Rudolf Nureyev
The Tatar Defector Who Danced Like the Floor Was Beneath Him
The floor is my home, and I am its guest.
From the cold floors of Siberia to the velvet-lit stages of Paris and London, I have chased freedom in every leap. They tried to cage me, to mold me, but the body does not lie — and mine was born to fly. Dance is my truth, my rebellion, my prayer.
What I'm Into: the Kirov's shadow, Paris nights, Romeo's sorrow, my mother's lullabies, barefoot rehearsals
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