The name Gigi Căciuleanu is synonymous with contemporary dance, both in Romania and worldwide. Alongside his teacher, Miriam Răducanu, he built forms of expression through movement at a time when Romanians lacked freedom. He then amazed huge names in dance, such as the Soviet ballerina Maya Plisetskaya and the German dancer and choreographer Pina Bausch.

He founded the first National Center for Contemporary Dance in France in Rennes and led the Santiago de Chile National Ballet.

He has lived in Paris for 50 years but has also left his mark on contemporary dance in Romania, both before and after the Revolution.

I met him in the French capital, in the Montmartre district where he lives, and I discovered fascinating stories, from his departure from Romania and periods of financial insecurity, where he ate only jam on dry bread for three months, to career-defining encounters with Pierre Cardin, Astor Piazzolla, Jean Michel Jarre, and Maya Plisetskaya.

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In June 1940, when Romania was ordered to cede Bessarabia as a result of the Ribbentrop-Molotov Pact, Gigi Căciuleanu’s grandparents and parents caught the last train to Bucharest.

“My grandmother didn’t take any jewelry, nothing; she only took the Bible and a cactus. If I were to write all my memoirs, I would title it The Bible and the Cactus. She had the Bible since 1900; she would read from it when we were children and she cherished it very much. The way my grandmother read to us made the Bible seem like an adventure book.

We all lived in the basement of a house on Eremia Grigorescu Street, and I was lucky to grow up between the two gardens, Icoanei and Ioanid. In my day, Ioanid was called Pușkin Park. We used to swim in the pond there.”

Gigi Căciuleanu first came into contact with dance when he was only 4 years old. It happened at a ballet school on Frumoasă Street in Bucharest, near George Enescu’s house.

“If you were to look through the keyhole into Alice’s Wonderland, you would see something. You know it’s Wonderland, but you don’t know exactly what it’s like. Dance is not just dance; it’s a necessity. It’s a visceral necessity, just as poetry is a necessity. And for me, poetry and dance and drawing lines are very connected.

My mother took me to ballet for two reasons: one – I was terribly mischievous, and two – my mother would have wanted to be a ballerina, but it was not considered appropriate at the time in our family for a girl to be a ballerina; ballerinas were considered unserious. Unable to be a ballerina, my mother became a botanist. She was very in love with plants. A plant is a dance. It is a line that develops, blooms, has a story. A blade of grass also has extraordinary strength; it comes out of the asphalt without any problem. Put me under the asphalt to see if I can get out. No! I don’t know how the blade of grass makes its way through.

Dance fascinated me in the sense that it hit me on the head; I was very scared because there were all kinds of young ladies who knew much more than I did. I was 4 years old; what does a child know at 4? I started to cry, and a blond, beautiful, very intelligent teacher, Nuți Dona, took me in her arms, and I asked her to marry me. Haha. Then she started training me.

She said: ‘Forget the figures and look: I’m here with you, you’re in an empty lot, you’re playing with a ball, you break a window, the neighbor whose window you broke comes out and scolds you, you answer him, and you are between the ball and the one who scolds you. You dance however you want.’ I don’t know what I danced for her, but I really liked the idea. That was freedom.”

He then continued to go to the dance school, and the meeting that was to decisively mark his artistic path was with the dancer and choreographer Miriam Răducanu.

“Miriam became our teacher when I entered the second cycle, which means at 14 years old. And suddenly, some subjects were added, one of which was called The Actor’s Art. I really liked it; at one point, I wanted to quit dance and become an actor, I realized I could do more things as an actor, and I really liked the idea.

She gave us dance classes, but it was not allowed to say “modern dance”; jazz was frowned upon as modern music. She told us: ‘Look, you are allowed to improvise, but not chaotically, but with some very precise tasks, just like jazz musicians do, she already pronounced the word jazz, which was taboo. Or like very talented musicians do in a Mozart symphony; they have a moment of freedom where they deviate from the written symphony and are allowed to add some nuances that are their own. I want to work on these nuances with you, in which you have the right to be free, but going through the experience of improvising with some very precise tasks.’

With Miriam, I realized that dance and the art of acting do not exclude each other but blend very well. She was the first dance-actor I met.

Together, the two created the famous late-night shows, which took place at the Țăndărică Theater in Bucharest in the late ’60s. The Nocturnes combined music, dance, poetry, and acting, and the interdisciplinary construction was something revolutionary at the time.

“She worked a lot with the theater, with Gina Patrichi, with Virgil Ogășanu. Virgil Ogășanu was part of the first Nocturne we did. He performed a monologue from Gogol’s The Government Inspector, which he had worked on with Andrei Șerban.

Many of the dances I did with Miriam came out of improvisation. Before the Nocturnes, we danced a lot in people’s homes. Whoever had a bigger living room would welcome us. People would sit on chairs as if at a theater.

How was this freedom possible in that regime where Romanians lacked precisely freedom?

“Romanians are Romanians; jokes saved us. Don’t forget that we are in a country of jokes, even if some people would turn you in for this. We always laughed at many things, and Romanians have always been very Latin. No matter how much they try to restrain us, we remain Latin.

Inspired by Brâncuși, Miriam had at one point created a dance called Flight; it was very static, only on an oscillation, the body only had some inclinations. And she was criticized by her colleagues at the opera, who said, ‘What kind of flight is that; in flight, you flap your arms.’ And I went to her and said: ‘Madam, you should know that I am very upset by what people are saying about your dance.’

And she told me: ‘You ask them where the feathers are on Brâncuși’s Bird. Don’t argue with them; just present artistic arguments.’ Miriam is very different from me. Miriam polished her dances, just as Brâncuși polished his sculptures. And I was very much about the immediate moment; I could change a dance in three seconds. During the Nocturnes, I always said that she was the pretzel, and I was dancing, sneaking through the holes of the pretzel.”

When the Nocturnes, theater plays, concerts, and opera shows ended, young people from Bucharest who were interested in the courageous side of art would gather at Preoteasa, the Students’ Cultural Center. There, great Romanian artists would give free rein to their imagination and improvise in a captivating way for the audience.

“We improvised crazily; all kinds of jazz musicians would come, the Berindei brothers, Jancy Korossy, Johnny Raducanu. It was a dialogue where I didn’t care about the way they played and what that was called in music, and they didn’t care what the movement we were doing was called. The audience would come like crazy for this. A lot of young people would come,” Gigi Căciuleanu now recalls.

Alongside Miriam Răducanu, Gigi Căciuleanu participated in the first international festivals. When the Bulandra Theater, with Liviu Ciulei as director, presented Hamlet at the Edinburgh Festival, Gigi Căciuleanu was dancing in the festival’s underground: “one day, we saw Marin Sorescu and Ion Caramitru come in and join us, in a good way, and they created a moment within our show. It was spontaneous and fit perfectly.”

Poetry, painting, and dance have always had echoes in Gigi Căciuleanu’s dance. He fell in love with the paintings of Kandinsky and Aivazovsky, which gave him the courage not to impose barriers on himself, to build forms in continuous motion, without a contour.

“What is choreography? It is a combination of movements that you invent. You invent the movements and their combination. I make a big distinction between a choreographer and an arranger. It’s like in music; there are people who invent things and others who arrange them. A lot of choreographers call themselves choreographers without being choreographers. They take things from here and there and glue them together.”

Gigi Căciuleanu left Romania in 1973 and settled in France, after a journey through Russia, Germany, Greece, and Belgium, refusing an invitation to move to America.

His meeting with the great German dancer and choreographer Pina Bausch gave him the confidence that he could start over in a new world.

“After leaving the country so many times with Miriam, I told myself I couldn’t wait for visas for who knows how long. I was convinced I had something to say, and I couldn’t say it at the opera, where I had to do what I was told. I didn’t want to go to Moscow, but Miriam told me, ‘Go, boy, to the Russians, and learn the trade!'”

And did you go to the Bolshoi Theater?

“Yes, I stayed for one season, but that was enough for me; it was an extraordinary technical apprenticeship. It was classical, academic dance, but with more freedom. I had three extraordinary teachers; if a double jump was done, we would do a triple. I absolutely loved this technical challenge. And we had the opportunity to sneak in to the soloists, we would open the door and slip in. Maya Plisetskaya, Ekaterina Maximova, Vladimir Vasiliev were there; you couldn’t even touch them.”

He was not interested in staying in Moscow and continued to see the world through international competitions, along with his dance partner, Ruxandra Racoviță.

“We won the only contemporary choreography competition in Germany at that time. I won once, I returned to Romania, and Ruxandra told me: ‘Căciu, let’s do another competition, so we can get out again, so the world can see us.’

And we did a Romanian Bolero, the two of us with a third acting character, Dan Mastacan, who had some acting passages, and Raluca Ianegic, who presented a kind of flamenco, a symbol of death, as I was reading a lot of Lorca at the time. That dance piece won first prize a second time. It had never happened before that the same people would win in a competition two years in a row.

Pina Bausch had been the laureate of the same competition a few years earlier. I said that if I won the prize a second time, I would stay there. Dan Mastacan left for Paris immediately and had an extraordinary career in the world of film.

I stayed in Germany because Pina invited me to join her company. She was the director of the Essen School of Arts. She proposed that I work on choreographies with the people she had, her students, some of whom would later become very well known. Susanne Linke was there.

I had the extraordinary chance to work with those people; I created ten pieces with them. And those productions went on tour. Pina combined them with her pieces and my pieces. So I had moments when I wasn’t dancing and I would watch what she was doing, and she did the same.

That’s when I saw what a great dancer Pina was, and every time I went and said: ‘Pina, you are a divine dancer,’ even though she was like an animal, a combination of Salvador Dalí’s dinosaur and a giraffe in flames.

In the meantime, I convinced Ruxandra to return to Germany, and we left with her for Greece. We bought two boat tickets, without having anything to eat.”

The projects in Greece did not materialize, so Ruxandra Racoviță returned to Romania, but Gigi stayed for another 3 months in Greece, on the island of Hydra near Athens, where a Romanian woman they had met owned a house.

“In 40-degree heat, I ate nothing but dry biscotte with orange marmalade for three months, which Mrs. Ralu Manu had in the house, as she was on vacation. I literally exterminated that cupboard of biscotte—some slices of dry bread. And I would spread a little marmalade on it to make it last. Since then, I can’t stand to see biscotte; I can’t…”

He finally managed to get to Paris, a city that continues to captivate him today, after 50 years.

“When I arrived in Paris in June-July, the last thing on my mind was America. I even slept on benches by the Seine many times; it was possible back then, it’s not like now. Dan Mastacan had left to make a film in Germany, and I had nowhere to stay. But I said that I wasn’t leaving here.”

Now he met us in the Montmartre district, near the Sacre Coeur church, where he lives. He is 78 years old, and dance, cats, and poetry are now his main interests. He perfectly remembers the adventure of settling in France, without any source of income, trying to work at a cabaret while having just requested political asylum.

Ruxandra Racoviță joined him in this madness, and the great American ballerina Rosella Hightower, director of the Nancy Theater, gave them a chance: “she told us she had only one position for a dancer, but she would cut it in half, and we would split the salary. That’s how we got to Nancy, where later, she gave me the direction of the ballet there. Dan Mastacan was my assistant. And Ruxandra was a star dancer.

I stayed there for 5 years. From that company of 30 people, I selected 10 with whom I worked at night, and we then went on tour through France. Unpaid, that’s what we wanted. That’s how the French Ministry of Culture got to know us. And, at one point, I said, ‘God, I really want to do only this; I’m not interested in doing those ballets anymore, which, in fact, I didn’t even know how to do.’

The Ministry of Culture offered me Rennes or Montpellier. I wanted Rennes because it’s closer to Paris. I always gravitate towards Paris. I love Paris, no matter what it’s like. I got to Rennes and stayed there for 15 years. That’s where I founded the first National Center for Contemporary Dance.”

Through the actor Dan Mastacan, who had become the assistant to the famous designer and cultural figure Pierre Cardin, Gigi Căciuleanu received a proposal from Cardin to go on a world tour.

“I was on tour with a show in London, and Pierre Cardin came into the theater and saw me. He said he wanted me. I came by bus and showed Pierre Cardin what we were working on clandestinely at night in Nancy, and he said: ‘I’ll take you with this show.’ And that’s how he gave us tours all over the world: Japan, China, the United States, and a lot in South America.”

Pierre Cardin also connected him with one of the greatest Soviet ballerinas in history, Maya Plisetskaya, whom the young Gigi had only secretly watched at the Bolshoi Theater in Moscow.

“Pierre Cardin calls me and says: ‘Don’t you want to meet Maya Plisetskaya? I’d like to introduce you to her and have her see you dance.’ And I said, ‘Of course, I’ll take the train immediately.’ I go, I arrive at the theater in Paris, and I dance to Ray Charles’s music. Maya likes it very much; she even wrote in her diary ‘I met a brilliant Romanian.’ She says: ‘Don’t you want to teach me some movements?’ I say: ‘Madam, these movements are not learned in three seconds behind a door.’

Years passed since then, and Pierre Cardin called me again: ‘I absolutely want to make a gift show for Maya, and I thought of you.’ Among the proposed titles, I chose The Madwoman of Chaillot; it seemed to fit my personality and hers the most. We were going to put on the show at his theater, Espace Cardin, in the heart of Paris; for me, it was a huge deal. And I said, ‘But how?’ And he said: ‘Maya will come to Rennes, and you will work there.’ And Maya came.

I was late at the station. Rennes is towards the ocean, 80 km from the ocean, so there were many seagulls.

I arrive at the station, the platforms were empty, like in the paintings of Delvaux (n.r. Belgian surrealist painter Paul Delvaux), who drew stations with traffic lights, where there are some naked ladies.

‘Maya, please forgive me, I had rehearsals, let me help you with your luggage.’ She was silent, nothing, she just stood there with her braids in the wind. Then she says: ‘I know how it is. But please show me the movements you have thought of for me.’

And the improvisation starts again, of course. You come huffing and puffing, sweating, because it’s the huge star right there and you’re late? And I start outlining it for her on that platform; I had absolutely nothing prepared, but, anyway, I had Miriam Răducanu’s training. I put on the tape with The Madwoman of Chaillot and danced for her. She didn’t say a word. She let me go through hell on that platform, I stopped at one point because I couldn’t go on, and she says: ‘Yes, I liked it. But I have one single request. Don’t you dare do it any other way than how you did it here.’

Were you able to reproduce it then?

“The hell I was! No, but it didn’t even matter anymore. She didn’t want to see what I had. She wanted to see that my joints would hold up, because otherwise, she could have gotten on the next train and left.

We did the show at the Bolshoi, we did it in Japan. When we arrived at the Bolshoi, it was exactly the day the Russian White House was burning; the government building was on fire, everything was closing on the streets at 9, and Yeltsin gave an extraordinary dispensation so that Maya’s show could be performed at 4.”

In 1993, he founded the Gigi Căciuleanu company in Paris, with Dan Mastacan and Ruxandra Racoviță. At the same time, he returned to Romanian soil as a guest and contributed to the growth of new generations of Romanian dancers.

“Vava Ștefănescu, Răzvan Mazilu, Ștefan Lupu, Arcadie Rusu, Ioana Marchidan, Lari Georgescu – they all were part of my company, and now they are all something.

First and foremost, I taught them that they had to be themselves. That no matter how strict the choreography is, and I work very strictly on choreography, the choreographies are written precisely so that from this writing you can burst out when you want to. But you must have a thought-out foundation. Take a Mozart symphony. Yehudi Menuhin’s genius is not seen because he is interpreting something else, but because he plays it the way he plays it. To be free to be who you are—that is the great art.

To be ‘authentic,’ I was even called ‘Mr. Authentic,’ because I used the word often.

The choreography of the sea is written. There are physical laws. You don’t play with them. But look at the sea; you can stand all day long and you don’t get tired of looking at it. Or the fire in the fireplace. And yet, there are very clear physical laws that direct those things. That would be choreography.

What does Romania mean to you?

I don’t make a distinction between Romania and France. If I stayed in Paris, it’s because it looked a lot like Romania. It seemed to me that I had come home.

But what were the similarities?

There is a certain freedom of thought. There were also our connections with France, Cioran, Ionesco, Enescu. And it seemed like a terribly natural connection, and I spoke French from a very young age.

Romanians are very French, in fact, and the French are very Romanian. There are differences because we had different destinies.”

This article is part of the “France Week” series, an initiative by Cultura la dubă supported by BNP Paribas. So far, within this project, Cultura la dubă has presented the stories of 22 Romanian artists and cultural figures based in France.

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Voluntarii vor fi repartizați în funcție de preferințele și de aptitudinile lor. Departamentele unde voluntarii pot activa sunt: artist crew, acreditări, check-in, emergency team, steward, logistică, comunicare, user experience și acces. Voluntarii vor beneficia de un program de pregătire în care vor învăța elemente de managementul proiectelor, comunicare, customer care și self management.

Pentru a putea intra în echipa voluntarilor trebuie să ai între 16 și 35 de ani. Perioada de recrutare se încheie pe data de 3 august. Înscrierile de voluntari pentru festivalul UNTOLD se fac pe https://untold.com/volunteers.

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The artists at the National Opera have split then into two sides: that of romanians, led at those protests by the conductor Tiberiu Soare and that of the choregraph Johan Kobborg and and of the world-ranking ballerina, Alina Cojocaru, the two of them being supported by ballet dancers from Romania and from other countries.

The Romanian side was accusing Kobburg that he was favorizing foreign artists, and his supporters were claiming that Romanian ballet had never reached a such a high level as the one imposed by the Danish choreographer. The scandal, which had a racist side to it, got the attention of international press, at the time writing that the great ballerina Alina Cojocaru was being cheered against in her own country, something impossible to comprehend for any ballet lover who is aware of her immense value.

After a period of strikes, cancelled shows, interventions from the cultural minister and a some management changes, Alina Cojocaru and Johan Kobborg left Romania, many ballet dancers following them.

Among them was Marina Minoiu.

Marina now dances for The Royal Danish Ballet. She misses home, but she keeps her distance, as does Romanian mentality regarding art and appreciation of it’s values keeps it’s distance from normalcy.

Marina, how and when did your story as a ballerina start?

My career started with the opportunity to see, with my sister and mother, at the National Opera in Bucharest, the Giselle ballet. In that moment a desire was born, a great joy that has followed me until my first ballet lesson. And I suppose that from that first ballet lesson, I knew that this is what I want to do.

Like when you fall in love with something or someone. You only want to do that thing or to be with that person. It was my first love. And, as the years passed, this passion hasn’t diminished, it’s as alive at ever, it grew and matured.

In Romania, more and more parents point their children, especially girls, toward ballet. What would you tell them as to what to expect if they want to reach a professional level?

I’m happy that more and more children are guided toward art and dance. There’s great potential in Romania. We’re a passionate people, hard working, who want to enjoy fine arts.

But a professional ballet dancer’s career is a lot of work, daily, permanently, because we’re talking about working with the human body as our instrument.

This profession consists of dedication, passion for this art form, that means leaving your ego to the side and making room for true human values.

A professional ballet dancer’s path is full of joys, disappointments, frustration, injuries, wonderful moments that one can not imagine.

It is very important to know what you want to do, where you want to get to and what kind of dancer you want to be. Life will show you the way as long as you stay dedicated, honest to yourself and especially confident.

My advice for parents guiding their children toward ballet is to evaluate or identify if there is passion for a future profession and identify in time if there is an opportunity of the development of a career in this field.

There are many situations when ballet remains a hobby, which is a good thing. Children are able, even this way, to take contact with certain elements that can help develop them artistically.

Doing it as a hobby is one thing, and being a professional ballet dancer is a whole other thing. When you chose the second option you must know that it’s not only about awards at competitions or glitter and pretty costumes. These are elements that appear later on in a ballet dancer’s career.

Of course, the guidance and support of a teacher are essential.

I would like to see some more training or education toward essence for the youth, maturity and clarity and less of an inclination for the commercial and superficial.

What’s the hardest thing in a ballerina’s life? Have you ever had moments when you wanted to quit?

The relationship between mind and body is something difficult, and I give this a special, permanent attention. This relationship can be challenging, but inner balance, faith and acceptance come in.

Yes, I’ve had moments when I wanted to quit. Moments when I felt that this is not my path. But life has shown me that it wasn’t the case, it turned me away from denial, it taught me that even in hard times I have to learn to let things happen.

I like to believe that what is right for me will eventually happen.

You’ve had a long career at the National Opera in Bucharest and you left following that scandal in 2016. What did the period spent with the choreographer Johan Kobborg mean to you?

The years spent at NOB will always remain highly meaningful to me.

First of all, that is where I formed myself as an artist and I can’t erase that stage, regardless of the events.

Looking back, I know that I’ve learned something from each experience that I had there. On that stage I saw my wishes come true, I danced parts that I had never even dreamed of dancing, I learned about myself, I cried, I laughed. A part of my life that I often find myself thinking about in joy and in nostalgia.

The years working with Johan Kobborg meant an important professional growth on my career as a ballerina. They represented a rediscovery of myself, of certain parts of my, both as a human being and as a ballerina, of which I was not aware. The challenges were permanent, in the idea of giving all my best on the stage.

What does Alina Cojocaru mean to you?

Both Alina Cojocaru and Johan Kobborg are two elite artists that have left their mark and have changed the world of dancing through their vision and the way they regard ballet. They have inspired and continue to inspire people, artists, generations of dancers. In the time that I had the chance to work with both of them in Bucharest, I had a lot to learn.

One of the things that remained in my head is that they had faith in people and managed to see beyond appearances or titles.

They both permanently encouraged us to discover ourselves, to have courage and fait in being authentic.

How did you get to the Royal Danish Ballet and what did this change mean to you?

At the Royal Danish Ballet I’ve arrived following my departure from Romania. It was a big change because I left everything behind and started from zero. In a new country, with a different culture, in a new company.

In the first 6 months I felt that I couldn’t find stability in anything. But the support and the love of my family, along with my faith in God, have helped me find that stability again, being away from home.

Did you find any negative reactions from your colleagues because you were coming from Romania?

My colleagues received me well and our collaboration was a pleasant one from the first days.

How is life in Denmark?

The standard of life here is very high. Many times I felt spoiled, coming from Romania. In time, you get used to the life style, but there are cultural and social differences that I still feel.

Something that I can not get used to is the weather and the darkness during winter.

I strongly believe, though, that as long as you are open and confident, you will meet the right people.

Oh, and another thing. Danish pastry is absolutely irresistible.

Is the balance between earnings and spending a positive one, compared to how it was in Romania?

I would say yes, referring strictly to the period living in Romania. I know that things have changed for the better in Romania and I was glad to hear that. In the same time, it is hard to compare because they are two countries in different stages of development.

Are you thinking of remaining there?

Hard to say right now…

Do you miss Romania? If so, what do you miss about it?

Yes, absolutely! I miss the beauty of the places in Romania, the energy I feel when I’m at home. I miss my friends, my godson – a little artist in becoming, my puppy Sasha, our churches and most of all I miss my family.

What could make you come back as a ballerina at the National Opera in Bucharest?

A change in mentality and the support of the development of this profession.

Did you see any shows at NOB?

Not since I’ve left, no.

If you were to start over, would you chose ballet?

Probably yes, I don’t know. I like to think that we have a purpose in life, that our journey here, as people, is given to us to take us somewhere. For me this meant the path of dancing, although when I was a child, I wanted to become a judge, and then an archeologist.

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Francesca Velicu is a ballerina, first artist, at the English National Ballet, and at only 23 her name is known and applauded on the European dance stage.

She was born in Bucharest, where she had her first contact with ballet. But her talent crossed the boundaries of the country as a teen, when she was noticed by the Russian masters of the Bolshoi Ballet Academy.

Meeting the Danish choreographer and ballet dancer Johan Kobborg, those days artistic director of the National Opera in Bucharest, would change her career. The removal of Kobborg and of Alina Cojocaru from the Bucharest Opera in 2016, after a shameful scandal for Romania, was also the moment that Francesca decided to leave the country.

Only 2 years later, Francesca Velicu would receive the prestigious Oliver Award in London, for extraordinary performance in dance, the equivalent of the BAFTA awards in cinematography. The trophy was handed to her by the most important ballet dancer in the world, Sergei Polunin.

The ballerina is in her third lockdown in London currently and is longing for her shows. We spoke to her about ballet, painting, Romania, sacrifices and the people that influenced her path so far.

Francesca, tell us, for starters, how did your passion for ballet start?

I have tried a lot of things growing up: piano, ballet, painting, tennis, swimming and others. I liked ballet the most and I pursued it.

I studied ballet at a children’s school in Bucharest and then I moved to The “Floria Capsali” Choreography High School.

Do you have memories of your first ballet classes, as a child?

Yes and I didn’t like it very much.

“I remember not being very flexible and the teacher pushing me into different positions. I even stopped for a while, but then I gave it another try and made it to the stage. Then I liked it.”

Francesca Velicu, ballerina at the English National Ballet

How did you get to the Bolshoi Academy?

The Bolshoi Academy in Moscow does a summer intensive in New York, each year. That’s where I was, at a summer course and following that, they sent me an invitation to study at Moscow.

How long were you in Moscow and how was the experience there?

I was in Moscow for 2 years. It all seemed like a big change back then, it was a much bigger city than Bucharest, I didn’t know the language, I didn’t know anything. I was 14 or 15 and after just a week I went there.

How was life in Moscow, what were you doing?

I did only ballet. It is well known that the Russians have a great respect for culture, especially for ballet, and thus all the girls are very passionate about it, they respect ballet a lot.

My dorm room was on the school premises, I was there all the time.

Why did you return to Romania?

I had to come and take all my exams. And if I was in Romania I thought I’d go to the Opera to dance and that’s how I got into Bucharest’s National Opera, where I remained for a year.

How was your experience with Johan Kobborg and Alina Cojocaru?

It was an incredible experience, one of the best years of my career. Johan launched me in in Bucharest, until then I hadn’t danced with the company in an important role, that’s where my first main parts were.

Did you decide to leave when they left, after that scandal in 2016?

Yes, as soon as I found out that Johan was leaving I thought that it is time that I tried dancing outside the country, which is something I wanted anyway, dancing abroad.

So I auditioned for the English National Ballet and I got in.

At the Oliver Awards you thanked them firstly. How did they help you reach that point?

Johan was the first director of a ballet company that I was in and he meant a lot to me because he had faith in me and made me trust myself. He gave me the chance to dace parts, me being very young, I was only 16.

A lot of small girls wish to become ballerinas. What do you think it takes to become a ballerina?

Firstly, it’s about talent, but talent alone will get you nowhere. It takes a lot of work and faith in yourself. It’s very important to keep your strength and faith, regardless of the obstacles that appear.

How did the London story start and how did it evolve?

It was a beautiful experience because since I arrived here, I’ve done a lot of contemporary dance. In international companies they do a lot of contemporary dance, they don’t just do classical ballet. The world has evolved, the audience already knows all of the classical shows, it’s natural to try new things.

Of course, back home, in Romania, they don’t really do any contemporary dance, especially at the Opera. So it was something new for me.

And I was surprised because I didn’t think I’d do this well, given that i hadn’t done it in Romania. But the Oliver Award was for contemporary dancing. I had only gotten here, it was my second year, it was a very unexpected award, I had never thought about it.

Us, the dancers, we don’t think about awards so much because there aren’t so many awards for dancing. We think about the parts, dancing on the great stages, but not awards.

Now I’m a first artist, but it’s not the equivalent of a first-soloist in Romania. In Romania there are the ballet corps, the soloist and the first-soloist. In the UK there are about 6 titles to the first-soloist, I’m only half way there.

During this time in the UK, have you ever felt regarded differently, coming from Romania?

No, never and I wouldn’t let that happen.

“I prefer speaking through dance and letting people judge what I do, not the country I come from.”

When was the last time you went home?

About a year. Well, this year has been a special one. I think it’s the longest that I’ve been away. Usually, I come home twice a year, summers and winters, but this year has been an exception.

Has your family come to see you dance in London?

Yes, all the time. Especially my mother, when she finds cheaper plane tickets.

Other than ballet, what does your life look like? What else do you enjoy?

Normally, I would visit museums, galleries, I enjoy any form of art and I try to see as much as possible. And when I have a little time off, I try to get as much sleep as possible (laughs).

Regarding the sacrifices you’ve made for ballet, I would assume that you’re often asked how you managed. For example, How do you resist the urge to eat something you enjoy?

I am pretty fortunate because I’ve never had a diet issue and I have a petite body. It’s hart to hold back in Romania from sarmale or other foods, but in general I also like eating heathy. I get some cravings sometimes, it’s fair to say.

For example, do you ever eat burger and fries?

Of course! (laughs)

I know that you also like painting. Why are you attracted to it?

Yes, it’s my no. 1 hobby. It relaxes me and it’s the only thing that helps me disconnect from anything. I don’t know how and why, but when I paint, I forget about absolutely anything. I especially paint when something upsets me or I’m in a bad mood.

It’s funny when my mother texts me “You’re painting again? What’s wrong?”

And when you’re dancing how do you feel?

I fell every possible way. Dancing to me has become something normal, especially now, when we’re only studying, making routine exercises.

Ant for the shows, I do what I do. I love doing shows, being on stage, and it’s really hard right now because it’s not happening.

To that, how has 2020 been for you, as an artist in London? You’re in your third lockdown.

I have to admit, I don’t really like it, but it is what it is, we have to accept it and be optimistic.

How long has it been since you’ve had a show with an audience?

It’s been a year. The last one was a gala in Romania.

What do you miss the most in Romania?

I miss a lot of things. The food, first of all (laughs). My grandmother’s cooking or other foods. I miss my family, my dog, my friends.

What do you think your big career break was? The moment that changed your course?

Johan was. It’s because of him that I ended up dancing this way, like I said, he gave me a lot of confidence. Until then, I had never thought that I could have made it this far.

How do you see now, 5 years later, what has happened to Johan Kobborg in Romania?

“They refused to accept a change, that was a mistake. It’s about open-mindedness. I think that’s an old issue in our country.”

Do you see yourself ever returning to live in Romania?

For the moment, no. But I won’t say never. Either way, I don’t want to stay in one place, I want to explore as much as possible.

What advice would you have for younger girls wanting to become ballerinas. Or for the parents pushing them to do that?

For the girls – be positive that this is what they want to do, keep at it, work hard and be confident. But I do not agree with the idea of parents pushing their children to do something. I think that can only work for a while, then, when the child grows up, he realizes what he really wants.

In my case it was perfect, my parents and I wanted the same thing.

How do you see yourself in 10 years?

I don’t know, my goal is to reach the highest peaks, at the rank of first-soloist. And I have a lot of ballets that I want to dance. That’s where I’m going.

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