In memory of a great choreographer
On May 9, in Moscow, one of the outstanding choreographers of our time, Yuri Grigorovich, passed away at the age of 98. An iconic figure in the world of art, he lived a long, eventful and brilliant life. Such a destiny is granted only to a chosen few. His artistic legacy is a wonderful gift to humanity.
Yuri Nikolayevich brought happiness to everyone who saw his ballets. He generously shared his talent, revealing to audiences the power of feelings and passions. His works conveyed the strength of the human spirit and the pride of creation, reaching into the deepest and most intimate corners of the soul. The scale of the maestro’s talent was astonishing.
His gift was of a special nature — it did not simply burst into brilliance overnight, but developed and unfolded over decades. Grigorovich can rightfully be considered the creator of an entirely new ballet galaxy. He cultivated the highest human values within himself while remaining free from convention and stereotypes. His inner world combined intellect, emotion and beauty.
On the one hand, he was considered a tyrant and a despot. On the other, people admired his energy, work ethic, creativity and ability to turn ideas into reality. As Omar Khayyam once wrote: “One cannot tell what fragrance lies within a rose, while another can draw honey even from bitter herbs.”
Tchaikovsky called ballet the most moral of the arts. And indeed, only a person with exceptionally high inner standards can create a masterpiece in this field. Grigorovich began choreographing ballets in his twenties and never ceased to surprise audiences and professionals alike. He created choreographic phrases, movements and pantomime — the entire fabric of a performance. Prima ballerinas embodied his ideas, while he inspired and guided them.
I have been friends with the Mariinsky Theatre ballet company for many years, and therefore consider myself one of those people who live “close to ballet.” In the summer of 2016, Yuri Nikolayevich came to St. Petersburg to revive his ballet The Stone Flower. He personally supervised the rehearsals, remaining true to his demanding yet brilliant style. The dancers shared their impressions: every remark he made brought clarity, meaning and logic. At the age of 89, he remembered the entire choreographic text and could even demonstrate movements with the ease of a forty-year-old.
That summer, I was fortunate to witness an unexpected encounter. Outsiders were not allowed into rehearsals, but my friend from the ballet administration offered to make up for my disappointment — together we went to the Astoria Hotel, where the maestro was staying.
When we entered, Grigorovich greeted us warmly in a quiet, gentle voice. He looked younger than his age, was slender and fragile, with delicate facial features and a short crew cut. He hardly fit the image of a tyrant. He was delighted to learn that I was not a ballerina — as it turned out, he was tired of the endless requests from colleagues in the profession. Simple human conversation gave him genuine pleasure.
My companion soon left, and I found myself alone with Grigorovich. He invited me to have breakfast with him. The breakfast was unusual: two sandwiches with sturgeon and black caviar on Borodinsky bread, nuts, cheese, Guryev porridge, tea and a decanter of expensive cognac. He ordered this same breakfast in hotels all over the world. Seeing my surprise at the cognac, he explained that among ballet people it was considered perfectly normal to drink it in the morning.
I followed the culinary sequence he suggested. He enjoyed every part of the meal. At that moment I felt that here was a man who imitated no one, feared no conventions and remained entirely himself. Having breakfast with the creator of a ballet galaxy felt like an extraordinary stroke of luck.
Several years later, during the pandemic, I received a call from the Mariinsky ballet administration.
“Greetings from Yuri Nikolayevich,” they told me. “He asks, ‘How is Marina with the long hair? Tell her to call me.’”
I was stunned — he remembered me.
I called him. He was already over ninety, yet he remembered the breakfast, our conversation and the atmosphere of that meeting. That memory will remain in my heart forever.
On May 23, the day of his funeral, I lit a candle and commemorated the great choreographer with a sandwich of smoked sturgeon and a small glass of cognac. On the ninth day, I cooked Guryev porridge, just the way he liked it.
The name of Yuri Grigorovich will forever remain on the pedestal of world choreography. He has achieved immortality.
Eternal memory...
Marina Kochetova