As of this week, I have a new student in my open classes. He is a working actor with an actual career (not one of the myriad of aspiring young hopefuls who call themselves actors). He is quite a good dancer, although perhaps not dancing a a first-rate professional level – not yet. He is what many would consider a “dream come true” student: dedicated, hard working, serious, open minded, willing to take corrections, and LOVES the process of learning to dance. When I thanked him and told him it was a pleasure to have him in class, he replied that he could no longer “take the abuse and humiliation” he was receiving from his previous teacher.

I know that these teachers exist. I, myself, am the product of one of these teachers. I know that there are students that are drawn to these teachers. What I do not understand is WHY.

When I began my training so late in life, there was nothing I wanted more than to dance. When I found a ballet teacher that was famous, respected, known for getting excellent results, and was willing to take an interest in ME, willing to work with ME, willing to guide this adult beginner into a career, I was willing to accept any sort of treatment just to be able to get that training. I, personally, was never the target of the bullying that was dealt out in that studio. I was never singled out and humiliated. I was never made to question my value as an artist, as a dancer, as a PERSON…but many of my classmates were. One of my colleagues, a stunning young ballet dancer, was told by this teacher in front of forty students that she would NEVER have a career. And this was not the only dance teacher in New York who was dealing out this form of abuse. And dancers simply “took it”. Many have told me that they believe that this sort of relentless targeting by the person they were trusting with their career left deep emotional scars. Some once very promising dancers that I know believe that their lack of confidence and subsequent lack of success was the direct result of this form of teaching.

I know a working professional dancer who currently takes his daily class with one of these teachers. This dancer has MAJOR companies on his resume. He has danced in some of the world’s great theaters. He has had the kind of career thus far that most students can only dream of. He tells me about these classes and how he LOVES this teacher. He LOVES when this teacher screams, humiliates and singles out students. He LOVES when this teacher treats the pianist with disdain simply because the pianist can’t read his mind. This dancer believes that he is in the presence of great teaching. He believes that this is great teaching because this teacher is famous. I have seen this dancer dance. Yes, he has a great resume. But as a dancer, as an artist…he is…well…”perfectly fine”.

I am not sure what these teachers are trying to achieve. Do they believe that this is the best way to get a result? Are they simply passing on the abuse that they received from their teachers to the next generation of dancers? Are they just mean and unhappy bullies?

At the risk of sounding like a broken record I would like to, once again, reference my time spent studying under Luigi. Many people in our industry cavalierly toss around the title “Master Teacher”. If these people had ever actually been in the presence of a TRUE Master Teacher we wouldn’t be hearing that term nearly as often. But Luigi was the real thing. He changed the way dance was taught all over the world. He created a completely new technique and created a virtually endless list of brilliant dancers and choreographers who credit him with their success (Liza Minnelli, Donna McKechnie, Ben Vereen, Charlotte D’Amboise, Susan Stroman, Twyla Tharp…). Never, not once, did I see Luigi berate or humiliate a student. He taught his classes from a place of love and he always believed that a dancer had to be nurtured. The results of his brilliant teaching are unquestionable.

There is much that I have taken from the Luigi Technique into the ballet studio. I learned musicality from Luigi. I learned port de bras from Luigi. I learned epaulment, phrasing and personal style from Luigi. And I have brought these lessons into my ballet classes and I am passing on the philosophy of this jazz technique to my ballet students. But the most two important things that I learned from this truly great Master Teacher are the love of the process and the need to nurture and cultivate students.

I have heard from young dancers that these bullying teachers “light a fire under them”. If a dancer needs to have a “fire lit under them” to get them to work, then they are, in my opinion, in the wrong business. Because if you don’t love the work; if the endless, repetitious, relentless training is not the most important thing in your life, then you probably will never be good enough anyway. So why would the abuse of a teacher have any positive impact at all?

And so my young friend with the great resume will continue to study with his famous teacher that he loves. He will continue to take the abuse. And he will continue to dance…and he will, I’m sure, continue to be “perfectly fine”. And I will continue to search for the artist in each of my students. I will continue to nurture the seeds of greatness that might or might not be lying dormant at the core of their being. I may never produce a truly great dancer; that sort of greatness is very rare. But I certainly don’t want my students to settle for “perfectly fine”. I will try to treat every student that walks into my room with love and respect and I will, to the best of my ability, nurture the gifts that they have deep inside. I will try to help them dance from the inside, to feel the work from a very deep place, to respond to the music and to love the process. And if I’ve done my job right, each of them, on their own terms, will soar.

I recently read a Facebook post that focused on ballet teachers who teach in recreational or competition studios where the students tend to believe that “ballet is boring”. Many of these teachers find it very difficult to motivate these students to work to their fullest potential and these teachers are finding it more and more difficult to get a satisfactory result out of these dancers; dancers who think that “ballet is boring”. The post suggested that the problem lie in the teaching. The thrust of the argument is that if the teachers would simply bring ballet to these students with passion, with love, with enthusiasm and just make ballet as engaging and important to the students as it is to the teacher then the students would love it too. Problem solved.

I have had, during my career, similar opinions.

And then I was charged with teaching “required ballet classes” to students who thought “ballet was boring”.

Now I LOVE what I do. I have worked harder than I ever thought possible and I have made many sacrifices to have the career that I have. I have walked away from a very lucrative career to spend my life teaching ballet. I have been told that I am an inspiring teacher. I have packed open classes at Joffrey. I have had countless studios bring me at great cost to teach and inspire their students. But I was now facing five classes a week of students who, for the most part, thought “ballet was boring”. And I found myself at a loss. There was nothing I could do to get these kids onboard. Nothing.

I take my work very seriously and I never pretend to have all the answers. I am also not afraid to admit (both publicly and in print) when I am having trouble, when something isn’t going perfectly. So I started searching. I looked for new ways to construct exercises. I looked for new and interesting ways to approach the discussion of technique. I searched for music. I took as many classes as I could…and I watched other teachers teach. And I was at a loss because I was unable to motivate these students. The teacher who wrote the article professed that the problem lie in the teaching; that she was able to motivate her students who thought “ballet was boring” and get a beautiful result out of all of them. And maybe she was able. And maybe she wasn’t. And maybe these kids weren’t really all that bored by ballet. One of the things I’ve learned about social media is that most people present what they WANT THE WORLD TO SEE. It’s hard sometimes to remember that.

I was distraught because I was unable to do what this teacher did. I was unable to motivate these students. I had hit a dead end. I had this shortcoming that I couldn’t seem to fix. And I was very distressed.

Then one day I opened my email and there was a “friend request” from someone with whom I had gone to summer camp some 45 years ago. This was not an arts camp. This was your typical “sleep in a cabin, play baseball and go swim in a lake” summer camp. And I opened that friend request and I had a sort of epiphany.

Everything about that camp came flooding back. And one of the most vivid memories I had was how BORED I was by sports and how poorly I did athletically. I also remember a wonderful coach who loved baseball and worked so very hard to help me improve. I was bored. He worked harder…with even more enthusiasm. I was still bored. I hated baseball and I never improved. One day, by sheer luck, I had a game winning hit. Everyone cheered. And I was bored. I just couldn’t see what the fuss was about. And looking back on those years, all those years during my childhood when I was compelled to participate in athletics, I know in my heart of hearts that there is nothing anyone could have done to get me to love sports. I remember my mother saying: “People like to do what they are good at. If you would just work harder and get better then you would like baseball”. I’m sorry, mom, but I’ve loved ballet from the moment I placed my hand on the barre. No, actually, I’ve loved ballet since before I knew the barre existed.

At that moment I realized that we all love to do what we love to do. And there is no accounting for it. And I am now cutting myself a little slack. I am clearly never going to abandon my students who are bored by ballet, just like that wonderful coach in summer camp who never abandoned me. I will still do my best to inspire these kids (perhaps to no avail) and I will still look for new ideas to help reach them. These challenges are why I love what I do. But I will also be kind to myself when faced with roadblocks that I can’t seem to get around. And I will not go on social media and proclaim to have all the answers when I know that I don’t, because in the end that will only serve to undermine what I know I do have.

So twice a week I faced these students who were disinterested. Twice a week I did everything I could to bring them the joy that I get from ballet. And twice a week I watched these kids “take their required ballet class” (which we all know is not the same thing as studying ballet).

And then, one afternoon, “Julie’s” mother inquired about private lessons. It seems that Julie had decided to audition for some of the most competitive performing arts high schools in New York City. Julie doubled up her ballet classes at the studio, took a 90 minute private lesson with me every Saturday morning and her progress was staggering. After 9 months of this schedule she attended the auditions. In September, Julie will be attending a prestigious performing arts high school in a ballet focused program.

So to all of my colleagues facing these challenges; to all of my fellow teachers who have students that you can not seem to reach: please be kind to yourself. You may encounter these students that you can’t inspire but I would encourage you to keep searching for new ways, because it will only serve to make you a better teacher. And I implore you to not give up on these students, because there might be a “Julie” in your class for whom you unknowingly open a door.

THIS is why I do what I do.

This week one of my trainees at The Joffrey Ballet School asked me the following question:

Having trained exclusively in open classes and having taught for the past several years in The Joffrey Ballet School’s open class program, I have had many opportunities to observe what happens when a teacher is absent and has been replaced by “the sub”. I have looked at this situation from all three vantage points:

1) As the student who shows up for class expecting a particular teacher and being faced with a teacher who is completely unknown to me.
2) As the teacher who must miss a day of work and is handing over his students to trusted colleague.
3) As “the sub” who must walk into a nearly empty room and face students who were expecting someone else altogether.

I remember when I was training, how most of my colleagues reacted to an unannounced sub for an open class; they simply didn’t take class. This was something that I never quite understood. I was there for class. I was there to train; and daily training is essential to the success of a dancer. I may have been disappointed that my teacher (the person to whom I was trusting my professional development) was not going to be teaching but I always felt that the sub’s class would certainly be better than no class at all. And, of course, YOU NEVER KNOW WHAT YOU MIGHT LEARN; even from a teacher that you might know (and might not like).

Teachers (good teachers) care very much about their students’ training and take their work very seriously. Handing off my students to a sub can be very stressful; my students’ growth and success is extremely important to me and I can honestly say that since I started teaching open classes, I have been absent exactly once. Also, teachers who teach open classes have an enormous amount of pressure on them to fill their class rooms. Studio owners and program directors need full rooms for their studios and schools to function, and in many cases (not all) teachers are paid a percentage of the monies collected on their classes. I have always felt that providing consistency to students is part of being a successful and effective teacher in the open class setting… and students expect you to be there…and so except in very rare and extraordinary circumstances, I am there.

I have, on a few occasions, been the sub for an open class. I remember hearing the murmurs of disappointment at the front desk as students checking in are informed that their teacher is out and that I will be teaching them that day (that does a lot for the ego). I remember teaching three students one Easter Sunday at Broadway Dance Center in New York City. I went to work on a Holiday. I had three students. And it was my job to teach those three students with every ounce of energy and professionalism I had. It wasn’t easy; but it was my job.

But sometimes class with a sub can be pretty great, and in once case for me it was a life-changing experience. A good number of years ago I went to Steps on Broadway to take class. There was a sub. I knew there would be a sub. The regular teacher of that class had originally asked me to sub that class for him but Steps had another teacher in mind. I had been trying to get a teaching career off the ground, but kept hitting roadblocks. No one seemed to want to hire me and I was becoming more and more frustrated with the dance industry in New York. And so, here I was facing yet another disappointment in my career. But I always felt “the sub’s class would be better than no class at all” and “you never know what you might learn” so I took that class. When I got to the studio, I found out that the class was going to be taught by Lisa Gajda, a legendary Broadway dancer with a staggering list of credits. I took my place in the back of the room (being the only dancer over 40 in the studio) and allowed the younger professionals and aspiring professionals to take the prime spots in the front. During the plies Ms. Gajda came up to me and asked “Who are you?”. “Nobody.” I responded. She then said: “Because I’m looking at you and I’m thinking that YOU should probably be teaching ME a few things”. After that class we chatted a bit on Facebook and I figured I had met a pretty terrific new person. And then, as often happens with these sorts of things…we lost touch. More than a year later I received an email from CAP21, the musical theater conservatory. They were offering me a job as a ballet teacher. They had gotten my name from LISA GAJDA. That job at CAP21 lead to employment at New York Film Academy, Broadway Dance Center and my beloved Joffrey Ballet School which has become my professional home.

Life changing.

There was a post made in which the following question was posed: “Is dance a sport?” and a colleague suggested that I give this topic some thought. So my initial opinion was “NO, dance is most definitely not a sport”. And being the type of person that I am, I looked up the definition of sport and this is what I found:

Sport: an activity involving physical exertion and skill in which an individual or team competes against another or others for entertainment.
“team sports such as baseball and soccer”

And then I looked up the definition of dance and this is what I found:

Dance: 1 : an act of stepping or moving through a series of movements usually in time to music. 2 : a social gathering for dancing. 3 : a set of movements or steps for dancing usually in time to special music. The samba is a popular dance of Brazil. 4 : the art of dancing “She is studying dance.”

In looking at these two definitions, it would appear that dance is not a sport. But I have come across this question many times in my life and so I figure that there must be something more to this comparison. There are certainly similarities between sports and dance: both require enormous skill and talent, both require extensive physical training, and both generate enormous excitement for its audiences. There is, however, one enormous difference: the ultimate goal. The goal of a sport is to win. This is why a sport is played. This is what the fans come to see. It is the thrill of the win that inspires the excitement. It is the suspense of the competition that keeps the fans enthralled. The goal of dance, however, is different. The goal of dance is, in most instances, to create a work of art that moves its audience. It is the need for this artistic expression that keeps dancers dancing and it is the art that they make that thrills its audience. The world of competitive dance does blur the line somewhat; but even when dancers compete, I believe that the goal is (or should be) artistic expression. The “win” is secondary.

So why the comparison? Why have I heard the phrase “Dancers are athletes”? And why have I heard that phrase come from the mouths of dancers? I have NEVER heard an athlete say “Athletes are dancers”.

I think that this stems from how our culture views sports, how our culture views the arts and how we in the dance industry feel about these viewpoints. Clearly, the average American is far more likely to be interested in sports than in the arts and is certainly more likely to know the name of a star athlete than a great ballerina. When I was a child, I actually thought there was something fundamentally wrong with me because I wasn’t interested in, and had no aptitude for sports. There is, for the most part, an importance and status placed upon the athlete that is not shared by the dancer. And in response to this inequity, some members of our industry have suggested that “dancers are athletes” or that what we do as dancers is “harder than sports”. I remember many years ago an episode of the television series Fame, in which football players took a dance class with dancers. The dancers sailed through the class with ease while the football players failed miserably, thereby proving that the dancers were superior to the athletes in their abilities. But if you think about it, the comparison is a bit ridiculous. Dance requires training; grueling, strenuous, repetitive, meticulous training. Training that athletes simply don’t have. Of course the football players failed. And should the dancers have been asked to engage in the training that experienced football players undergo, they would have failed just as miserably.

Those of us who are serious dancers, those of us who have made dance our lives probably have this one thing in common: We did not choose dance. Dance chose us. We simply have to do it. We have no choice. And if we try to stop (as I did…for 9 years) it simply pulls us back. The love and the passion that we have for this art can be all-consuming. And since dance is so very, very difficult to excel at and to make a living at, why on earth would anyone CHOOSE it?

One of the benefits that comes with age is that one no longer cares what others think. When I was younger my peers’ opinion of me, my family’s opinion of me, and society’s opinion of me were all very important. But with each passing year I cared less and less. And when I finally stopped caring how others viewed me, my life changed, my teaching career took off and I started to be truly happy (for the very first time in my life). I think that we, as an industry, need to stop caring how we are viewed. We are never going to convince the “average American” that we are athletes and that what we do is as hard or harder than sports. We are probably never going to gain the admiration that athletes enjoy. We are probably never going to make the money that athletes make. And I think that every time we try to make the claim that we are “athletes” or that what we do is “harder than sports” we are, in a way, telling society that we, ourselves, hold sports and athletes in higher regard. If we did not, we wouldn’t be making these claims. As I said earlier, you never hear an athlete say “athletes are dancers”.

I do think that there is one more very important similarity between athletes and dancers: we both love what we do in a very deep and profound way. I think that athletes have the same drive and passion that dancers do. And what a gift that passion is! I can’t imagine what a life would be like without that passion. Even when I was not dancing, the passion was still there; smoldering just below the surface. So rather than trying to convince the world at large of our value, importance and status, why not just celebrate the beauty and joy in what we do? I would like to believe that if we make art with real integrity it will find its audience. We can best show the world our importance by simply being who we are and doing what we do. And perhaps one day our society may view us with the same regard, respect and awe with which they view great athletes. And perhaps they will not. And as far as I am concerned it doesn’t really matter because I simply no longer care. I get to live my life as a dancer. I get to bring this art form to my students. I get to live a life that is filled with passion for what I do. Is there a greater gift than that?

I recently saw a video on YouTube which discussed many of the problems we are seeing with millennials and the difficulties that they are having in the workplace and in life. The video makes a point of stating that these problems are not the fault of this generation but rather places the responsibility on the hand they were dealt and the world in which they were raised.

The video touched on many of the topics that we as educators have discussed over and over again, among them: the endless praise that their parents have lavished on them making them difficult to teach and correct, their sense of entitlement, their impatience and their addiction to their devices. The video also discussed how dissatisfied and unhappy so many of them are and the difficulty they have in forming deep and meaningful relationships. And it saddened me; more than I could have ever expected.

I look at my students and I worry; I worry about their future success and I worry about their happiness.

When ever I teach the first class of the afternoon I see the same thing. I come into the studio 15 minutes before class. The students are scattered around the studio floor, finishing their lunch and looking at their phones. They aren’t really talking, interacting, bonding and forming relationships. They are engaging with a devise. This worries me. How can a young person who is more interested in a machine than their friends and colleagues grow and develop into a communicative artist? But the even more troubling question is: How can a young person who is more interested in a machine than their friends and colleagues grow and develop into a happy and fulfilled adult?

In addition to ballet and the Luigi technique, I teach dance history. I recently gave a lesson on Marius Petipa and the development of the classical pas de deux. (For my readers who are not dancers or dance teachers, suffice it to say that one would expect a full-time pre-professional ballet student to be fascinated by this topic.) After a short discussion I ran a video of the “Black Swan Pas de Deux” from Swan Lake, one of the most famous and beloved moments in all of the classical ballet repertoire. I, myself, was enthralled by this video (which I have seen countless times). About five minutes into the video, I turned to look at my students and noticed that several of them were looking at their phones.

I have mentioned this to many of my friends and colleagues and I have gotten the exact same response from everyone: “That is so incredibly disrespectful!”. And some have gone on to add “Did you take the phones away?.

Here’s the thing: I agree that this behavior is disrespectful. But to be honest, the disrespect doesn’t bother me that much. We can teach behavior. We can collect cell phones at the beginning of class and return them at the end. We can threaten to not give them credit for attending the class if we see a cell phone. We can fail them, punish them and create all sorts of penalties for this sort of behavior. And what will that do? It will teach BEHAVIOR. And, in this very particular situation, behavior is meaningless.

I want to know why a cell phone is more interesting and important to a full-time pre-professional ballet student than an exquisite performance of Swan Lake. This is unfathomable to me and this question has been haunting me since the day I ran that video. I remember, at 14 years old, setting an alarm clock at 3:00 AM in the middle of the week, so I could get up and watch Top Hat on television. We did not yet have a VCR. I had never seen it. I knew it was Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers. I simply HAD TO SEE IT. This was the only means I had to educate myself about dance. It was far more important to me than sleep. There was no deterring me. Today, when I suggest to a student that they look at something on the internet, and check in with them a few days later, never…not once…in the last ten years…has the student followed my suggestion and made the effort. And the thing that troubles me so much is that for so many of them (not all) it is an EFFORT.

I see the lack of patience in so many of them. I see a reluctance to repeat an exercise over and over again, each time striving to find something more. I oftentimes feel “tolerated” by students as I painstakingly explain a fine point of technique. I feel them bristle if I ask them to repeat a phrase over and over again, trying to pull some artistry out of their steps. They want it fast. They want it now. They want the solo, the staring role, their moment in the spotlight and the accolades for their brilliance without putting in the work. I had no choice but to be patient. I waited until I was 26 to take my first dance class. The five year old inside of me, who saw that first mesmerizing Nutcracker on television, waited 21 years to take his first dance class. And when I finally started dancing it was the WORK that brought me joy. And from the time I took that first dance class, I waiting another 25 years to secure my dream job at the Joffrey Ballet School. But here’s the thing: no one had to tell me to be patient. I simply was. Apparently, I have students who can’t wait for a 12 minute video to be over to check their phone.

Clearly I don’t see these problems in all of my students. There are certainly those that are passionate, committed and hard-working. But I find myself worrying more and more about the others. These students are placed in my hands and I am charged with the task of making dancers out of them; I am charged with the task of nurturing artists. I can teach them to put their phones away. I can teach them to follow my suggestion and look at various performances on the internet. I can teach them dance history. I can teach them music. I can teach them steps. I can attempt to cultivate some artistry in them. But sadly, the way things are now, I am starting to feel that I will not really be successful.

Every time I step foot into the studio to take class I see it as an exploration. I am always looking for new feelings, new ideas, new discoveries that I can bring to my classroom and use to help my students grow. But now I am exploring new territory. I am looking for ways to inspire my students to see the work, the diligence, the patience, the richness of their art as far more important than anything else in their lives. When a 1978 performance of Swan Lake makes them forget about their phones, when they can endlessly examine their arabesque looking for ways to make it more beautiful, expressive and expansive, when they can work happily and tirelessly to EARN a solo or a starring role, then they will begin to have the goods to develop into an artist.

I am far from perfect and I don’t pretend to have all the answers. There is so much that I do not know and I am always looking for new ways to inspire and guide my students. There is one thing I do know: Until the art is of paramount importance to the student, until there is no room in their mind or their heart for anything else, they will never be able to reach and move an audience. Unfortunately, telling this to students will not help them. They must come to it on their own. They must find it for themselves. And when they do, they will soar.

I have always subscribed to the belief that every student who walks into my studio deserves my full attention. I have always held fast to my desire to give every student enthusiastic encouragement. Now, I know that I have many colleagues that have told pre-professional students that they “don’t have a chance” and that they should perhaps be considering some other career goal. I know that they believe that they have the student’s best interest at heart and that they are trying to spare the students years of frustration and disappointment. But I was a “hopeless case” and I know only too well that the pain of failure and disappointment is nothing compared to the pain of wondering what “might have been”. And so if you come to me for training…regardless of body type, age, ability or talent, I will train you.

But I am human. And I make judgements. And naturally, I have looked at students and thought “Never in a million years…”.

As my dear friend and colleague Richard Pierlon has so often said “It is not my job to crush their dreams, it is my job to teach them”. And so regardless of what I may THINK about a student, I keep my big trap shut (something that can be very difficult for me) and I teach them.

The bulk of my day to day work is comprised of teaching ballet (and some jazz) in college and pre-professional dance and musical theater programs. And typically I am assigned classes in the later years of the programs, rarely teaching first year students with any regularity. I am, however, often called upon to sub first year classes. Some years ago I subbed such a class for a few weeks and encountered a student; a student who I judged. “Never in a million years will this student have a career on the stage”, I thought. This kid had nothing that anyone would consider to be the makings of a performer: a poor body type and lack of ability or talent all seemed to be pointing toward a life best lived in some other pursuit. But every student who comes to me for training…

A few years later this student’s group showed up on the roster of my regular classes. I would be the ballet teacher assigned to teach all their technique classes for a year. On the first day I was struck by this students’ body transformation that had taken place in the intervening years. I was struck by the razor sharp focus. I was struck by the ferocity with which this student worked, learned, absorbed, grew. And as I worked with this student throughout the year I thought: “Hm…well would you look at that…well maybe…”

Some time has passed since this student graced my studio. I try, as often as possible, to attend my former students’ performances and so I recently went to see this kid (who on first encounter I thought a hopeless case) perform. I took my seat in the last row, sitting next to a dear friend and colleague. Nothing could have prepared me for what I saw that evening. This former “hopeless case” exploded onto that stage with a command and confidence that sent a ripple of energy through the audience. There was a new body, a new attitude, a new confidence and and a new radiance that glowed with an inner pulse of excitement. What now stood before me was a fully polished performer on the brink of what will hopefully be a long and satisfying professional career. And I sat in my seat, and I sobbed.

Through sheer determination and hard work this student made this metamorphosis happen and it was the faculty of our school that opened the door and showed the way. I am so pleased that I got to be part of that journey. My mentor Luigi often said “I don’t train dancers, I make stars.” On this point I have always disagreed. Stars are not made, they are born; all we can do as teachers is pull back the curtain and show them how it’s done. I’m proud to say that ALL of the schools at which I teach do NOT accept students based on their body type and they do NOT accept students based on what they can do at the audition. They accept students based in their POTENTIAL. I believe that if a school is only accepting students with perfect equipment and nearly finished techniques, the job of molding a professional is not that difficult and the schools’ graduates’ employment rate will certainly be high. But we are not concerned with employment rates and we are not concerned with with finding perfect students. We are concerned with identifying POTENTIAL and giving the students the opportunity to develop it. We aren’t always right with every student we select. And not every student with the potential is prepared, willing and able to do the required work. But when this potential is placed in the body of a relentless, hungry, unstoppable student, the results can be staggering. And so, as the “self proclaimed champion of the hopeless case” I look forward to many more years of sobbing in the dark as my students take the stage and astonish me.

I love to be proven wrong.