My ballet : PIAF. JE NE REGRETTE RIEN.

Piaf, her voice, and her art have always stirred my soul. I often listen to her songs. The idea of conveying these emotions through choreography came to me long ago. But I didn’t want to simply dance to one of her songs. I wanted to tell the story of this great actress’s complex life—the life of a woman and a singer. As I often say, every idea, every ballet has its own fate, its own story. You must discover not only the content but also the form through which you can express your feelings and emotions. When you are ready, you can inspire and invite dancers into the creation of a new ballet.

Years passed, and the recordings of the great singer that had accompanied me throughout my life (I listen to her songs very often) transitioned from cassettes to CDs, from CDs to MP3 players, and later to phones. This music supported me in difficult moments, helped me think while composing, distracted me from daily worries, and called me into the creative process. Often, scenes, combinations of movements, and the colors of the production would take shape in my mind, and I waited for the right moment when these ideas, accumulated over the years, could take on their proper form.

It so happened that this production brought together three of my different ideas. The story of backstage life, the birth of action through a theme emerging onstage in the dialogue between the pianist and me, the choreographer, and, of course, Piaf herself.

I am grateful that my idea first captivated conductor Valery Voronin, with whom the production begins. Then composer Sergey Diaghilev joined us, and together we inspired the performers. I am especially thankful to Sergey Diaghilev for his precise understanding of my vision and its embodiment in the musical composition. Numbers based on Piaf’s songs quickly found their place in the emerging production, drawing me and the performers into the current of a ballet taking shape.

The production period was very short—these were the deadlines we had to meet. Only the inspiration evoked in us every day by Piaf’s art and the troupe’s immense passion for this production allowed us to premiere the ballet within these constraints.

There was one deeply emotional and significant moment in the life of this production. After performing a large fragment from the ballet at a gala concert in Paris, Brigitte Lefèvre—the star of French ballet and long-time director of the Paris Opera Ballet—approached us. She warmly and joyfully congratulated us. “Édith Piaf is my idol. You created this from the heart, and that is what matters most,” she said. I don’t know how we held back tears of joy that evening. That brief conversation with Madame Lefèvre about the legend of the French people and our ballet became a great reward for all of us. And to think—I had been hesitant for so long to make that trip… Honestly, I was afraid to show the ballet in Paris.

When I think about this production, I always recall an extraordinary gift of fate. At the very beginning of forming the ballet company for the Astrakhan Opera and Ballet Theater, I visited the Kazan Choreographic School to see the graduates. Eventually, a group of young dancers from that graduating class would become an essential part of the company. But on that day, as I moved from room to room, I stumbled upon a final-year acting class. The students were showcasing their skills—beautifully prepared (a credit to their teacher)—but during the scene of Giselle’s madness, I was utterly struck by the depth of performance from a very young girl.

On the train to Astrakhan, that girl, Maria Stets, who had accepted my invitation to join the company, celebrated her 18th birthday. From that day on, this young ballerina and I embarked on an immense creative journey, presenting many productions together to audiences. I can confidently say that, as a choreographer, I found my ballerina, and I am sure that for Masha, I became her choreographer. It’s no coincidence that, jokingly, she calls me her “ballet father.”

In creating the image of Piaf, Masha and I spent unforgettable hours in rehearsal halls, watching old recordings of Édith Piaf, perfecting every gesture and the nuances of mood transitions. Most importantly, we sought to uncover the profound inner world of the heroine of our ballet. Masha danced this production with a passion and depth that few can achieve. Her tears onstage—real and heartfelt—moved everyone, performers and audience alike. I saw audience members wiping away tears during the performance, and that is priceless.

Then came tragedy. Masha injured her knee. The theater needed casts, and the show had to go on while her injury healed. I will never forget how Maria helped other ballerinas learn her role. Such support is rare in theater, but it speaks to her character as a person, an actress, and a ballerina.

The new performers mastered the role beautifully. The production continued to live on, each time sincere and vibrant. Yet we all awaited Maria’s return. For me, Maria will always be the Piaf of my ballet.

Another dream came true in this production—I returned to the stage. Hosting theater programs and participating in “meet and greet” artist evenings allowed me to connect with audiences, but I missed being onstage, missed the theater. I saw myself through my performers, but stepping onto the stage alongside them was a true joy. The ballet begins with a dialogue between the pianist and the choreographer. Everything happening onstage are fantasies born from the music of Édith Piaf’s songs. What a delight it was to share the stage with my company, to feel the breath of the production, and to be part of the unfolding story.


© Konstantin Uralsky