Mademoiselle Non

Illuminated by a spotlight, balancing on the tip of her beautifully arched foot, the famous “Mademoiselle Non” begins to lift her leg as though it were an impossibly elegant construction crane. Higher and higher — so high it’s almost painful to watch. Her strength and elasticity allow her to move with the precision of a machine. Finally her leg touches her ear, forming a perfect six o’clock position in line with the other leg. The audience gasps and the dancer’s green eyes shimmer with triumph. She is entirely in control of her time and space. Confident and independent, she is the ultimate dream come true to any girl aspiring to become a ballerina. After I left Prague to study in Paris in the 1990s, she was the star everyone talked about.

Today I like to imagine Sylvie Guillem back in her changing room, wiping mascara off her face, looking in the mirror and seeing herself as the shy little girl she once was. Born in Paris in 1965, she trained as a gymnast with her mother before enrolling at the Paris Opéra Ballet School at the age of 11 — a late start for a ballerina. But her precocious talent propelled her quickly to the top of the ballet world. At 19, she became Rudolf Nureyev’s protégée and was promoted to the highest status — that of an étoile. Five years later, after clashing with her former mentor, she chose freedom, becoming the principal guest artist at The Royal Ballet in London for the past 15 years.

She is both loved and criticized for her gymnastic approach to ballet. Her critics argue that the extreme technical perfection of her dancing doesn’t compensate for what they see as a lack of emotional expression, while her admirers remain smitten by the sheer virtuosity of her aloof body language.

Guillem, however, doesn’t let the views of others affect her style. She dances as she is, and continues to expand beyond the realm of classical ballet, saying “Non” to anybody who would make her compromise. She negotiates her own contracts and picks her roles, costumes, choreographers and fellow dancers, impersonating a rare model of emancipation in the world of ballerinas: the “corkscrews” who are traditionally the lowest on the chain of performers; the least-paid, hardest-working people in the industry; mute and obedient to their choreographers. In this way, Sylvie Guillem is the finest example to all up-and-coming dancers. Her imperative to control her life and career is something anybody should strive for. While some may disagree with her methods, she deserves respect for her individualism and her fierce refusal to be exploited by others.