One of the benefits of the Internet is that it affords us the opportunity to discuss our profession with a multitude colleagues all over the world. In addition to my blog, I am a regular contributor to a number of websites and teachers’ groups. And a topic that has surfaced a lot lately is the use and execution in Competition Dance of the notorious “Grand Pirouette a la Seconde”. This step has also been called “Tour a la Seconde”, “Turns in Second”, “A la Seconde’s”, and I once met a dancer who thought the step was named for its creator “Alex Seccond”. The following post started a discuss on this topic. The post was made by a very fine and accomplished ballet teacher who I have had the great good fortune to “meet” over the Internet, and subsequently meet in person. I want to say that I agree with what she stated, in theory…but art is never simply “black and white”. Here is what she wrote:

“May we please discuss tours a la seconde for a moment? As a ballet teacher, I tend not to spend a lot of time at competitions as I only have one girl competing in ballet right now, but I have done a LOT of observing this season. Tours a la seconde are traditionally a male virtuoso skill performed in a variation. The correct execution includes a turned out preparation, a fully engaged leg turned out from the hip at 90 degrees and arms that remain in the second position during the execution of the turns which are usually performed consecutively, with the leg turned out in retire on the pirouette that follows. What I am seeing is a gross abomination of said skill.”

The post spurred a long list of comments focusing on the following topics:

1) The origin of the step.
2) The correct execution of the step.
3) the correct preparation for the step.
4) The appropriateness of the step in Jazz combinations.
5) The appropriateness of the step for the female dancer.
6) The execution of the step while wearing only one shoe.

I think, that as dance professionals, we all can agree that the step is part of the standard classical ballet vocabulary, and there is a “correct” preparation and execution as far as the ballet vocabulary is concerned. However, there is a long tradition of dance steps originally created as part of a particular genre of Dance being absorbed into another genre of Dance (very often Jazz), and going through some changes during that process. Jack Cole borrowed quite a lot from East Indian Dance; and certainly did not keep it purely East Indian, Having spent many years under the tutelage of Luigi, I am most familiar with his work. His technique is filled with ballet terminology, and although the steps only barely resemble their “ballet cousins”, no one ever said that what he was doing was in anyway “wrong”. The terms glissade, dégagé, renverse, faille and many others were heard in his classes daily, but a ballet teacher would find very little in a “Luigi Glissade” or a “Luigi Dégagé” that resembles anything that is part of the ballet vocabulary.

When it comes to the “correct preparation” of the step, the typical ballet preparation for Grand Pirouette a la Seconde would be a tendu (usually to the side) closing back into a well turned out fourth position, both heels on the floor, demi plié, with (depending on the style/technique) the weight evenly distributed between the two feet OR all the weight on the front foot OR with the back knee straight. And this is how the step is taught. But it is not the ONLY way to prepare the turn, especially when the turn is part of a complex piece of choreography. That standard preparation is how the turns are usually executed in class; giving students a supportive preparation from which to accomplish the turn. But that is class and that is training. That is not choreography. Madame Darvash used to say “A dancer should be able to turn IN any position FROM any position. Luigi reported that his teacher Madame Nijinska said of her brother (the legendary Nijinsky) “He could do 10 pirouettes and you would never see the preparation”. The pirouettes that are part of Luigi’s technique are certainly pirouettes, but they bear little resemblance to a ballet pirouette. The “preparation” is usually a lunge to the side, the passé is parallel and the standing leg has a slightly bent knee/forced arch. Is it “wrong”? Not to me. Is it how the pirouette is done in ballet class? No. Is it a pirouette? Most definitely. So if Competition choreography employs a “different” preparation, why do we need to label it as wrong.

As far as the appropriateness of the step in Jazz choreography. My feeling is…if it works, then it works. I hate it when turns are used as a vulgar display of technical prowess. When these turns are part of a 19th century Men’s Variation, that’s pretty much what they are…a display. But in more modern choreography, if you are going to use them, in my opinion, they need to have an artistic purpose. An if you can find a way to make them work within the context of Jazz- Great! Jack Cole made East Indian Dance work within the context of Jazz. This is how art grows. And with respect to ladies performing the step…why not? We no longer tell girls they can’t play football, should we be telling them they can’t/shouldn’t execute a ballet step?

With respect to performing/competing with one shoe… It is not an artistic choice that I would ever make. But I recently was made aware of a piece that was choreographed for dancers wearing one pointe shoe and one stiletto heal. Another choice I would have never made.

Part of the disagreement seems to stem from the fact that teachers working in the pre-professional world, especially pre-professional ballet, want competition dance to work the way they work and do what they do. But much (not all) of competition dance is simply DIFFERENT. Not worse, not better…different. I see very little choreography in competition dance that would be “at home” on the Broadway Stage or in a Concert Dance Company. And similarly, a piece like Bob Fosse’s “Rich Man’s Frug”, brilliant as it is, would not do well at a competition due to its lack of technical difficulty despite its incredibly challenging artistic demands. And let me state, that when competition dancers come to Joffrey and join the pre-professional programs, they typically do very well. VERY WELL. There is an adjustment, for sure, but their discipline and training serve them well.

I am not part of the competition dance world, per se. I am, however, often invited to guest teach at completion studios with greater and greater frequency. Perhaps they feel they want to expose their dancers to something different, perhaps they feel it will give them a competitive edge, perhaps they are looking to help competition dance grow and evolve. After a full day at a beautiful school in Michigan, the teacher who engaged me wrote to me and told me that she started implementing some of what I taught the very next day. It’s not my place to tell the competition schools what and how to do what they do. It is my job to bring what I do to them. And perhaps it will influence what they do and perhaps it won’t. And perhaps one day there will be a new “Grand Pirouette a la Seconde” that is part of the vocabulary of competitive dance. It won’t be a ballet step. It won’t be worse, and it won’t be better. It will be something exciting and astonishing and unique to competitive dance.

I am very fortunate, in that I get to teach in just about every aspect of dance education. And one of the things that I truly love is guest teaching. I always welcome the opportunity to travel to a different part of the country, work at a New school, meet new colleagues and teach new students. I would like to share with you an experience that I had during a recent guest teaching engagement.

I was engaged by a ballet based studio as a guest artist, teaching ballet for a week-long intensive. I taught many classes (4-5 classes per day) at various levels to various groups of students. For the most part they were beautifully trained, attentive and hard-working. And for the most part, looked the way “preprofessional ballet students” are expected to “look”. The classes were leveled pretty much by age; but there were a few “more advanced” younger dancers dancing with older students. There was also one “less advanced” older dancer dancing with the younger students. And it was this dancer (we will call her “Susan”) that caught my eye. Susan was not blessed with what one might consider “ideal equipment” for ballet. She was stocky, long in the torso-short in the leg, neither particularly flexible nor turned out. I commend this beautiful little school for encouraging students with less than ideal bodies to train. Like my beloved Joffrey Ballet School, they believe that every “body” has the right to train, and if you can pass the audition you will be accepted, encouraged and nurtured, regardless of physique. But it wasn’t Susan’s body that caught my attention; it was her attitude and her demeanor.

To start with, Susan lacked the teenage exuberance that her classmates exhibited. And although all of the dancers at the school were serious and hard-working, Susan exhibited a ferocious drive. But even more than that, there was something troubling about her. I noticed, right from the beginning of class, her relationship with the mirror. I find that many serious teenage dance students love the mirror; they love watching themselves dance. But it almost appeared as if Susan was going to battle with the mirror. I watched her judge, evaluate, scrutinize and criticize every line that wasn’t perfect, every extension that wasn’t soaringly high, every body part that was too short, or too curvy, or too inflexible. I could see the exasperation in her face as we progressed through the barre and into the centre. I also saw a darkness; a sadness; almost a sense of despair in her carriage and in her work.

When we progressed to the adagio, however, I saw something very different. I taught the combination, we all marked the choreography and we divided into groups. When Susan’s group took their spots on the floor, she hid in the back of this large classroom, taking a spot toward the side of the last row. The music started and as the melancholy chords of “Scheherazade” filled the room, I saw Susan transform into an artist. Now I don’t mean to say that this “less advanced” dancer miraculously transformed her technique into that of a world-class professional. Her technical limitations were obviously still there. But what was also there was a stunning quality of movement, a very professional sense of phrasing and what seemed to be a deep connection to the music. And there was that sadness, and that sense of despair that brought something to the work that was both troubling and beautiful and transcended her obvious technical limitations.

As the class continued, through centre combinations, turns, jumps, petite allegro, grand allegro, I saw a dancer, struggling with the mirror, judging every moment. But I also saw flashes of great beauty and artistry. Buried at the core of this flawed body and judgmental eye was a mature artist of enormous depth and an aching sense of melancholy.

At the end of class, all of the dancers lined up to shake my hand, curtesy, and offer their thanks. Susan was one of the last. I offered her the following suggestion: “Try to use the mirror for INFORMATION rather than JUDGEMENT”. I also suggested that, sometimes, she try working in the front of the room. She smiled, thanked me, and left the studio.

At the end of the first, grueling teaching day, I asked the studio owner about Susan. She told me that Susan has a very difficult home-life and is dealing with some very trying situations (I can’t divulge the details, but trust me…its heart-breaking). She told me that the school is doing everything they can to keep her in class.

Over the next couple of days I had a few chats with Susan after class. I certainly didn’t tell her that the studio owner explained her situation…but she did confide to me that she was dealing with some personal problems. I asked her, although we didn’t know each other all that well, to make me two promises. I asked her: 1. To promise to try to find some happiness in the process of training (as I ask of all my students). And 2. If she TRULY wanted to dance, to the best of her ability not to let anything get in the way of her training. I explained that I was a dancer who had a family and a situation and a life that prevented me from dancing until I was an adult…and I just “let it be”. I allowed all of it to get in the way of my training. And when, as an adult, I discussed this with my mother, her response was: “Well, you should have been stronger”. So I implored her to be diligent, relentless and strong. I implored her to take advantage of every opportunity and to try to find her joy in the studio, in class, in the process. She burst into tears, she thanked me, she composed herself, she went home.

Now, I wish that I could say that by the end of the week Susan was front in center with a big smile and an even bigger sense of confidence. But that would be a lie. By the end of the week Susan was still dancing in the back row, off to the side…and battling that mirror. And of course there was that stocky and poorly proportioned body. But there were still those flashes of great depth of feeling, nuance, musicality and beauty. And she seemed to be a bit happier and a bit kinder to herself. And maybe that will last…and maybe it won’t. And maybe she’ll dance for the rest of her life…and maybe she won’t. But what ever her path will be, and whether the school will invite me back or not, it is this kind of student, this kind of connection that makes what I get to do every day a great privilege. Why do I teach? I teach for many reasons. And one of the most important reasons for me is a student like Susan.