作为一个文化混合人，和业余成人舞蹈爱好者，我有幸接触了这个星球上两种各具风格，有着深厚文化渊源的舞蹈：中国古典舞和芭蕾。
有些天，我在中国古典舞的圆曲拧倾中寻气韵，有些天，我又在成人芭蕾的开绷直里找平衡。
有趣的是，在中国舞的教室里，人们说我是学芭蕾的，而在芭蕾教室里，人们说我是跳中国舞的。忍俊不禁之际，我想，也许这两种舞蹈所传达的独特韵味，都潜移默化地融入了我的身心。
每周练芭蕾的日子，我会换上紧身丝袜和连体服, 盘上头发，让浑身上下一丝不苟，这样也似乎整理好了肌肉的状态，迎接芭蕾的基训。
芭蕾有着西方审美中的对称，优雅，轻盈而高贵的特质，身姿需要挺拔，舒展，像天鹅一般孤芳自赏，可在恬静的“湖面”下，却是对肌肉力量与柔韧控制的极高要求，天鹅看似毫不费力地划行，湖下的双足却从未停歇。
很多人说，芭蕾是建立在疼痛上的艺术。即使成人班大多不用穿脚尖鞋，所有训练仍在为那一刻做准备。你也终于了解，那些看似枯燥的擦地、半蹲、画圈，都是为了顺应人体骨骼与肌肉的结构，从而搭建起芭蕾的科学之美。
在所有舞蹈形式中，芭蕾大概是对抗地心引力的最佳诠释，你最好轻得像一片云，同时又稳得像一棵树。每当遇上自己的腿发抖，身体失去平衡，弹跳显得力不从心的时候，我只能对自己一笑，如仰望山巅的行人，宽容地接纳自己的笨拙。无论如何，即使是业余学习，芭蕾对一个人的身姿体态，肌肉力量和精神面貌的提升，都是毋庸置疑的。
而每当走入中国古典舞的教室，感觉就像重返故乡。蕴含着那么多戏曲精髓的古典舞，让我重温儿时对戏曲的痴迷。在基本功的架构上，中国舞吸取了很多西方芭蕾的元素，但举手投足之间，其身形气韵所投射出的，却是独特的，久远而深邃的中国文化。
如果说芭蕾追求笔直对称，中国舞则迷恋圆转与回旋，表达的是提沉转合，欲左还右的审美理念。这种看似有些纠结和拧巴的艺术特质，却充满了其独特的内在张力，那是属于东方的，含蓄，内敛，似有些压抑，却又涌动不息的生命能量。
中国舞的延展，还包含了很多独特的文化元素，比如那如水似波，如风又像雾的长袖，动如闪电，静似清波的剑，和各种圆扇，折扇，长扇，这些道具都让中国舞的艺术表达形式愈发多样，但万变不离其宗，中国古典舞，始终都散发着其深厚的天地阴阳，起承转合，上善若水，道法自然的哲学意味。
有时候我想，如果一个西方人，可以看懂中国舞蹈，也许他就渐渐看懂了中国文化深处的那些“曲曲弯弯”。
记得从前和我的启蒙舞蹈老师聊天，我们想象过这样的场景：地上有一块手帕，舞者同样是要走上前去，捡起这块手帕，芭蕾舞者，大概率是开着脚尖，笔直地走过来，然后擦地，蹲，直接捡起。一路上可以顾影自怜，但绝不掩饰意图；而中国舞里，舞者却可能以细碎的小步子跑来，快到了，却又拧身向后，然后才羞涩地回头，回身，捡起手帕。这个场景，也许可以窥见一点点中西文化的不同吧。
如果芭蕾像白杨入云，举手投足都似雕塑；中国舞则是垂柳拂水，一颦一笑皆成水墨。
这样两种身体的舞动艺术，不仅可以共存，更是交相辉映，其学习过程带给我的，是无数美好的当下时光，无须执着自我，只需在舞动里安顿身心。
As a person shaped by mixed cultures and an amateur adult dance enthusiast, I have been fortunate to encounter two dance traditions on this planet that are distinct in style yet equally rich in cultural lineage: Chinese classical dance and ballet.
On some days, I search for qi and inner resonance within the rounded, spiraling, twisting movements of Chinese classical dance; on other days, I seek balance through the turnout, extension, and upright alignment of adult ballet training.
Interestingly, in the Chinese dance studio, people often assume I come from a ballet background, while in the ballet studio, they say I must be trained in Chinese dance. Amused by this contradiction, I sometimes wonder whether the unique qualities of these two forms have quietly and naturally found their way into my body and being.
On ballet days, I slip into tights and a leotard, pull my hair into a neat bun, and make myself precise from head to toe—as if by doing so, I am also organizing my muscles and preparing them to receive the discipline of ballet’s foundational training.
Ballet embodies the Western aesthetic of symmetry—elegant, light, and noble. The body is required to be upright and fully extended, like a swan poised in solitary grace. Yet beneath that serene “lake surface” lies an extraordinary demand for muscular strength and refined control. The swan appears to glide effortlessly, while beneath the water its feet never cease their work.
Many people say ballet is an art built upon pain. Even though adult classes rarely require pointe shoes, all training ultimately points toward that moment. Only then does one truly understand that the seemingly monotonous exercises—tendus, pliés, rond de jambe—are carefully designed to align with the structure of the human skeleton and musculature, constructing the scientific beauty of ballet.
Among all dance forms, ballet may be the clearest embodiment of defying gravity. One must be as light as a cloud, yet as grounded as a tree. When my legs tremble, my balance falters, or my jumps feel weak and uncertain, I can only smile at myself—like a traveler gazing up at a distant summit, gently accepting my own clumsiness. Even as an amateur, there is no denying ballet’s power to transform posture, strength, and spirit.
Entering a Chinese classical dance studio, however, feels like returning home. Steeped in the essence of traditional opera, this dance form revives my childhood fascination with theatrical movement. Structurally, Chinese dance has absorbed many elements from Western ballet, yet in every gesture and shift of weight, the form radiates a distinct, ancient, and profoundly deep Chinese cultural spirit.
If ballet pursues straight lines and symmetry, Chinese dance delights in curves, rotations, and circularity—expressing principles of lift and sink, opening and closing, advance and return. What may appear tangled or restrained on the surface is, in fact, charged with inner tension: an Eastern quality that is subtle, inward, sometimes restrained, yet endlessly alive beneath the surface.
The expressive range of Chinese dance is further enriched by cultural elements such as long sleeves that ripple like water or mist, swords that flash like lightning yet rest like still water, and an array of round fans, folding fans, and long fans. These props diversify its vocabulary, yet at its core, Chinese classical dance consistently carries a philosophy shaped by yin and yang, cyclical progression, fluid continuity, and the Daoist ideals of harmony with nature and effortless action.
At times I wonder: if a Westerner could truly understand Chinese dance, perhaps they would also begin to understand the many winding paths hidden deep within Chinese culture itself.
I recall once imagining a scene with my first dance teacher: a handkerchief lies on the ground, and the dancer approaches to pick it up. A ballet dancer would most likely turn out the feet, walk straight toward it, glide, bend, and pick it up directly—perhaps admiring their own reflection along the way, but never concealing intention. In Chinese dance, however, the dancer might approach in small, quick steps, twist away just before reaching it, hesitate, glance back shyly, then turn head first, then body, and finally pick it up. In this small scene, perhaps, we glimpse a subtle difference between Eastern and Western cultures.
If ballet is like a poplar reaching into the sky, every movement sculptural and defined, then Chinese dance is like a willow brushing the water—each glance and smile dissolving into ink and wash.
These two embodied arts of movement not only coexist, but illuminate one another. What their study has given me are countless beautiful moments in the present—moments that require no attachment to the self, only a settling of body and mind within the dance.
