Page 23 of Barre Fight
“Yeah?” she asked, hopefully.
“Yeah. Or at least, not actively hate it.”
“That’ll do for now.”
He nodded. “You want to apologize for the video, too?”
She raised her eyebrows. “I—well, I mean?—”
“Ivy, it’s fine. I know you were just doing your job.”
She let out a nervous laugh and nodded. “Well, now my job is to make people forget they ever saw it.”
“Right. So, do you want to try that interview again?” he said, managing to keep the dread out of his voice at the thought.
“I do. But maybe we can do it somewhere you’re more comfortable? Like a neutral territory? Or a place you really like to spend time?”
Justin nodded. “That’s a good idea. I’ll think of something.”
“Thank you,” she said gratefully, just as the sound of loud voices came through the locker room door. She glanced hastily over her shoulder, then turned back to face him. “I should go before someone finds me in here. Not very fucking professional,” she said with a nervous laugh.
He smiled at her, and for a moment she looked down at him, relief and what looked like hope on her face. It felt like a fresh start, a tentative truce.
“I’m going to get changed,” he said after a minute, putting his thumb in the waistband of his tights.
“Right, of course, I’m going,” she said, her eyes widening.Her gaze swept over his chest again, and then she turned and headed for the door.
“It’s boysenberry, by the way,” he said, before she could pull it open.
“What?”
“My favorite ice cream flavor. Boysenberry swirl.”
“Oh.” She cocked her head, looking pleasantly surprised. “Um, mine too.”
Chapter Five
TAKE A WALK WITH JUSTIN WINTERS
Get to know the ANB principal dancer who can’t live without whole wheat pasta, regular bush walks, or his foam roller.
by Ivy Page
Most dancers have a love-hate relationship with the foam roller, and Justin Winters, 33, is no different. “It’s a pain in my backside, literally, but I can’t go a day without it. I shudder to think what kind of shape my body would be in if I wasn’t religious about foam rolling.”
Perhaps it’s thanks to the necessary evil that is his foam roller, but Winters is one of the rare and fortunate dancers whose career hasn’t been stalled or threatened by a serious injury. He joined ANB at 18 and climbed the ranks steadily since then, culminating in a promotion to principal dancer five years ago. Dancing at the company’s highest rank is a responsibility he takes seriously, and his pas de deux partners say that shows in how he handles them: with care.
“He handles you gently, but he also makes sure you feel steady and secure, which is a hard balance to strike,” says fellow principal Heather Hays. (That he always brushes his teeth and refreshes his antiperspirant before pas de deux rehearsal certainly doesn’t hurt, Hays “jokes.”)
Winters grew up in rural New South Wales, an only child in a close-knit extended family. He followed his older cousin into ballet classes, where the teacher was struck by his feet, which were well-suited to classical ballet. Those feet carried him through years of training at his local school, and to Sydney—and they’re still remarkable, the kind of high arches and strong, curved lines that aspiring dancers dream of. And even though the in-born advantages that make for “good” ballet feet can leave dancers more vulnerable to injury, Winters has been spared so far.
When Winters isn’t rehearsing, he likes to escape the city to a place that reminds him of home. On a recent bushwalk in Garigal National Park, a short drive from his home in Crows Nest, he explained that when he first arrived in the city, he found the traffic and the noise surprisingly stressful.
“I couldn’t sleep at night, there was just so much light and noise. After a few months I felt like I was losing my mind a bit, and one of the other dancers suggested I go for a long bushwalk, somewhere nice and quiet and away from it all, so I could hear myself think. Now I do it once every few weeks, for my sanity.” Winters has become a regular presence on the tracks in many of the national parks around Sydney, where he’s found a way to recharge and move his body gently at the end of a hard week of rehearsals. He’s resisted joining a bushwalking group, however; it’s a solitary activity for him (though he did make a special exception for me, just this once).
Back in the bustle of the city, Winters’ schedule is packed: He’s rehearsing for the company’s long-awaited upcoming tour toNew York, where he’s scheduled to dance “If Love,” a contemplative but devilishly difficult and complex contemporary work set to an excerpt from Philip Glass’ “Einstein on the Beach” and created by Nicola Pearson, one of many women choreographers Artistic Director Peter McGregor has commissioned since he took the helm of ANB. It’s a pas de deux Hays describes as “all lifts all the time,” though there are also moments of sweeping side-by-side mirroring and small, reverent movements that demand the viewer’s close attention. “If Love” is an audience favorite in Sydney, and Winters says he’s looking forward to bringing it to the hallowed stage at Lincoln Center, where the company will perform for a week next month.
It’s one of his favorites, too, for its deceptive simplicity. Despite the difficult choreography and the lush, evocative music, the ballet has no sets and minimal costumes. The woman dancer wears a leotard the color of a clear and cloudless sky, and her partner wears tights to match. But it feels like ballet “at its purest,” Winters says. “It’s a reminder that you don’t need a full orchestra and dozens of tutus, or even pointe shoes, to tell a story. All you need is music and a few bodies, and you can create a whole world.”
