty of ballet.
After a triumphant career, my days of pirouettes, leaps, and grand jetƩs eventually drew to a close, however, it was far from the end. As my performance career shifted into the next stage of its journey, I decided to focus on teaching, passing on my love of ballet and knowledge to a new generation. This was an experience that mirrored the passion of those wonderful teachers and mentors, the ones who helped me discover my calling on the stage.
Retirement as a performer did not signal the end of my connection to dance. In the spirit of mentorship and sharing knowledge, I took on the mantle of teaching. It was deeply rewarding to pass on my understanding, techniques and love for the dance to a new generation. A lot of these students had dreams that reflected my own as a young girl. My journey was like a symphony - from a graceful legato in the beginning, then reaching a beautiful crescendo at the peak, and now, a subtle yet profound diminuendo. My time as a performer is like a fading melody. But even as my dancing days came to a close, the rhythm of ballet, the legacy of beauty, never left me. As I continue my career, a teacher and a mentor, the artistry and storytelling of this form continue to fascinate and enthral me. Even when not dancing, it seems the universe is always weaving tales that I simply have to tell.
Looking back, my life as a ballerina has been an incredible journey of dedication, self-discovery, and unwavering passion. But my greatest reward, perhaps, was seeing my own daughter, Juliet, taking the stage as a ballerina, a third-generation ballerina! Seeing Juliet bloom as a talented performer, one so capable of stirring the audienceās soul, filled me with immeasurable joy and pride. It feels surreal to say that the world of dance remains very much alive in my own family. I believe my mother, Phyllis, would be beaming with joy, as would David, who continues to support Julietās own dance journey. I cherish these precious moments as I reflect upon a life that revolved around the language of dance.
Ballet has taken me on the greatest adventures - from the iconic stages of the Royal Ballet to the captivating landscapes of other countries, as well as the more personal and intimate stages of life and love. It has also, on occasion, forced me to push myself beyond what I felt capable of. And the greatest gift it has given me? I realised it was an endless conversation, a shared language, and this dialogue, I know, will live on far longer than I do.