Monica Mason and the Embodiment of Carabosse

After my whirlwind adventures to New York City, Washington D.C., and Suriname. I was grateful to get back to Berlin and into the swing of things. My life seemed to be going well. Things were picking up. I was getting more chances to do soloist roles and I was gaining more confidence in my German. You know you are getting a language when you begin dreaming in it. And that was happening consistently. I excitedly explored speaking German to the point that I would forget that I could speak English to the Australians or the English dancers. They would occasionally roll their eyes and say irritated, “Suzanne, you can speak English to me!”
I am in my third year in Berlin. It is the fall of 1980, and I am feeling good about myself and where I am in life. My father would drop by to visit when his business with NATO allowed him the luxury to sneak away for a few days. He seemed proud of the fact that I was living and working in Europe and while ballet was not his thing, he accepted that my choice was helping me learn and grow in ways that he did see as important.
But life in Berlin during the Cold War was still hard. The lack of sunlight and the dreary overcast skies seemed to continue to take their toll on me.
I kept trying to keep a stiff upper lip and see the positives. I was getting to play one of the sisters in our ballet, The Idiot, alongside Vladimir Gelvin, and Galina Panov. I was dancing the first Pas de Deux in Symphony in D and I was dancing Big Swans in Swan Lake. There was much to be thankful for. But something seemed off. I was looking for something. Perhaps I was looking for a part inside me. I was a dancer looking for something deeper and perhaps darker.

I look at my life and I now can see all the foreshadowing that happened in perfect ways.
Those things that did not seem so important (at the time) were essential to what was going to come sometimes … years later.
Some of the smallest moments … ended up being some of the greatest gifts I have ever been given. And some of those moments were only one encounter, one evening, one bottle of wine shared, and one special exchange … artist to artist.

One such moment (for me) began with the principal dancer, Monica Mason, coming to dance with the Berlin Ballet.

Monica was a lovely woman, kind, gentle-spirited and very caring to other dancers.

One of the things I loved about being in the Berlin Ballet was the amazing guest artists that flowed so easily through that world. We were exposed to so many styles, abilities, personalities, and archetypes.

Monica was one that I instantly felt a connection to … not from the fact that we were alike but in that way that she just naturally was.
What she was … was real, authentic, and approachable.

She came to perform with us and was not there long. Probably only one or two shows and honestly, I can’t remember what we performed with her.

What I do remember is her and I sitting with a bottle of wine and talking late into the evening about dance, different roles, and the responsibility of a dancer to allow for the inner personality to be revealed in unorthodox ways … whenever possible.

She also had a deep interest in the journey of healing that so many dancers neglected.
Her interests ranged from the understanding and detection of eating disorders … to the promotion of new techniques for physical therapy with dancers.
My experience of her was that while she lived in the traditions of the classics … she was deeply curious about taking risks and stretching the monotony of classical ballet beyond the old tried and true ways, towards a more complicated emotional expression that gave more depth to characters that had been historically … more caricatures.
The conversation became much more interesting to me when she began to dive into the history of a character that she was famous for … Carabosse, in Sleeping Beauty.

This ballet was perfect on so many levels for the technique and abilities of the Royal, RAD trained ballet dancers of England.

It is a ballet that is so classically precise, that is can be … grueling.
It required meticulous footwork, rapid petite allegros, and characters from one end of the extreme to another.

On so many levels this ballet, could come across as saccharin sweet … to the point that you would want to throw up, if not played properly.
It is a perfect ballet from the standpoint that it is about good over evil, and that good will eventually triumph over that evil. A common theme in the old classical ballets.

All the fairies in this ballet are happy, celebrating, joyous, and giving. Each fairy bestows gifts to Aurora. (The princess who will eventually prick her finger, fall asleep and slumber till true love finds her and awakens her with a kiss.)
But such a ballet needs to have a counterpoint. And that character needs to represent the darkness that lurks inside the heart and soul of each person. It must contain the energies of jealousy, anger, resentment, revenge, and that hunger for power. These aspects come into this ballet in the form of one character … Carabosse.

Monica was considered the reigning queen of this character. She was regarded as the best in the world.

But she did something that had never been done. She took a character that traditionally was danced by a gay man, dressed as an evil, ugly, twisted, and miserable witch. And instead turned this antiquated model on its head by taking (what had been) the wicked witch pattern and instead making Carabosse into a very powerful but very evil fairy queen, powerful in her own right.
Monica saw this character as so evil that she used her power to feed off those lower down and less than herself.
She believed that Carabosse used her magic to steal the energy of others … to make herself appear to be beautiful. But inside that statuesque shell, she was hateful, jealous, resentful, wicked, and a treacherous fairy.

Monica played her as a fairy that did not care to play nice but instead would play to win … at any cost.

I listened riveted to her speak for hours on the research she had done around this character, the many versions that had been done over time and why. The desire to bring something with more depth and a character that embodied a deeper, darker, and more sinister … evil.

She did not play the character as some quirky, crazy, demented, man in a woman’s dress. But instead made her into an elegant character. One that was slick, sophisticated, smart, intentionally manipulative, and cruel in her almost sociopathic interpretation.
I watched her face change as she spoke about the character. I could see the character boiling below the surface of her personality. Moving through … her even in that moment.
To her … Carabosse was an archetype that lived and breathed inside her being. She allowed this character the love and space to engage in the dance of existence and yet could still walk as a mist through time.

I had never seen such a transformation in a person that bordered on a type of transfiguration. She mesmerized me and stimulated me from a place deep inside my being that seemed to be calling to come out.
She emanated something that I had not seen in my life.
I could hardly explain it. Words would not suffice, but I was fascinated by the process of even watching it as it moved through her.

One knows when something unique is happening. It is as if time slows down. And that moment is all there is. I knew I was in the presence of greatness.

Even watching her explain her character, she was magnificent, beautiful, dark, sinister, glorious, maliciously cruel, and yet understated and elegant.

There are moments when you realize that you are in the presence of some form of genius. One senses a merging of a human to an elemental.

Such a thing is precious and rare.

Yet, it also seemed intangible and elusive. It exists momentarily in our time but I saw that such a specter cannot ever fully stay here.
This fleeting essence touched something inside my soul that was ancient and very old. It activates within me a feeling that was familiar and … utterly terrifying.
It lures me in and intended to peek into some nightmare and make those … real.

Such was the type of Carabosse that Monica Mason was. And it was a perfect counterbalance to the sticky sweetness of the story of Sleeping Beauty.

I have learned that I cannot understand the beauty and purity of a particular quality of light, unless I have been thrown deeply into the despairing darkness of my own inhumanity. I do not believe we can easily see the value of those places within shadow that actually feed our dreams and help us see beyond the patterns of our own ego constructs. Too often we attempt to keep safe, by going numb, and just existing.

There is tremendous value in the embodiment of such characters. Carabosse was clearly one of them.
Carabosse (to her) was the entire spectrum of the sinister places that most humans fear to go.
She was the epitome of what we refuse to see within ourselves. Her character intended to pull off the masks of the faces … in the audience. To reveal their own …. underlying … rot.
Her Carabosse embodied a type of evil toxicity created from the avoidance and misery that humans foster in their denial.

After that evening, I dreamed of being Carabosse … at some point in time in this life.

The disappointing thing was that this ballet was not something that the Berlin Ballet did at that time.
After that one conversation, I read every book on this character. I researched the creation of certain archetypes, where they originally came from and why they surfaced at certain times in history.
That one conversation activated that archetype within me and as my inner Carabosse awoke, she claimed me as her own and we began a process of integration, preparation, and accommodation.

I found my inner Carabosse fascinating, intriguing, empowering and destructive. I liked her!

As I felt her inside of me, she was fearless. Within me she was a force for balance and deeper introspective awareness. Within me, she began to teach me how to embrace my fears and to stand up to those that wanted to live in “La-La” land. Within me she became a proponent of questioning the motives of others. She understood that what someone presents is not necessarily who they really are. And that one should always be wary of things that seem too simple.
And then … she seemed to (temporarily) go to sleep.
I did not realize that she was actively dismantling my life in a variety of ways. Such archetypes work in those places that we refuse to go and unleash forces that will drastically change our experience of reality in order to become more whole.

She would return to awaken me to what she had tried to teach me. But I could clearly see, that I was not quite yet ready to understand who she was fully.
That process would take many years.
I would get that opportunity to embody her fully. And I would see that so often … the world is not ready for the depth of darkness that lurks in the hidden corners of the psyche of mankind.
Monica Mason showed me the inner places of discontent that were lying waiting for recognition. From that moment on, I began to notice how I was not happy in Berlin. That I had never been really happy in Berlin. That Berlin while wild, wonderful, and an enormous gift to my artistic self, it had also been one of the most difficult and trying times of my life. But I was young and did not understand that I was being called to discover more about myself that Berlin actually could not offer. I was going to have to go somewhere else to reclaim other hidden parts of myself.
So, while the inner Carabosse was unwinding my hidden discontent, my ego did not want to let go of what I had accomplished. The lure of the big stage in Berlin, the elbow rubbing with great stars of the ballet and opera world were intoxicating. My ego still wanted to be a star. She was still reaching for greatness. Not realizing that the greatness was always there inside me.

It is a strange feeling to recognize that the ground underneath one is more unstable than it looks. I was soon going to realize that in a very profound way. You would think that the Murder at the Met would be a wake up call. You would think that being in terrible dancer in Suriname would have been a second wake up call. But it would seem that I was going to need much more than that before I would finally surrender to the river that clearly had other things in mind for me.

The next event was dancing as one of the temple priestesses in the Opera, Aida. It was going to be a spectacular event because of the enormous and magnificent set designs and that Luciano Pavarotti was guesting for us. This was going to be very exciting! While the dances of the high priestesses were not some technical extravaganzas or difficult to dance. It was the enormity of the sets that brought the opulence of Egypt to the stage and that was something to see.
In the performance, an entire set was going to disappear by dropping into the stage below. Then a light from the temples in the distance would come slowing on and from 3 stages back, the entire temple was going to move forward on hydraulics from the very back of the stage to the front stage. The effect was magnificent.
The Priestesses were to be dancing at the top of the temple in sheer scantily clad, silk chiffon. The dance with the fabric was hypnotizing and magical. The lights got brighter as we moved forward. And the singing from the opera singers added to the overall powerful effect of being draw into the ancient temples and the mystery of the Nile.
During dress rehearsal, we are dancing (three floors up mind you) and it is pitch dark except the spotlights on the dancers and how the illumination of the temple was casting a mood of ancient magic.
There are three dancers at the top of the temple. I am the one at the center and the top. Everything is going fine, but we are somewhat blinded and the audience is a massive empty black space in front of us. I did not realize that when the temple stopped moving that we were accustomed to it moving. I did not realize that it was stopping. Before I know it, I am almost falling from the top of the temple. Between the lights and the movement, combined with the dancing, I could not feel the building stopping. There was a terrible moment when I thought I was going to fall into the abyss. I managed to pull myself back just before I fell 3 stories onto the floor!

Gasping for breath, in shock and completely without remorse, I screamed, “Excuse Me! We are going to die up here. We cannot tell that this temple is stopping moving! I almost fell off the top. This is unacceptable! Something needs to be done!”
I am sure this skinny ballerina screaming at them was the last thing they thought they were going to have to deal with. But I was furious because I was so scared! The feeling of falling into blackness is not fun for anyone. In that moment I realized that I was desperately tired of being so scared all the time.
Instantly, things are happening and everything stops. They decide that they are going to have stage crew to hold a wire around our waists so that when the building stops moving, we don’t fall from that great height. The pulling of the wire was going to be an indication that we were slowly stopping and for us to shift our weight backwards. We tried it a few times and it did seem to help and make all of us feel safer.
While that should have been the end of it, it was not.
The next thing we know, the costume designer comes back to our dressing rooms and says that the effect of the costume is not sensual enough. That we needed to be naked under the sheer silk chiffon!
I looked at him like he had lost his mind.
And I explained that with the spot lights on us, that the audience was going to see everything!
He said, “Yes, that is the point!”

That is when I had had enough. I said, “And you are going to pay principal wages for me to be naked on stage … RIGHT!”

Stunned he looked at me like I was an idiot and says with a sneer, “Of course not!”

And I repeated with more depth and intensity, “And you are going to pay principal wages for me to be naked on stage … RIGHT!”

That was when he got my message.

If you wanted me naked at the top of the temple, you would have to pay me principal wages!

The next dress rehearsal, we were handed a bodysuit that was flesh-colored and that had fake padded boobs with nipples drawn in and a graphic bush on the lower end of things.

So, that was what we were going to have to wear under the sheer silk chiffon dress.
I had to laugh. The effect was not authentic but almost comical. But at least I did not have to be naked for some designer’s effect.
The shows went as planned and I did not fall off the top of the temple. But I recognized that from all the past current events, I had changed. I did not see that the attitude of Carabosse was growing inside me and she was speaking her mind more and not taking any crap from costume designers. I was feeling more discontented. I was not feeling as if this was my place. Something inside was waking up. A part that wanted my life to feel different.
That winter seemed more brutal than the previous two. The snow was up to my knees at times and there were multiple moments when I needed to cross the snow packed streets with no drivers in sight, in a blizzard, freezing cold and I went against the walk light. On the other side would be an older German woman who would be furious with me and say in German, “You have to pay 20 Deutschemarks! You have crossed against the light. I am calling the police. That is illegal! Who do you think you are?”
I would look at them under my buried face that was trying not to freeze and say, “It is a blizzard! There is no one on the road. There is no one out in this except you and me! It is freezing cold. I am not going to wait for the light to change!”
As I walked past them, they would say under their breath, “Shit American!”
Once again, I would realize that no matter how much I tried to fit in and be a part of this reality, some part of me never would.
In horror, I realized that I was going to have to leave. But leaving a state-run German Opera House was going to more difficult than I imagined. I did not realize it was going to take me over a year to figure it all out. I did not realize that it was going to cost me almost all my savings. I did not realize that I would end up losing all my things, not once but twice through the airlines. I did not realize that I was going to almost physically kill me, or that it was going to leave me feeling weakened and my health wrecked.
But regardless of the cost, what I was to gain could not be weighed from the level of fame, money, or opportunity. The gain was going to be in knowing about the deeper parts of myself that needed to get my attention.
Artist are journeyers into spaces that most will refuse to go. Artist seek first to know themselves through their art and the expressions that manifest from that artform.
We dance because we must. We create because we cannot breathe in this world without the hope that humanity can change and grow. We strive to be more than our physical body and to show the blending of magic that happens when we manage to touch our spirit with our body. We do not do what we do for money. We must do what we do to survive in this dense world. Dancers are not here to just live. We want to thrive. To thrive requires risk and in taking that risk the outcome is never guaranteed or assured. And we would have it no other way.

~Suzanne Wagner~