While scrolling through social media feeds lately, I have noticed yet another new trend: young teens being promoted by conventions and competitions as “Guest Teachers” teaching “Master Classes”. Now, I don’t want to turn this discussion into a discourse on the terms “Master Class” and “Master Teacher“ as I have already addressed this topic. Suffice it to say that the term “Master Class” is now synonymous with “Special Class”. I also do not want to drone on discussing pedagogy and what makes a great teacher as I have already exhausted this topic as well.

Recently, Dance Magazine published an article titled: “Being a Great Dancer Doesn’t Automatically Mean You’re a Gifted Teacher” (https://www.dancemagazine.com/teaching-dance-2646191253.html?rebelltitem=1#rebelltitem1). I assumed that the professionals in our field understood this. Perhaps they do not. Perhaps they do, but they see these classes as a way to earn more money; and after all they are running a business. My concern here is the message they are sending to our young dancers.

There have always been, in the dance industry, uber-talented kids who from a very young age, dance like adults. In the Musical Theater, Marilyn D’Honau (who I have had the honor of working with and who I consider a dear friend) and Cynthia Onrubia were both dancing on Broadway, in adult roles, at the age of 14. Joyce Cuoco and Darci Kistler both had professional ballet careers and great fame in their teens. These dancers were all clearly very talented and worked very hard; but after more than 30 years in this industry one thing that I have realized is that, for the most part, these extraordinary young talents don’t really know how they do what they do. And it is the knowledge of HOW the work is done; an in depth and rich understanding of exactly how the skills and artistry are acquired, that is the first prerequisite for great teaching.

Perhaps these youngsters can choreograph fun combinations and perhaps our young dancers would enjoy learning and performing these combinations. But this is NOT teaching; at least not in the way that I was taught. The assumption is that these classes are offering something MORE, something SPECIAL, something that they CAN’T GET at their home studio. And by putting these children on display, in front of our young students, and calling them “Teacher”, we are once again reinforcing the “anyone can do it / insta-famous” culture that is steadily breaking down our industry. We are teaching our young dancers that there is no need to study for years, there is no need to dedicate their life to their art, there is no need to to have the richness of experience to be a great teacher because anyone, even a kid like them, can do it. And what is even sadder, is that they are being robbed of the opportunity to experience truly masterful teaching.

I have had some colleagues comment (enviously) that these classes should be given to “an adult who needs the work”. Well I am an adult, and I certainly could use the work (this is a brutal business) but any organization that will hand a master class over to a 14 year old is not going to be interested in the academic approach and intimate connection to the great teaching of the past that I bring to the table. But certainly there are teachers who can bring the excitement and youthfulness of current choreography with the knowledge and experience of skillful teaching. And perhaps our students will learn a fun and exciting combination; but they will also be learning MORE. And maybe this more experienced, more knowledgeable teacher will stand before a group of convention/competition kids and pull back the curtain and give them a glimpse of the professional world and the way a professional works and trains. Isn’t this our ultimate goal; to prepare our students for a career? So often I have heard “Well most of them aren’t going to be professionals anyway.” And sadly, that is true; even for those who want a professional career with all of their heart. But shouldn’t they at least be given a fighting chance?

Ballet training is part of all preprofessional college and conservatory musical theater programs. I am currently teaching in three such programs (one conservatory program, one associate’s degree program, and one bachelor’s degree program). I have come to realize, during the years that I have spent teaching in these programs, that there seems to be unrealistic levels of expectation that students have regarding their ballet training. There also seems to be different opinions (both of students and faculty) as to what this training should look like. I thought I would use this article to explore ballet training for the musical theater student.

Because I began ballet training as a young adult, and because many students enter these programs as beginner dancers, I feel that I am uniquely positioned to address training, goals, and expectations for these students. Most musical theater auditions do not have a dance component; applicants audition as singers and actors and are then, once accepted into a program, “leveled” into an appropriate dance class. Since some students come into these programs with absolutely no dance training, these students  are starting their ballet training at the very beginning. I am finding that more and more of these students have unrealistic expectations as to what can be achieved during their years of ballet study within these programs, and more and more of these students have misinformation as to how this training should be done.

Musical theater curricula are complicated and extensive. The goal of such a program is to train the students in acting, singing, and dancing. Each of these three disciplines could be a field of study on its own, but now the time must be shared between the three. In the division of hours, dance is usually given the least amount of time. To train in ballet; to really TRAIN effectively in ballet one must train daily. In a musical theater program, this is impossible (I have taught at the Phoenix Performing Arts College in Dublin, Ireland where the students have ballet classes daily, but this is very rare). Most programs will provide one to two ballet classes per week. So let’s do a little bit of math. These students are getting two ballet classes per week, and these classes are on the average 85 minutes long. The typical college/conservatory semester is 13 weeks. By the end of the first year they have completed 74 hours of ballet training; by the end of the second year they have completed 148 hours of ballet training. To someone who is not familiar with how dance training works, this can seem like a lot of training. But let’s compare it to what a serious dance student might do. When I was studying to be a dancer, I typically trained in ballet three hours per day, six days per week. As a serious dance student, I completed 148 hours of training in two months. TWO MONTHS. What a musical theater student does in two years, I as a dance student did in two months.

Ballet pedagogy goes back over 400 years. There are many different schools of thought and many different methods of ballet training. But these systems all have certain things in common that ALL WELL-TRAINED AND KNOWLEDGEABLE TEACHERS agree upon: Ballet training must start at the beginning, there are absolutely no shortcuts, the technique is built by endless repetition, and the progress must be slow, carefully laying a technical foundation which will ultimately support the high level skills. Building a stage-worthy, professional dance technique will take between 5 and 10 years of DAILY training. This is a fact and, again, there are no shortcuts.

I have been asked by these musicals theater students, on more than one occasion: “When I finish this program, will I be ready to go to a dance audition on Broadway?“. Unfortunately, the answer to this question is “No”. Unless the student is coming into the program with extensive dance training, a musical theater training program will not be able to prepare a dancer for a professional dance audition, given the amount of training provided. This does not mean, however, that the dance training that these students is receiving is not valuable and important. We are teaching the students the necessary foundations. We are teaching the students how to learn how to dance. We are building the habits that all dancers need to have in order to succeed. We are setting them on the path to a lifetime of dance training that should continue throughout their careers.

I have also, in recent years, received many complaints that the training is progressing too slowly. Students seem to feel that if they are not progressing and are not doing as well as they would like to be doing, it means that they are not being challenged. This concept of “being challenged“ in order to push a student to work, seems to be popping up a lot recently. Perhaps in other fields, perhaps in other disciplines “challenging“ a student will help them progress. Ballet, unfortunately, doesn’t work this way. They WANT to do double pirouettes. They WANT to do big jumps across the floor. If we push our students to do a double pirouette before they have the required strength and technique, what they will learn to do is “spin around on one foot”. This is not a pirouette. This will not get them a job. If we push our students to do big jumps across the floor before they can successfully and correctly land a sauté in first position, they will get injured. I remember being a beginner dancer. I remember dropping into advanced open classes to “push myself“; to “challenge myself“. I also remember not improving. NOT IMPROVING. I also remember the resulting frustration. It wasn’t until I took daily “absolute beginner” classes with the brilliant Diane Bryan (AKA Debbie Cruz) and built a solid technique through relentless, grueling, repetitive work, that I became ready to correctly approach even a single pirouette. Was I able to do stage-worthy double pirouette after two months of training? Of course not. This is why the beginning musical theater student cannot (and should not) be able to do a stage-worthy double pirouette after two years of musical theater conservatory training; nor, for the proper development of their technique, should they be trying.

One of the best aspects of teaching in these programs is that, for the most part, there is no mandatory class by class syllabus; teachers are given the freedom to construct their own classes. One of the worst aspects of teaching in these programs is that, for the most part, there is no mandatory class by class syllabus; teachers are given the freedom to construct their own classes. There are teachers who do not agree with the conventional wisdom. There are teachers who are teaching ballet in these programs who are “pushing” their students; “challenging” their students. They feel that since we aren’t given sufficient time to make dancers out of them, why not expose them to as much as we can? Why not “challenge” them? Why not give them what they want? I don’t want to diverge toward a defense of my teaching practices. Suffice it to say that I know from personal experience that it doesn’t work and in the end, they learn nothing. And what sometimes happens is that other teachers expose MY students to this sort of teaching. They are “pushed” and “challenged” and they LIKE it. And they WANT it.

Sadly, these students don’t know what they don’t know. They simply don’t have the education and knowledge required to make these sorts of decisions about their own training. They are beginners in a very complex discipline and there is no shame in being a beginner; all great dancers were once beginners. But I am NOT interested in giving students what they like. I am NOT in interested in giving students what they want. I am interested in giving students what they need. I spend hours crafting lesson plans that will serve the needs of my students. Anyone who has ever been in a classroom with me knows what my career means to me. At this point in my life, my only concern is for my students’ progress.

We are training our musical theater students for a profession on the stage. Well any profession requires professional training. And I only know one way to train a professional dancer: slowly and methodically with maddening repetition. Some of my students may feel that I am holding them back; that I am not challenging them and they are, therefore, not progressing. All I can say to them is that if they do not feel challenged it is because they are not working hard enough and they aren’t demanding enough of themselves. I have been in this industry for over thirty years and I recently made a discovery about my tendu to the side. SIMPLE TENDU TO THE SIDE. Yes, I am still trying to get it just right.

When the student finds the joy in the process, a dancer is born.

We have now been quarantined for two months. Our lives and our careers have taken on a new form and have evolved into something different; something we never could have predicted. For the most part, my classes transferred to a virtual platform. I was resistant at first. I was challenged at first. I was miserable at first. I struggled with the technology, class content and my teaching methods. But I adjusted relatively quickly; I figured out Zoom, made syllabus adjustments and found a teaching style that seemed to broadcast well enough. I was calmer, and I was working. Then the affirmations started rolling in. I received numerous messages and emails from students that what I was doing was working. Everyone seemed to be loving the classes (as much as can be expected under these circumstances). I was feeling pretty fantastic about how I made this transition to virtual classrooms.

Everything was great; until it wasn’t.

I never want my blog or my social media feed to be an endless fount of everything that is perfect in my life. Quite frankly, my life and my career are far from perfect. And nobody is really interested in reading a self glorifying stream of consciousness that is calculated to have the rest of the dance industry envy my superior dance existence. What I’m trying to do is to simply share my experiences and share what I take away from them.

This past week I had an epic fail.

It was suggested to me that I “Zoom” from my iPad rather than my laptop. Since I’ve been teaching from an empty studio to which I have safe access, it would be MUCH easier to carry an iPad. So on Tuesday, I popped my iPad into my bag and I went to the studio to teach. It was an open class for Joffrey, a class that students had paid for. And the Zoom stream was terrible. I don’t know if the issue was the WiFi, the iPad or the gods conspiring against me, but I was getting constant interruptions, both voice and text, telling me that there were technical problems: “I can’t hear”, “ “The picture keeps freezing”, “The sound is out of sync”. When I teach in the classroom, regardless of what goes wrong, I am usually pretty adept at controlling the situation. This, apparently, is not the case when I teach on Zoom. With each interruption, with each complaint, I became more and more rattled. I became increasingly concerned that I was disappointing the students and that they were becoming more and more dissatisfied with the class. And as the problems mounted, my confidence crumbled. I started forgetting my own choreography; a new combination that I had been looking forward to sharing. Then THOSE thoughts started creeping into my consciousness. I started wondering why on earth these dancers would want to pay for a disastrous class with me when they could find a a better class, from a much more prominent teacher, and probably get it for free, somewhere else on the internet. (I don’t want to turn this article into a discussion on whether we should be giving our content away for free during this pandemic; but these are the thoughts that crept into my head as I was trying to maintain my composure in front of the camera.)

I felt like my career was dissolving in front of me; in 90 minutes.

I finished the class as best I could, apologizing every step of the way. I shut down the iPad and I went home.

The next day I got a few messages from students telling me that despite the technical mess, they enjoyed the class. Several of my regular students expressed that they needed  the connection with their teacher and that need outweighed the technical problems or the content of any one particular class.  Maintaining a connection was crucial to them during this time of crisis. And my heart melted. And then I read some very wise words from a dancer who has become a treasured regular in my open classes over the last several months:

“Your problems and your mistakes don’t define you.“

This one sentence from Martin Vincent Bonventre, these eight simple words, brought me back to my senses. And I am so grateful to him; for his dancing, his support, and his wisdom when I most needed it.

My next class on Zoom was smooth as silk. The technology ran perfectly and my confidence was renewed. I’m still working as hard as I can to reach into the camera; to send my teaching out through this technical stream and touch my students. But I’m definitely still learning. And as we, in New York City, have no clear end in sight to classes on Zoom, I will certainly face more technical problems. Hopefully I will handle them more skillfully because we all aim to learn from our mistakes. But if I let the technology rattle me again (because I am not perfect), I hope I will be able to remember that  “Maintaining a connection is crucial during this time of crisis” and that “My problems and my mistakes don’t define me”.

“If you become a teacher, by your pupils you’ll be taught.”, Oscar Hammerstein II

I am someone who is always been very resistant to change; and technology has always been a big challenge for me. I remember, a number of years ago, receiving a phone call from my sister that went something like this: “There’s this thing on the internet called Facebook. You have to join!“ So I investigated this thing called Facebook, and I thought to myself: “This is not for me.”. As Facebook grew in popularity, I eventually, but reluctantly joined. I opened up a Facebook account, and within five minutes I had a friend request from somebody with whom I had lost touch, and for whom I had been searching for years. And I thought to myself “well maybe it’s not so bad.” It never occurred to me that professional connections could be made through Facebook. I was chatting with friends from elementary school. I was looking at photos of summer camp buddies. It was a pleasant diversion from the stresses of life.

Then one day I got a Facebook friend request from someone named Austin Eyer. I had never heard of him, and up until this point I had never received a friend request from someone that I didn’t actually know. I suspiciously accepted the friend request. He immediately sent me a message offering me a teaching job at CAP21. He had gotten my name from Lisa Gajda (the legendary Broadway dancer), but didn’t know how else to get in touch with me. And so began my teaching career.

After a number of years of using Facebook to reconnect with friends from the past, and share photos with with family, I received an invitation to join a “private group“. There are private groups? Well apparently, there are private groups for everything; and there are private groups for dance teachers. A lot of them. I joined a number of these private groups for dance teachers. I followed the threads. I read the posts. I never really participated. One day I read a post by a ballet teacher who is having a particular problem. I read all of the responses that people made; I disagreed with all of their suggestions. So I decided to offer an opinion. I made my comment; a very long comment. And several people commented on my comment. Two of those comments were: “You should really start a blog“ and “Would you come to Michigan to guest teach at my studio?“. And so my career grew.

At an age when I should have been earning as much money as I could, to save for my retirement, I took what was for me, a very uncharacteristic risk: I left a very lucrative career to become a freelance dance instructor in New York City. Through hard work, determination and an enormous amount of luck, it worked out just fine.

And then came this pandemic. And my teaching career seemed to be crumbling as studios and schools were telling me to stay home; classes were cancelled. Within a week, however, each of the five schools at which I regularly teach had transitioned to virtual teaching. I was now expected to teach on something called Zoom. I hate change. Technology is challenging.

I would like to think that life experience teaches us lessons that stay with us; lessons that revise the way we think. Joining Facebook and starting a blog were ideas to which I was resistant. They represented “change”. I was now responding to Zoom in exactly the same way. But I had no choice and so I reluctantly started teaching on Zoom. Right from the start I made some discoveries about how Zoom would change the way I teach and how Zoom would change the way my students learn. (This is the topic of another article: https://classicalballetandallthatjazz.com/2020/04/22/challenge-teaching-in-the-face-of-a-pandemic/ ). And although I was grateful that nearly my entire teaching schedule had transitioned to Zoom, grateful that my income was still in place during these very unstable times, I felt like “something” was missing. I felt that what I bring to the studio, the quality that makes me “Me”, was not translating to the virtual platform. I just felt like it wasn’t really working.

But then the messages started coming in; message from across the country, and messages from around the globe. Messages telling me that “It’s quite an opportunity to take class in NYC from the comfort of my home in Dallas”. Messages telling me that “You have taken the bull by the horns and are giving your students a full experience”. Messages telling me that “I don’t care how scratchy the connection is, it’s still a connection and still gives me the same feelings that dancing in a studio does. In some ways it’s actually better.” And messages telling me that “You are a beautiful example of everything Arpino, Joffrey and D’Addario aspired the company and training program to be. Thank you!“.

Then the virtual guest-teaching offers started coming in. Guest-teaching has been part of what I do for the last several years. It is something that I love to do, but because of how it can disrupt the training of my regular students, it is something that I do have to limit. Guest teaching can also be very expensive for the schools that invite me, as they incur the costs of travel and accommodations in addition to my fee. But now, thanks to Zoom, I am guest teaching across the country and in Europe as well, with no disruption to my regular schedule and at a much reduced cost to the host studios.

I think that one of the things that I bring to the classroom is an atmosphere in which dancers can learn how to learn. That is clearly still in place. The way I structure a class and the way I choreograph is still in place. How I explain my personal take on technique and artistry is still in place. Obviously teaching virtually will never fully recreate the experience of being in the studio. But I am coming to realize that virtual teaching does many positive facets.

Whenever I face a new group of students I expect them to approach the work with an open mind. I expect them to take the ideas and techniques that I present, and to work on them to their fullest; regardless of what their previous teachers may have taught. Shouldn’t I expect the same from myself? So the next time life presents me with a challenge, presents me with a hurdle to which I am resistant, I hope that I will remember to approach it with an open mind. Because how else can I grow? I have always tried to help my students learn how to learn. This horrible pandemic and the transition to Zoom, to which I was so resistant, have helped ME learn how to learn. And hopefully I will come out of this period of quarantine having made new connections, having reached new students in new places and having grown as an educator.

We are now living in a new world; a world of solitude and isolation. The pandemic which we are now facing has changed the way we live and it has changed the way we work, putting us each into our private box; both figuratively and literally. For most of us who are dance educators we have been charged with passing on our art form through a virtual platform. Our beautiful work, which lives in our bodies, minds and hearts, which has been lovingly handed down in the studio for generations, from teacher to student; has been exiled to a tiny box on “Zoom”.

Since the outbreak of the COVID-19 pandemic I have been conspicuously missing from social media. As I hunker down in my personal cave, with much more free time on my hands than usual, for some reason I am not feeling motivated to reach out. As many in my world seem to be posting their dance classes, posting their recipes, posting their craft projects; introspection seems, for me, to be somehow more relevant and appropriate.

I recently read an article by Robin Conrad Sturm, a ballet teacher, writer and blogger for whom I have the utmost respect. The jumping off point of this article was the quote “Life is all about how you handle ‘Plan B’”. This article explored the different ways in which artists cope with the disappointment inherent in their “fall back plan”; their “Plan B”. (Find her on Facebook, read her articles, they are wonderful.) I usually find that I identify quite deeply with Ms. Sturm’s writing. However my path, as my regular readers know, has been so strange, that I found little with which to identify. The article did, however, provide me with much to ponder.

As I grew up, my “Plan A” just sort of fell into place. My world, my family and the culture in which I was immersed laid out my “Plan A” for me and it never occurred to me to even raise a question. I would work very hard in school. I would get excellent grades. I would go to a prestigious college, graduate school and post graduate program. What would then follow, of course, would be an extremely lucrative career and HAPPINESS. As I started on this path, I thought I was happy. I was a successful student and I was accepted into the graduate programs and post graduate programs of my choice. I was “living the dream” of many aspiring professionals. Well, just like the hopeful ballerina who never could secure a company contract, my “Plan A” didn’t exactly work out; but for a whole different set of reasons.

Real “success” in any career is impossible if one doesn’t love what one is doing; and I was miserable. But being a person who is terrified of change, I was resistant and so I stayed in that career for 30 years. Eventually I would have to make a change; I wasn’t happy, my finances were suffering and I ultimately had to face my crippling fear of change and DO something. And so I set out to cultivate a career as a dance teacher; at 49 years old. Coming from where I was coming, this is perhaps the strangest of all possible choices. But the “conventional” certainly did not work for me, so why not try the “strange”? And as you know, it has worked out better than I ever could have ever expected.

Now we are in the midst of a pandemic. We are staying home, social distancing, living a totally different existence. Ballet classes, as we all know them, are not part of this existence. But each of the schools for which I teach has, one by one, transitioned to teaching over the internet.

AND I AM TERRIFIED OF CHANGE.

I am not a fan of technology. I was the last person I knew to buy a computer. I was the last person I knew to join social media. And now I have to learn how to teach through something called Zoom! Now I will be uploading videos to Something called Cyanna! Now I will be setting up an account on something called Dropbox! Now once again, I am terrified. Now, once again, I am resistant. But I am always someone who has done what needed to be done. So I set out to learn to use these programs (and that would have been impossible without the help that I received from the BRILLIANT Tiffany Patrick at the Joffrey Ballet School). And as I learned to use these programs, I reflected back on that terrifying transition that I made into my seemingly preposterous “Plan B”. That transition provided me with a life that I still find surprising. Every day seems to present yet another adventure (I was teaching in Dublin, Ireland, just before this pandemic started). So how can I tell where this transition to virtual teaching may lead?

Facing our fears is a part of life. My history has taught me that weathering the storm of fear that comes with change, can open the door to a whole new life. So perhaps learning to teach online can give me some insight into a whole new way to teach. Only time will tell. But the one thing I DO know, is that I still have POSSIBILITIES because of the miracle that is my “Plan B”. And I can’t imagine a life without those possibilities.

The more time that I spend sitting in a theater, the more I worry. I worry that we, the current crop of teachers, are training the “special” right out of our students. I recently sat in my seat of a Broadway theater, eagerly awaiting THAT moment. I’ve experienced it countless times; that moment when the performance in front of me would reach out, get inside me, and move me and change me in a way that nothing else could. I sat there for two hours and forty minutes. I heard excellent singing. I saw excellent dancing. I saw excellent acting. I heard excellent musicians. But THAT moment never came; I simply felt nothing. And this has happened over and over again for the last several years. It has happened at the theater, at the ballet, at the opera, at concert dance performances and at the concert hall.

I remember my youth. I remember sitting in theaters and being thrilled by the performers that I saw: dancers like Baryshnikov, Kirkland, Gregory and Bujones; broadway stars like Chita Rivera, Jerry Orbach, Carol Channing and Angela Lansbury; musicians like Horowitz, Heifetz, Argerich and Rubinstein. Rarely am I seeing these kind of performances any more. And the more I talk to my colleagues, the more I feel like we might be part of the problem.

Dance teachers (especially in the competition world) are training their dancers to perform with stunning uniformity. Voice teachers with whom I speak are trying to groom their students to produce a specific, particular “sound”. Acting teachers are cultivating students that give performances with a chilling naturalism.

But where is the magic?

I think to a degree these teachers feel that they are producing what casting directors are looking for. But sometimes casting directors don’t know what they are looking for until it walks into the room.

Now I’m not saying that those special, moving, captivating moments are completely gone. Katrina Lenk certainly created a world that transported and thrilled me in her brilliant performance in The Band’s Visit. But those performances are becoming less and less frequent.

I recently stumbled on this video of a little boy dancing:

I think we can all agree that this child has something very special and he feels what he does from a very deep place. He clearly has a long road to the professional stage (if that is indeed his path) and there will be many teachers who will have a hand in helping him build a technique. It is my hope that the process of building the technique that he will need will not squash the gifts that he has.

I remember my training with Luigi, Gabriella Darvash and Frank Hatchett. I remember them talking of astonishing dancers; dancers like Maya Pliesetskaya, Gene Kelly, Michael Jackson. I remember them encouraging us to find what made each of us special, unique and astonishing. I remember Luigi saying so often “I don’t train chorus dancers, I make stars”. Yet today, as I still take class regularly, it is rare that I hear teachers discussing anything other than technique (save a few who touch on musicality).

I have always believed that every teacher has something unique that they bring to the table; every teacher has something that they bring their students that nobody else and bring. I have certainly had a unique path; I started dancing at 26 and I cobbled together my training by studying exclusively in open classes with world class teachers. This required a lot of “putting it together on my own” and this has provided me with a unique perspective on how a dancer is built. I have always made this perspective the foundation of my teaching. But now I am examining my work more closely. The Joffrey Ballet School has placed their trust in me, and obviously my students will need high extensions, dizzying turns and soaring jumps to be employable today. But I am mining the memories of how Luigi, Madame Darvash and Frank Hatchett nurtured us to be WHO we were, not the technicians they wanted us to be. And I am allowing those memories to come flooding back and to flood my classroom. I clearly can’t BE Luigi, or Madame Darvash or Frank Hatchett. They were unique talents and brilliant master teachers. And I certainly don’t want to parrot what they said to me; because it won’t be MY perspective. But I am determined to find the SPECIAL in my students. Not every student will have the potential to be another Margot Fonteyn, Gwen Verdon or Fred Astaire. But someday a student may walk into my classroom with that magic laying dormant inside. And I am, more and more, feeling the responsibility to find that magic and let it shine. I am striving to be part of the solution; to do my tiny bit to help bring that magic back to the stage. And maybe some of my colleagues will agree with me; and maybe they won’t. But I have always been determined to do things MY way. Clearly what we are currently doing is producing a result; but is it really the result that WE want?

I want to see the magic.

Each time we roll into a new decade I tend to reflect back on the previous 10 years. Each decade has always brought change; some good and some bad. But the 2010’s have brought more new beginnings and more career growth than I could have ever thought possible. When 2010 started, I never could have imagined that I would return to the dance industry, but return I did. It was during this decade that I had the opportunity to teach at:

Hamilton Dance
Cora Dance
Alden Moves
The Manhattan Ballet School
Broadway Donation Dance Classes
New Rising Sun Dance Project
Hunter College
CAP21
New York Film Academy
New York Conservatory for Dramatic Arts
Molloy College
Marymount Manhattan College
Broadway Dance Center
and of course, The Joffrey Ballet School

It was also during this decade that I started traveling the country to guest teach at countless schools, studios, conservatories and conventions.

I would be remiss if I did not thank the people who were responsible for making this transition possible. So on this New Year’s Eve I want to extend a huge THANK YOU (in no special order) to (I hope I’m not forgetting anyone…apologies to anyone left off the list):

Lisa Gajda Maiolo
Beth Goheen
Richard Pierlon
Lisa Lockwood
Era Jouravlev
Elizaabeth D’anna
Stephanie Godino
Angelica Lynn Stiskin
Jo Matos
Michael Blake
Colleen Barnes Merwin
Austin Eyer
Jeanne Dybdahl Chelsen
Rita Hamilton
Shannon Hummel
Alden LaPaglia
Nick Rice
Jennifer Groenke
Elfriede Merman
Janna Feinman
Nancy Saylor
Madame Gabriella Darvash
Luigi

Without each of you, I would be living a very different life. THANK YOU, from the bottom of my heart.

In 2020 I will be traveling over seas to teach for the first time. THANK YOU to Therese Rooney for opening that door for me! Because of you I will be starting a new decade with a new adventure!

Here’s to new beginnings! Happy 2020.

This weekend shed new light for me on the nature of dance.

I spent Sunday afternoon  the Metropolitan Museum of Art. As I walked through the galleries, viewing the art, I had a sudden realization: These great artists worked endless hours studying, training, honing their art to create these masterpieces. And here are these great works, hundreds (in some cases thousands) of years later, still reaching, touching, moving their audience.

I reflected back on the previous day. I began my Saturday (as I always do when I’m not teaching) by taking class with the legendary Zvi Gotheiner. Although most certainly a ballet class and clearly grounded in the work of his mentor, the great Maggie Black, the class is not a “typical” ballet class. The barre is nearly an hour long, slow, methodical and thorough. The centre combinations are more like inspired choreography and less like classroom exercises and most definitely reflect the modern dance vocabulary displayed in the works performed by his brilliant company. And then there is the music. The highly original, unique and brilliant Scott Killian is at the piano. He can make that instrument sing like a choir, pound like a bass drum, swell like a string section, blare like a brass band and percolate like a gamelan. The varied, surprising, mesmerizing sounds fill the room, fill my body, and push the movements out from the inside. The music is one with my dancing, it hangs in the air; and then it is gone. I always try to bring a performance to the classroom. I have long believe that HOW we take class will affect how we dance on the stage and that technique and artistry are inextricably linked. But in this class I don’t just dance; I live.

There was a rather inspired combination that swirled across the floor, changing directions in surprising ways, with pirouettes and arabesque turns growing out of the choreography and growing out of the music. I felt my body fill with the sounds emanating from the piano. I felt my entire being explode across the floor. I felt every ounce of my energy flow out into the room.

And then it was gone.

I see so many young dancers capturing these moments on their phones and posting them on the internet. But our technology can only capture so much. We can record a dancer and we can enjoy the video. But the real depth of beauty; the deeply expressive, highly detailed nuance of our art form can often elude the lens. There is a performance of Swan Lake danced by Cynthia Gregory and Fernando Bujones that will forever be seared into my memory. No video of these two dancers that I have ever seen does this performance justice.

We work a lifetime to build a technique. We work a lifetime to develop an artist’s soul. We work a lifetime to dance. And in a moment, what we produce is gone. And I found a beautiful, profound sadness in the ephemeral nature of what we do.

The great art in this museum, these masterpieces that will last centuries to move and delight a limitless number of viewers, reminded me of this profound sadness.

And then I remembered that Swan Lake. I remembered that rainy evening when I sat in the dark and I watched, for the first time, two truly great artists take the stage and captivate an audience. And I realized that their performance isn’t gone. It lives in my memory, it lives in my heart and it is the reason that I do what I do. So now I am looking for ways to communicate this to my students; to help them reach their audience in a profound way. I want to them plant memories, perhaps in the heart of only one audience member, so that their work can live on to inspire someone sitting out there, in the dark.

I have always subscribed to the philosophy that every student who comes to me for training, regardless of their ability, talent or body type, will receive my full attention. I have always believed that my talents and abilities lie in identifying the unique potential that lives deep within every student and cultivating that potential to its fullest. I have always endeavored to look at every student without judgement and to see the artist that hides somewhere deep below the surface.

But I am flawed. I have judged. And sometimes I need a reminder.

I have, as of late, been charged with teaching some students who, by most of the usual standards, do not have the makings of a dancer. I walked into that classroom, I looked around, I started (as I always do) by explaining my approach to tendu, plié and releve and I watched them struggle; really struggle. And I thought to myself “Never in a million years…”. And so I have done a fair amount of complaining to my colleagues, friends and family about teaching these kids. I have also resigned myself to the fact that I will probably never get a result out of them.

This morning I woke up very early. I signed on to Facebook. The first two posts in my feed were about remarkable teachers; teachers who changed lives. The first story was about a teacher’s letter home to an autistic student who had performed poorly on the SAT exam. Although the student had scored rather low on the exam, the letter focused on the student’s positive achievements and abilities. The second story focused on a fifth grade teacher who had judged a student based on his unkept appearance, poor performance and inability to make friends. She later found out that these problems manifested a couple of years prior when this child’s mother passed away. When this information came to light, and horrified that she had judged this child so harshly, she poured her energy into this child. This child, under her guidance and care, turned himself around; succeeding in the fifth grade and ultimately graduating from medical school while always maintaining that his fifth grade teacher was the finest teacher he ever had.

THIS was GREAT teaching. Here was my reminder.

I recalled, and went back and re-read, an old article that I had written on this topic:

https://classicalballetandallthatjazz.com/2018/11/01/i-love-being-proven-wrong/

And I was disappointed in myself. I had done exactly what I have always prided myself on never doing; I judged my students. And these internet reminders that showed up in my feed this morning, these stories of the impact that truly great teachers can make, flooded me with the memories of the brilliant teachers that never judged me. Because I was the 26 year old beginner who had never danced a step. I was too short, too broad, too inflexible to be a ballet dancer. I was, by many standards, hopeless. But Luigi saw something in me, some spark of potential that made him whisper in my ear “it’s not too late”. No trumpet, no fanfare, no applause; just a whisper. And my life changed.

Sometimes I think the biggest moments, can be as tiny as a whisper.

So this week I will be re-examining these students. This week I will strive to look at them through different eyes. I will be looking at each student and searching for the artist that is lying dormant below the surface. I will try, with care, respect and love to TEACH them.