Prima Ballerinas 608

## Anastasia Stashkevich: A Life in Pirouettes The scent of rosin and sweat, the hush of a packed auditorium before the lights come up – it’s a familiar, intoxicating fragrance that has followed me since I was a little girl in a tiny village near St. Petersburg. You might not believe me, but even as a child, my world was one of arabesques and pliés, not of dolls and swings. My Beginnings I was born in 1984, the youngest of three, in the village of Petrokrepost, a stone’s throw from the cultural heartbeat of Russia. It might seem an unlikely starting point for a dancer, a far cry from the grandeur of the Mariinsky Theatre. But, for me, it was the perfect cradle. Our tiny, wooden house had a simple room set aside for my mother’s teaching. My sister, Nadia, was already taking ballet lessons, and I was there, on the floor, imitating her, absorbing the grace and rhythm. My mother, Svetlana, was not a professional dancer herself, but her passion for the art was fervent. She had trained as a ballet teacher in her youth and had nurtured that love, keeping it alive even after a family and life in the village pulled her in another direction. Her dedication, coupled with the lack of television and computer screens in our rural life, meant I had ample opportunity to explore my budding love for movement and music. My life, from a tender age, was a blend of pirouettes, arabesques and port de bras. My family, while modest, supported me whole-heartedly. My father, Vladimir, worked in the local lumberyard, his strong hands that hauled logs by day, gently turned pages of classical music scores at night, filling our evenings with Tchaikovsky, Stravinsky and Rachmaninoff. It wasn’t just music; my mother, a talented seamstress, made sure my ballet outfits were as perfect as my footwork. Those hand-stitched leotards, tutu skirts, and soft slippers – every stitch, every fabric was an embodiment of her belief in my potential. My sister Nadia was my confidante, my first teacher and my biggest critic. Together, we devoured every ballet video, emulating every move. When I was six, my mother sent Nadia to St. Petersburg to the renowned Vaganova Academy of Russian Ballet, hoping it might ignite a passion in me, a passion that I would one day emulate. I was already an ardent admirer of her skills, but it was Nadia’s first performance as the Sugar Plum Fairy in “The Nutcracker” that sealed my fate. Her performance, captured on video, was like magic on a screen. That night, I decided – I too, would dance on that stage, bathed in the spotlight. My life began to revolve around the weekly train trips to St. Petersburg. I would sit on my mother’s lap, surrounded by other families, their children also aspiring to ballet careers. We all travelled in silent communion, the aroma of pastries and black tea filling the carriage. It wasn’t easy. I was often the youngest in class, surrounded by seasoned students. My mother and I, our love unwavering, embraced the hardships and joys that came with our ballet journey. Entering the Academy At eight, I was finally old enough to enter the prestigious Vaganova Academy, one of the most rigorous dance schools in the world. I remember walking into the building, its majestic architecture an imposing yet awe-inspiring symbol of artistry. Everything was grand, from the tall windows, adorned with stained glass, to the expansive corridors lined with mirrors. But the world I stepped into was not all grandeur and fairytale; it was demanding, disciplined and rigorous. The teachers at the Academy were renowned for their tough love and high standards. My days began before sunrise with demanding barre work, followed by countless hours of repetitive exercises, rigorous technique classes, and demanding rehearsals. The sheer intensity, the discipline, and the grueling schedules were tests of both physical and mental strength. There were many times, with sore muscles and blistered feet, that I questioned my resolve. I felt the immense pressure of living up to the legacy of great ballerinas like Anna Pavlova and Natalia Makarova. But the Academy also nurtured and empowered me. I thrived under the scrutiny, the relentless focus on perfection, and the commitment to excellence. It wasn’t easy to live away from my family, but I made a close circle of friends, young girls bound together by our shared love for dance and the demanding life we lived. We found comfort in our camaraderie, understanding each other's sacrifices, and celebrating each other’s victories. During my early years, I thrived in classes, but my physique was leaner than many of my peers, and my muscles lacked the desired bulk. This initially impacted my progress. However, I soon proved myself, becoming the strongest student in my year in class, exceeding even those who were taller and heavier. My passion for the art of ballet, my unwavering commitment to practice, and the constant encouragement of my teachers and parents allowed me to conquer these challenges. The power and artistry I showcased on stage started winning awards, my strength, stamina, and technical prowess setting me apart from my classmates. Stepping Onto the Stage After eight years of training, I graduated from the Academy with honors and landed a prestigious spot at the Mariinsky Ballet. Stepping onto that legendary stage for the first time was a feeling beyond words. The orchestra played the opening notes, the hushed crowd, and the warmth of the lights felt like a million magical strands weaving their way into my being. It was the culmination of years of dedication, sweat, tears, and unwavering belief. From there, it was a whirlwind of performances, both classical and contemporary. The years that followed were a dance marathon of ballets such as “The Nutcracker,” “Swan Lake,” “Don Quixote,” and “Giselle”. I loved every single role I danced. From delicate Odette in “Swan Lake” to the fiery Kitri in “Don Quixote,” every role was a different story, an expression of emotions and life through movement. Learning to Fly Being a ballerina at the Mariinsky was like living inside a dream. But my journey was far from over. The competition among dancers was intense, and it took every ounce of talent, grit, and passion to maintain my place as a Principal Dancer. It was then that I met the renowned choreographer, Jean-Yves Duret. He pushed me beyond my comfort zone, forcing me to rediscover my passion, to embrace my uniqueness, and to challenge myself in ways I never thought possible. I started choreographing, experimenting with contemporary pieces that allowed me to explore the boundaries of my art. I created works that resonated with my generation, reflecting a youthful perspective and incorporating elements of modern life. The experience of choreographing further honed my understanding of movement, the art of storytelling, and the subtle ways that the body speaks a universal language. Jean-Yves became a mentor, an influential figure in my professional and personal journey. He saw something special in me, a raw talent that he nurtured, shaping my vision and encouraging me to explore the uncharted territories of the ballet world. The Turning Point However, success on the international ballet stage often comes with a price, a constant strain on your body, the emotional highs and lows of the performer’s world, and the pressure to be flawless, even when exhaustion gnaws at your bones. It’s a world where beauty is synonymous with physical perfection. And despite being celebrated, despite achieving international recognition for my artistry and strength, I wasn’t exempt from its allure. I was in my early 20s, and my career was thriving. Then, fate dealt me a harsh blow. In 2007, while performing in a ballet version of “Romeo and Juliet” I landed awkwardly on a stage step, fracturing my fibula. It wasn’t a devastating injury, but it was a painful reminder of the fragility of my career. That injury, while seemingly small, shattered my confidence, causing me to question my future. I felt vulnerable and unsure about returning to the stage. My mind was flooded with doubts, a sea of anxieties about the uncertainties that lay ahead. The injury had more to do with mental strain than with the physical one. It exposed a latent anxiety I’d been suppressing, a nagging doubt about my ability to keep performing at the highest level, particularly after such a rapid rise to fame. I took several months off to recover, returning to training with the knowledge that I would need to regain the strength and confidence to return to the stage. It was during this recovery period, immersed in a quiet introspection, that I realized the pressure I had put upon myself and the importance of listening to my own body and spirit. I discovered the strength and vulnerability I felt as a human being, the fear that could be exhilarating, and the doubts that pushed me to look at life beyond the spotlight, outside the confines of my ballet shoes. This realization led to an unexpected career shift. It was at this time that I was introduced to a London-based production house working on a ballet adaptation of “A Midsummer Night’s Dream” with the renowned actor Sir Kenneth Branagh. The idea of playing the role of Titania, the magical Queen of the Fairies, enthralled me. I was fascinated by the blend of theatrical performance and dance. This role offered me the chance to step outside the boundaries of my classical training and delve into the realms of dramatic performance. The challenge was an irresistible one. My training as a ballerina instilled in me a natural stage presence, a gracefulness of movement and expression. It had become second nature to tell stories with my body, but adding the depth and richness of a theatrical performance, with spoken words and complex characters, was both exciting and terrifying. It was through this project that I was exposed to the world of performance beyond dance. It taught me that my art could find expression in many different forms, beyond the traditional constraints of the ballet stage. My life was evolving; it was a dance of shifting priorities, of pushing myself beyond what I believed were my limitations. It allowed me to rediscover the joy in dance, the freedom of exploration and the immense potential of artistry. A New Chapter As my recovery progressed, I started spending more time in London, immersed in the vibrant theatre scene, working with theatrical and dance directors. This phase of my career, a combination of ballet performances and theatre productions, was deeply fulfilling. I even started teaching and choreographing, mentoring young dancers and shaping their passion for dance, instilling in them the love of this art form that had given me so much. The injury and its aftermath opened a new world of opportunities for me, allowing me to pursue creative collaborations, embrace challenges that demanded flexibility and adaptability, and experience the immense potential of performance in its myriad forms. It was through this transformation that I discovered the inner strength to pursue my artistic vision beyond the constraints of ballet’s conventional expectations. During my later years as a dancer, my journey went from being on the international stage to sharing that love with the next generation of aspiring dancers. I dedicated my energy and skills to educating and training the young. Sharing the joy of ballet, the power of artistry, the meticulous techniques, the magic of movement, and the raw passion of dancing – these are the joys of a teacher’s life. A Dance with Destiny Now, in my early 30s, the dance continues. As I stand back, gazing at the younger generation of ballerinas, I recognize their passion, their dreams, their dedication. It brings me back to those early days, when my feet were sore, my muscles ached, and my life was entirely dedicated to perfecting every plié and pirouette. It reminds me that our lives are journeys, a series of stepping stones that lead us to unexpected destinations. We learn, we evolve, we grow, and we discover that even in the most unexpected moments, there is a dance with destiny, a delicate ballet that guides us. And that, my friends, is what keeps me going.