The
funny thing about dreams is that sometimes
they change. Sometimes the dream costs too
much. Sometimes it's not as alluring up
close as it was when it glimmered and shone
and winked at you from a distance. And sometimes,
a big, splashy, attention-getting dream
conflicts with a smaller, humbler dream
that you never even noticed you had.
Until you have to make
a choice. That's what happened to Cem Catbas
and his wife, Elysabeth Catbas. He was a
ballet dancer with a fistful of impressive
awards, and a position with a respected
American ballet company. She was an opera
singer whose coloratura soprano and facility
with soubrette roles have been praised by
critics abroad. Just as they were about
to enter their artistic primes, they left
the professional stag to open a ballet school
in Baltimore.
"My career-ending
decision wasn't made because I couldn't
dance anymore", says Cem, 30. "But
a point came when I could choose something
else. I thought there was a lot more that
I could give."
So two years ago, Cem (his
name is pronounced "gem") and
Elysabeth, 37, bought the Ballet Academy
of Baltimore, a dance studio in a former
warehouse in Baltimore County. Some of their
students already have met with notable success.
One has launched a professional career with
the Columbia City Ballet in south Carolina.
A second has been accepted into the American
Ballet Theatre's prestigious summer school.
A third just won a four-year scholarship
to study dance at the University of Maryland,
Baltimore County.
Tomorrow, the academy will
stage a combination student recital and
performance of the second act of Giselle.
The event will mix students and professionals:
Cem will dance Albrecht and faculty member
Neli Beliakaite will dance Giselle. "We'd
like to have our own professional company
in Baltimore at some pointe", Cem says.
He has his work cut out
for him. For whatever reason, Baltimore
never has embraced dance. The city has not
had a major professional troupe since 1995,
when the acclaimed Alvin Ailey Dance Theater
ended its five-year residency here, citing
lack of donors. "Everyone told us that
we have to start small", Cem says.
He did. Literally. Cem
began dancing at age 10 in his native Istanbul,
following in the pointy-toed steps of an
older brother. A pre-adolescent boy in Turkey
needs a certain inner fortitude if he is
to embark upon a career wearing leotards.
"It's a lot more difficult
to be a dancer in a country like Turkey,
which is officially secular but has a Muslim
culture," he says. "There are
the same stereotypes about 'effeminate'
male dancers as there are in the west, but
there also are religious objections."
Still, he persevered, winning
a first prize in the International Seleznyov
Ballet Competition. While in his 20s, he
performed with the Istanbul State Opera
and Ballet, the Istanbul Contemporary Ballet,
and finally, the Theater der Stadt Koblenz
Ballet in Germany.
There, during the first
rehearsal for a 1994 production of The Merry
Wives of Windsor, he noticed a young, Virginia-bred
soprano with huge blue eyes named Elysabeth,
who had just arrived after singing featured
roles in Zurich and Vienna.
"It really was love
at first sight. Once we got together, we
were inseparable," Elysabeth says.
They married the following year. Living
in Germany had advantages. Elysabeth had
a two-year engagement, a situation unheard
of in her native country. In the United
States, dancers are paid for just 38 weeks
a year, and opera singers hop-scotch around
the country, traveling from production to
production.
Cem was beginning to dance
important roles, including the title role
in Peer Gynt, and Elysabeth was singing
solo parts, including Papagena in The Magic
Flute. German critics praised her "bold,
fresh soprano."
Everything was perfect,
except that the couple, both expatriates,
never really felt at home in Germany. In
particular, Elysabeth was homesick for her
family in Arlington, VA.
In 1997, Cem took a job
with the Pittsburgh Ballet Theatre, where
he quickly distinguished himself in the
corps. "He had good turns and jumps,
and a great personality that really came
across in character roles," says Terence
S. Orr, the company's artistic director.
"He has a very disarming, charming
smile."
By 2000, he was dancing
solo roles including the monk in Carmina
Burana, and the title role in Dracula, positioning
him for a possible promotion to soloist
at the next company vacancy, Orr says.
But the couple found themselves
restless once again. Elysabeth no longer
was enjoying performing as much as once
she had. "Singing can be a very restrictive
career," she says. "I was constantly
worrying about the shape my voice was in."
Cem didn't burn out on
performing, but he chafed at having to submerge
his interpretation of a role to the conception
preferred by a director.
So the couple began looking
for a ballet studio to buy. In 2000, they
bought the rectangular concrete building
off Falls Road after seeing an advertisement
in a trade publication. "Now, we get
to be our own bosses," Cem says. "We
get to pick the costumes and design the
set, and I've started doing some choreography.
It is such a luxury for me."
Elysabeth manages the business
end of the studio, and also teaches voice
to high school students in the Peabody Institute's
Preparatory Division. In March, she gave
a well-received performance at a faculty
concert.
"It's fun and fulfilling
to give your knowledge to someone else,"
she says. "And we're both still doing
what we love."
And that might be the only dream that counts. |