I asked Anais to place her pointed pointe shoe in the middle of the tiled line, and imagine that Samson was protecting her from the deadly lion…

A long-standing rule I have in this project is that I’m not in it to photograph solely a “beautiful woman”, but rather, it needs to be a ballerina. So any instance where I don’t showcase the ballerina’s prowess, I have to somehow indicate that the featured woman is a ballerina, be it in the positioning of her hands, or a faint nod to ballet.

A Sikh, Jew, and ballerina walk into a barre on Sunday… there’s a line somewhere in there, and I don’t even mean it to be. 

Looking around, I suggested that she jump up and sit in the back. “Are you kidding? No way, we’ll get in trouble” she exclaims as her eyes devilishly light up with a knowing grin.

The way Alston can look regal and beautiful, even under uncomfortable circumstances, is a testament to her dedication to her craft, and willingness to suffer “for the sake of art”, whatever that’s supposed to mean.

What are crosswalks in the Flatiron District made for, if not to stop traffic? Perhaps that’s the job of the red light, and the crosswalk is more appropriately designed to safely walk across; a ballerina doing the splits will do just fine in a moment’s notice.

Mei-Ling took a chance on me, before I even had an Instagram account with any sort of ballerina following, before I even knew what a winged foot should look like, Mei-Ling agreed to a shoot. With no "clout” of any sort, I was brazen enough to imagine that ballerinas around the world might give some random photographer out of Texas an opportunity to shoot.

I like big shadows, and I cannot lie.

I had no idea what I was doing then, and truth be told, I still don’t have any idea now what I’m doing now. Why ballerinas trust me, I don’t know.