This reflection is part of a series exploring the question: What is history? It delves into how dance can illuminate the past beyond traditional narratives.
During a post-performance discussion of "Doña Perón," an audience member in New York City asked, "Why isn’t Eva Perón blond?"
The question arose because Dandara Veiga, a Black dancer with dark hair, portrayed Evita, the famously blonde wife of Argentine president Juan Perón. This was not the first time the historical accuracy of casting choices in ballet was questioned.
For me, historical fidelity isn’t about replicating surface details like hair or skin color. Instead, I select performers who embody the spirit and complexity of the historical figure. Veiga captured Evita’s strength, ambition, and the inner turmoil of feeling excluded by the elite.
Ballet is not a straightforward recounting of facts. It is an artistic medium that can amplify and reinterpret reality, offering creative freedom to revisit history and tell stories through movement.
My journey with historical ballets began about a decade ago. Beyond Evita, I have choreographed works inspired by iconic women such as Coco Chanel, Maria Callas, Delmira Agustini, Frida Kahlo, and Fernando Botero. Recently, I adapted "Carmen" for Miami City Ballet, drawing loosely on the story of Molly Bloom, known for running underground poker games.
Portraying real historical figures presents unique challenges compared to fictional characters. While fictional roles can be molded freely, exploring the lives of real people offers deeper insight into human complexity. I aim to bring nuanced, multifaceted stories into ballet.
My approach doesn’t reject history but rather poeticizes it. Artistic imagery helps humanize historical events and connects them more directly with contemporary audiences. For instance, in my ballet about Maria Callas, I represented her duality—Callas, the celebrated opera diva, and Maria, the private woman—by casting two dancers. One symbolized her voice, pushing a large marble head across the stage in a slow, Sisyphean struggle, embodying the weight of fame.
I am especially drawn to pioneering and rebellious women who fought for freedom and self-expression. Researching their lives reveals women’s diverse paths to emancipation throughout history.
When working on a ballet based on a historical figure, I become a detective, examining minute details that reveal the psyche of a legend. Visiting Casa Azul, Frida Kahlo’s home, sparked my imagination and provided vital inspiration for my ballet. Such exploration offers a glimpse into their fears, desires, and motivations.
This leads to an intriguing question: Is historical truth influenced by the perspective through which it is experienced? As a choreographer, my vision guides the work, but dance remains fluid. Once created, a ballet invites multiple interpretations—from choreographer to dancer to audience—allowing for varied meanings.
In choreographing, I immerse myself in the protagonist’s physicality and mindset, imagining how their energy translates into movement. When teaching dancers, my own interpretation blends with theirs. Music further shapes the emotional tone, and ultimately, the audience’s perspective adds another layer of meaning beyond my control.
During a recent performance of "Frida" in Phoenix, a scene featured a dancer embodying Kahlo’s painting "The Broken Column." As Chavela Vargas’s "Que Te Vaya Bonito" played, a woman in the audience began to sob, embraced by her partner. I will never know the reasons behind her emotional reaction, but this moment exemplifies the profound, personal impact art can have.
Much like history itself, dance offers endless layers of discovery. What each person takes away depends on the details they focus on. Dance serves as my lens to explore groundbreaking women of the past, allowing me to reinterpret history and share fresh narratives. Yet, this is only the beginning—once the music plays and the movement unfolds, new insights emerge.
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