Artistry, Emotion, Feeling and the Importance of Technique

I vividly remember when I realized that I had to become a dancer. It was 1975. I was seated in the darkened 46th Street Theater. I was experiencing my third Broadway show: the newly opened, original production of Chicago. I was seeing, for the first time, the brilliant dancing of Gwen Verdon and Chita Rivera and the legendary choreography of the masterful Bob Fosse. That realization was confirmed in my mind and my heart, shortly thereafter, watching Donna McKechnie in her Tony winning performance in A Chorus Line and Cynthia Gregory dancing her signature role of Odette-Odile in Swan Lake. As I look back 50 years on those performances, I remember very little of what these dancers actually did. There is some video footage available of bits of these performances, and these videos are wonderful reminders. But as I search my memories, as I reflect back into the deepest corners of my recollections, I can remember very little about what they actually did. What I do remember, what is still fresh and vibrant and alive, is the remembrance of how they made me feel.

Some years later I arrived at the studio of the Jazz Master, Luigi. It was here that I would begin my adventure. I decided that it was here that I would start the long, arduous, exhausting journey to become a dancer. I knew nothing about Luigi. I knew nothing about dance training. I was 25 years old and I had been told by a friend that Luigi was good with adult beginners. And so it was here that I took my first steps.

Luigi was very famous and has been quoted many times. Two of the things that I remember hearing very early on in my training with him (and that I would hear repeatedly throughout the decades) were: “Feel from the inside; find the right feeling and the right sound inside of you.” and “To dance, put your hand on your heart and listen to the sound of your soul.”.

I had no previous dance experience. I had no other dance teachers. So I logically assumed that this was how dance was taught. For those unfamiliar with Luigi’s technique, it is the first codified technique for teaching jazz. It has a complex series of graded/leveled “technique exercises” based in the Cecchetti Ballet system. His jazz technique also includes a complete set of rules for epaulment (not unlike those for ballet) which adds a beautiful polish and finish to the work. There is also a rich and complex approach to musicality in the choreography employed in the training.

But the core of the work, the very soul of the approach, is the feeling.

Luigi taught us technique. We all took a class that he simply called “Technique” in which there was no choreography. We would spend 90 minutes, twice a week, listening to him explain the fine points of his exercises, the details of placement, turnout and alignment, the nuance of epaulment. But at the core of these technique classes was feeling: what he was feeling, both physically and emotionally when he executed these exercises.

And when we danced, what he wanted to see was what we were feeling, NOT the technique. He would say: “Don’t show me your technique, show me the emotion, show me the feeling. The emotion should COVER the technique.”. We were taught that a solid technique must be carefully and painstakingly built to support the feeling; to support the emotion. When we stepped onto the floor, onto the stage or in front of the camera he wanted us to “screw it and do it!”. We were to simply dance, to feel, to be our unique selves (not looking like a carbon copy of him or the other dancers in the room) and to trust that the technique that we lovingly and carefully built would be there as a support for what we did.

This way of working was the foundation of how I danced, and I carried these concepts into the ballet studio. This way of working formed the basis of my performing career. This way of working forms the foundation of my teaching.

But the world is constantly changing and our industry is constantly evolving. As with all physical pursuits, technique is constantly growing. Turns are more numerous and more secure. Balances are longer. Extensions are higher. And as so much of our information is coming from social media and so much of what our students see is through these platforms, we are constantly being fed a steady diet of stunningly impressive technique. But it is technique for the sake of technique.

There is a concept in ballet training that epaulment, head position, eye position nuance of port de bras all create artistry. I’m not writing this article to debate this concept but to share a different point of view. There are many ways to create a beautiful result and there is no “one right way”. Luigi often spoke of these concepts, but within the theories of HIS system, epaulment, head position, eye position nuance of port de bras are simply “more technique”. They certainly make the work more beautiful, but they are technique. When he spoke of artistry he referred to the feeling, to the emotion, to the soul of the work. This is what he wanted the audience to experience. This is what I see lacking in much (not all) of what I’m experiencing in the media and on the stage.

As dance training in NYC continues to evolve, it is moving farther and farther away from the training that I experienced. Ballet classes (with the exception of very few) are focused completely on technique. Jazz and theater dance classes (with the exception of very few) are focused completely on choreography. Everything seems to be aimed at capturing just the right moment for that little video that will garner the thousands of “likes” that hopeful future professionals feel they need to make an impact. Conservatory training is different and there are many wonderful conservatory programs with excellent teachers, but the students’ mindset seems to be focused on capturing those technical feats to gain those coveted “likes”. And along with these technical feats are manufactured facial expressions that are meant (unconvincingly) to convey some sort of emotion (that sadly doesn’t ring true).

I have spoken to many prominent open class teachers in NYC who have expressed the feeling that if they don’t “give their students what they want” their rooms will be empty. Many teachers are pressured by their schools to “fill the room”. And since most open class teachers are paid “per head”, a full studio benefits everyone.

But is it benefitting the art form? Is it benefitting the audience?

Not too long ago I witnessed a group of dancers from 14 African Nations perform Pina Bausch’s Rite of Spring. This performance will be forever seared in my mind, living alongside my memories of Gwen Verdon, Chita Rivera, Donna McKechnie and Cynthia Gregory. These dancers danced from the very depths of their beings and made me FEEL. And I know, I will never forget that feeling. This is the first performance that I have seen in many, many years that actually deserved the standing ovation that every single performance seems to receive today. But sadly, these kinds of performances are getting ever fewer.

I am extremely fortunate in that the schools at which I currently teach never attempt to micromanage what I do in the classroom. All of my directors allow me to teach the way that I teach; all of my directors respect my approach. A few years ago, one of the preprofessional programs in which I was teaching asked me to change my methods to make the students “happier and more comfortable”. I finished the semester. I quit. And shortly there after I was able to replace those classes with classes at Ballet Academy East. About a year later, that preprofessional program called me and asked me to return. Um, no.

I worry about my students. I worry about the training I am providing and my responsibility to help them move on to their careers. But I also feel a responsibility to the past. I feel a responsibility to pass on the great teaching that I was so lucky to receive. I don’t expect to change the world; I am one, tiny, quiet voice in a blaring sea of social media. But occasionally, a student shows an understanding and a desire to work in this way. Occasionally there is that one student who “gets it”. Occasionally I am entrusted with a student who shows glimmers of this way of working at the core of the work. And I have hope.