I want to start this essay with a disclaimer: I do not hate dance competitions. But as I scroll through social media posts I see an endless stream of complaints about dance competitions; complaints about scoring, complaints about biased judging, complaints about behavior, hours, costs and cheating. It leads me to wonder why these teachers are entering these competitions at all. When posed with the question of why they go to competitions, the usual responses are something like: “We go to competitions to have opportunities to perform” or “We go to competitions to learn”. Well there are opportunities to perform that do not revolve around competitions. There was an excellent book written recently that explores that topic in detail. And I can tell you, from first hand experience, that I learned A LOT, REALLY A LOT, and never once danced in a competition.

There was a post that caught my eye recently regarding awards. It seems that in many cases “gold” is the lowest award, and the competitions aren’t even awarding “gold” to any of its contestants. The “lowest” award given is “high gold”. This ensures that the competitors leave happy, with a terrific sense of accomplishment and self worth; a sense of accomplishment and self worth that is completely empty. I have much experience with these kids in young adulthood who are incapable of dealing with the realities of this industry and where they fit. I have also seen posts calling for competitions dedicated to smaller studios to “level the playing field” and make it “fair”, so their students can win. I’m not trying to be a jerk here, but I really fail to see how this is, in any way, fair.

When I was a child I took music lessons. I played the piano. I took one lesson every week and I practiced daily after school. I did not have the talent, work ethic or desire to have a career in music but I played in student and amateur ensembles and I enjoyed music very much. When I was 13 my piano teacher entered me in a competition. I prepared, I practiced, I was ready. On that rainy Saturday afternoon, in a hotel ballroom in Manhattan, I performed my Clementi Sonatina (a piece typically played by beginner-ish students) in a manner in which both my teacher and I were happy. Another 13 year old competitor performed a Liszt Hungarian Rhapsody (a piece typically played by professional concert pianists) and she played it brilliantly. This student was clearly much more talented. This student was clearly taking multiple lessons per week. This student was clearly practicing 6 hours a day, 7 days a week; not unusual for a career-minded student. I didn’t win. I didn’t expect to win. I could hear the difference. I wasn’t upset. I don’t even recall being disappointed (perhaps I was; but I honestly don’t remember a sense of disappointment). But what these dance competitions do is create these levels of “beginner”, “intermediate” etc. based on hours per week in the studio and students are allegedly competing against other students with similar training regimens. (I say “allegedly” because I also constantly read about accusations of teachers lying about the hours of training a student is studying). Again, I fail to see how this is “fair”. About 30 years ago I judged a competition. The competitors were divided by age, and age only. Of course the student putting in more hours will be better. The best three dancers in each age category received ribbons that said “first place”, “second place” “third place”. Everyone else lost. And, in my opinion, that is fair. That was the nature of that competition. That is by definition, how competition works.

If you love the dance competition circuit; if you feel your students are, in some way, benefiting from the experience, then you should definitely compete. I definitely believe that there are benefits to be had. But if you find yourself constantly complaining about the experience, perhaps your gripes, combined with the empty sense of self worth that these competitions promote in your students, might lead you to explore other avenues.

When I was 34 years old, at the height of my dancing powers, I quit. I quit the one thing that I loved more than anything else. I quit the one thing to which my entire identity was tied. And I quit because of limitations that were placed on me; and not by the dance industry or society. I quit because of limitations that I placed on myself.

I was relatively successful at auditions; and I worked somewhat regularly: television commercials, music videos, small dance companies, off-Broadway musicals. And although I booked more jobs than most of my friends and colleagues, it didn’t add up to a full time career. And so I worked outside the dance industry. And like most dancers, I struggled. I really struggled.

I was short (a tiny bit over 5’5”). I was old (or so I thought); I could smell 35. I had no Broadway show or major dance company on my résumé. And I had responsibilities (or so I believed) that prevented me from leaving New York City. I saw each of these factors as a limitation that was keeping me from my dream. And as I stared into the future, all I could see was the enormous financial stress under which I was living. And I said to myself “No one will hire you because you are short. No one will hire you because you are old. No one will hire you because you have a weak résumé. No one will hire you because you can’t leave New York”. And since I trained completely in open classes and had no real mentors or guidance, I believed all of it. I simply had no hope.

Well I had gone to college and graduate school. I HAD earning abilities. I had REAL earning abilities. And since I had convinced myself that these self-imposed limitations were going to keep me from my dreams, the logical way to put an end to the crushing financial stress was to simply stop dancing and enter the regular workforce. And that’s what I did; for nearly ten years. And I had a “normal job”. And I had a “normal life”. And I had “happiness”, or so I thought.

Until one day a friend who was visiting New York convinced me to take a dance class with her. I stood in the back of Richard Pierlon’s incredible jazz class at Steps on Broadway, and I did as much as I could. I was well past forty. I hadn’t danced in a decade. I couldn’t do much; in fact I felt as if I had lost everything; well almost everything. The one element that was still very much in tact was the joy that I felt in the process of studying dance. That joy was still burning ferociously in the depths of who I am. And so when the class was over I found myself sobbing in the corner of the studio because I felt as if I had ruined my life. I would never again dance as I did when I was young.

But I could still train. I could still learn. I could still improve. And so I started taking two classes a week; just for me. That quickly grew to five classes a week. Then, one day, Richard Pierlon asked me to sub for him. And so began my teaching career. Little by little I made and cultivated connections. Little by little I got more and more teaching jobs. Little by little I found my way to my beloved Joffrey Ballet School. And I couldn’t be happier. And I can see flashes of my training in my students. And I get to share in their joyous successes as they move on to their careers. And I get to support them and guide them when they get cut at the audition time and time again (a feeling I know only too well). And I get to believe in them when they simply have no hope.

This past week my phone rang. The caller ID said “Los Angeles”. I don’t know anyone in Los Angeles so I let it go to voicemail. Later that day I listened to the message. It was from The Telsey Office (an enormously important casting agency) asking me to audition for a tiny role in a major film (they needed an older male dancer). My initial response was: “thank you so much, but no thanks. I don’t perform any more and I can’t really turn my life upside down at this point for a performing job”. But he was very persuasive. And I went through the audition process.

And now I wait.

I check my email.

And I wait.

So I am now even shorter (a tiny bit UNDER over 5’5”). I am even now older; I can smell 63. I have no Broadway show or major dance company on my résumé. And I have responsibilities that prevent me from leaving New York City. But now I have something else. Now I have hope. Because whether I book this job or not, whether I ever book another performing job or not, I know that there are possibilities, and what could be more wonderful? So I’m looking into the future with my new-found hope. And once again, I’m dancing.

I have heard recently several dance teachers complaining about competition judges who offer no praise; only corrections and criticism. These comments have gotten me thinking about self-esteem, how I was raised, how I was taught, and how I, myself, teach.

Not too long ago, I stumbled upon a video in which a young man (20-something) was explaining why, in his opinion, so many of his contemporaries were struggling with life in general. This little video was shockingly insightful. He explained that there had been research done, clearly documenting that children with good self-esteem were, in general, more successful in school, in extracurricular activities, and in life. Every parent sets out to be the best parent they can be. Every parent wants the best for their children. Every parent has as their primary goal, their children’s ultimate success. So a parenting trend developed that had as its goal, raising children with good self-esteem. Now there is more than one way that this goal can be achieved. It would seem to me, that the best way to achieve this goal, would be to instill in a child the skills, the work ethic, the discipline, the “stick to it-ness“ necessary to “achieve”. And with that achievement would come a sense of pride, reassurance in the form of praise, and subsequently the coveted “self-esteem“. This, however, is not what most parents did. Apparently, most parents skipped the “hard work” and jumped straight to the “praise”, showering their children with undeserved compliments and positive reinforcement. What they accomplished, was raising children with “good self-esteem” but this self-esteem was hollow. As these children move into adulthood with no real experience in struggling to achieve a goal or a realistic sense of their abilities, they find the challenges of adult life devastatingly difficult.

So now I sit here, reflecting back on how I was raised. More than anything else, what my parents instilled in me (like most of my contemporaries from the “baby boom”) was a strong work ethic and a sense of humility. If I did something or achieved something that was particularly well-done or noteworthy, I was praised. And, similarly, if my efforts fell short, I was told (lovingly and supportingly) that I could do better and should try harder next time. And to be completely honest, I was not the smartest kid, I was not the most talented kid, and as I have detailed in my essay on winning (https://classicalballetandallthatjazz.com/2018/07/02/winning/), I never actually won anything. I was never lavished with praise. I never heard the words “awesome“, “amazing” or “brilliant”. “Very nice”, “well done”, “good job” was what I could expect to hear for hard work that paid off, and it really MEANT SOMETHING; because I didn’t hear it all the time. Am I now a workaholic? Yes. Do I now suffer from a lack of self-esteem? Probably. I am easily intimidated by colleagues who enjoyed stellar performing careers and consequently I am often staving off imposter syndrome. No parenting style is perfect.

As I now sit back and reflect on my dance training, I realize that my two main teachers exhibited teaching styles that were reflective of the aforementioned modes of parenting. The jazz legend, Luigi, with whom I began my training, constantly praised all of his students; often telling just about everyone how beautiful, how talented, how exquisite they were. He was a brilliant teacher. I would never have had a career if it wasn’t for his teaching. Just about everything I know about pedagogy, general technique, musicality and artistry, I learned from him. But I also learned, very early on, that the compliments that he so freely doled out were empty. When I started studying with Gabriella Darvash, I was faced with a completely different teaching style. She never complimented us. Never. In fact, she often said “If I spend all of my time telling you all how beautiful you are, there is no time for teaching”. But every once in a while, you would catch her looking at you. And there would be a quiet, satisfied look behind her eyes that was cloaked in her sarcastic demeanor. And that quiet look of satisfaction meant more to me than all of the praise that any other teacher could hand out. Most of the time we only heard criticism. Most of the time she frustratingly barked endless corrections. But on the rare occasion that you got that satisfied look you, knew you were on the right track.

So what did I learn from these two different teachers? I learned that I loved to dance. I learned that I loved the process of doing the work; of doing the work, for the work’s sake. And I learned that I shouldn’t, and couldn’t, depend on the praise or the criticism of my teachers to serve as the foundation of my self-esteem.

I am constantly evaluating my own teaching. With each passing year, I am finding that students need more and more approval, praise and compliments. And with each passing year I am finding myself less likely to fulfill that need. I want desperately for their success. I want desperately for them to achieve heights that I could never achieve. I want desperately for them to have “successful” lives; whatever shape and form that success may take. And I’m trying desperately to give them the tools that they need. I often quote Madame Darvash to them; telling them that they are not to expect an endless stream of compliments. I often joke with them that I am “not interested in their feelings, only their success“.

But I’m also trying to be ever more gentle, ever more supportive, and ever more hopeful.

Many of you are probably aware that I have had an extremely unusual path to my career in the dance industry. I have discussed at length how I started dancing with Luigi at the age of 25 and was able to carve out a professional dance career in New York City. But I’ve never really detailed how I transitioned into a teaching career that lives primarily in the world of ballet.

After studying with the jazz master Luigi for about a year, I added ballet classes to my training regimen and found my new home in the classroom of Debbie Cruz (AKA Diane Bryan). Debbie was known at that time to be the best adult beginner ballet teacher in New York and I started taking her open class as often as possible. Since Luigi’s method is based in the Cecchetti system, (Luigi was trained by Bronislava Nijinska) without realizing what I had already learned, I arrived in Debbie’s classroom having a basic understanding of turn out, aplomb, epaulment and weight transfer. For about two years, I studied ballet with Debbie Cruz and jazz with Luigi simultaneously. (The Luigi Technique is a codified training method that teaches jazz through a progressive system, using the open class format to bring dancers up through graded levels, in much the same way as does a ballet conservatory program.) When Debbie left New York I started studying ballet primarily with Gabriella Darvash, while also taking occasional classes with David Howard, Dick Andros, Douglas Wassell and Elena Kunikova.

Since I was engaged in a graded, pedagogical approach to jazz, and since I had seen evidence of the result of the pedagogical miracle that is the Luigi Technique, I applied much to the learning structure that I got from Luigi to the work that I was doing in my ballet classes. Studying ballet in open classes with multiple teachers leads to a lot of disjointed, conflicting, and confusing information. I purchased a copy of Gail Grant’s dictionary. I took every new step, position, element that I learned in my open ballet classes, and I dissected them. I looked up everything in Gail Grant. I read about various differences in terminology and technique with regard to each element. I broke down the more challenging steps into their components and devised exercises to help me acquire the steps and get them “into my body”. I read 100 Lessons in Classical Ballet. I read Vaganova’s Basic Principles of Classical Ballet. I read The Cecchetti Method of Classical Ballet. And painstakingly, and without the benefit of a conservatory program, I built a professional level technique. Granted, as would be expected having trained the way that I did, it was a technique that had “holes”. And with each passing year, and with each new teacher, the “holes” gradually got “filled in”.

My roommate at the time was teaching jazz in a lovely neighborhood studio. This studio was looking for a ballet teacher, one class per week, for 9 and 10 year old beginners and my roommate suggested that I apply for the job. Rita Hamilton, who remains in my mind the epitome of neighborhood studio owners, gave me a chance. And so began my teaching career. I taught the class for one school year, but did not return the following year as my focus turned to auditioning and performing. Decades later I made the decision that I wanted to start teaching ballet again. I reached out to Rita Hamilton, who was still successfully running her studio in Brooklyn, and she gave me a job. Through a series of chance meetings, coincidences and recommendations, I started getting jobs in larger and more prestigious schools.

And then started the criticism.

I was never someone who cared what others thought of me; the relentless bullying that I underwent as a child gave me a very “thick skin”. But many colleagues and notable figures in the New York dance world as well as the “virtual dance world of social media” felt I wasn’t qualified to be teaching where I was teaching; I simply did not have the education. And they came to that conclusion having never seen me teach; and that stung. I had no conservatory education. I never danced in a major company. I had no formal pedagogical training. An acquaintance from “open classes” whose knowledge I very much respected, who studied ballet privately with two Vaganova luminaries, told me that what I was doing was IRRESPONSIBLE! She told me that teaching “experientially”, based on what worked for me in my open class training, was irresponsible.

And then she took one of my open classes.

And she told me that I wasn’t “just a teacher but a pedagogue”. And she started recommending that some of her friends, and some of her students, try my open ballet class. MY ballet class. My ballet class that is based in the pedagogy of the Luigi Jazz Technique and “irresponsibly” cobbled together from what I learned in open ballet classes, a shelf full of books and relentless determination.

I am not the teacher that one would choose to take a 9 year old beginner, train them for 8 years, and build a company-ready ballerina. There are many teachers that have an understanding of that process that is far deeper than mine. But that is not the facet of the ballet world in which I teach. In these sorts of programs I am passing on the brilliant jazz technique of my mentor Luigi. But I spend most of my professional time teaching ballet to musical theater students who are, for the most part, young “adult beginners” and teaching ballet at every level in the open class format. And owing to my late start, and my unique path, I am confident in saying that one would be hard pressed to find a teacher with my pedagogical approach to the open class format or my understanding and depth of knowledge of the adult beginner dancer.

So, to all the naysayers; to those who proclaimed that I “simply don’t have the education”:

I don’t have YOUR education. But my unorthodox training and my unique path have given me an instinctive understanding and knowledge of pedagogy that could not have been acquired in any other way. So I am forever grateful for Luigi for telling me that “it wasn’t too late”, for no other great teacher would have told me that. And I am forever grateful for all of my open class ballet teachers who provided all of the disjointed, conflicting and confusing information, for the knowledge that I gained in trying to put the pieces together is immeasurable. And most of all I am grateful for my very stubborn nature; for therein lied the determination to figure it all out.

So the topic of dancing with one shoe keeps raising its annoying little head. And I’m apologizing in advance for my tone; this is me being a jerk. Why are we even still talking about this? I guess, of course, there will always be new teachers who haven’t quite beaten this particular dead horse as much as some of us have. But whenever this topic comes up, nearly everyone in the discussion insists that it is “two shoes or no shoes”. Yet we look at the competition stages and what do we see? We see dancers dancing with only one shoe, and these dancers, and their teachers, are coming up with some sort of justification for it.

I would like to pose the following question: is competitive dance a separate field unto itself?

I do not work in the competition sector. I teach pre-professional ballet students, pre-professional musical theater students, and NYC open classes in all levels ranging from beginner to advanced. Is what I teach my students a completely separate field or discipline from what competition teachers are teaching? I don’t think that it is. And I dearly hope that I am right about that. So where in this art form, in which I have spent my professional life, is the tradition and history of dancing with one shoe? And, quite frankly, I’m really not interested in hearing some complaint about the slickness of a floor, a need for traction, or the desire to make turning easier. I danced on a lot of bad floors during my professional career. We all wore two shoes (or occasionally no shoes) and we all made it work.

I would now like to address the complaint that dancing with one shoe telegraphs to the judges that all of the turns will be on one side. Everyone has a good turning side. Everyone. I am a “right-handed left turner” and it made me crazy my entire career. Even the most accomplished ballet dancers will arrange their solo variations to showcase their good side. Judges expect that most turns will be done in the dancers’ good side; let’s just hope that the training is progressing in a responsible way, under responsible teachers, who have as their goal to make the two sides as even as possible.

Lastly I’ll touch on the idea of this being a “new trend” to follow. Why would we follow this trend, especially since everyone is constantly saying that they disagree with it? And if we are the artists that we proclaim to be, rather than following trends, shouldn’t we be setting them?

From the time of its Paris debut on June 28, 1841, Giselle has been the most beloved ballet of the Romantic Ballet repertory. Olga Smirnova and Jacopo Tissi have taken on the challenging roles of Giselle and Alberecht, dancing with the Dutch National Ballet, in a new film of this great work. Filmed on the stage of the Dutch National Ballet, it is a rich and evocative love letter to this masterpiece.

The dancing is first rate. Ms. Smirnova gives a technically secure and beautifully heartfelt and nuanced performance while Mr. Tissi brings a multifaceted perspective to his Alberecht, supported by his vigorous and formidable technique. All of secondary roles are all beautifully danced. The corps de ballet is magnificent. This is one of those rare instances where each dancer in the corps is clearly an individual artist yet the corps as a whole, dances, breathes, lives as an entity unto itself.

Toer Van Schayk’s beautifully evocative set and costume designs are steeped in tradition; transporting us into this Ballets romantic world while James F. Ingalls’ lighting design stunningly differentiates Giselle’s two worlds. Ermanno Florio conducts the orchestra with style and color while giving the dancers a supportive aural environment in which this world class company can truly shine.

GISELLE
Filmed at Dutch National Ballet

In Cinemas: Sunday, January 21, 2024
Select Cinema Encore Screening: Wednesday, January 24, 2024
Running Time: 2 hours
Tickets: http://www.giselleballetcinema.com

Produced by Bel Air Media and distributed worldwide by Pathé Live; presented in the U.S. by Iconic Events

Starring: Olga Smirnova (Giselle), Jacopo Tissi (Albrecht)
Music: Adolphe Adam
Choreography: Marius Petipa, after Jean Coralli and Jules Perrot
Production and Additional Choreography: Rachel Beaujean and Ricardo Bustamante
Musical Accompaniment: Dutch Ballet Orchestra
Conductor: Ermanno Florio

I recently stumbled upon a discussion focusing on a current trend in Dance Convention training. Apparently more and more teachers are “shoving a million tiny movements into one single 8-count” and teaching choreography that is relentlessly fast. I fully understand that I’m old, and don’t necessarily have my finger on the pulse of what is current, popular and hot, but from where I sit, I see this trend as problematic.

I have had many discussions with colleagues of my generation as of late, and one of the things that keeps coming up is the following question: “Why does so much of what I see in the dance industry today seem so shallow?” I believe that the trend of filling up choreography with “busyness” does not allow dancers to develop a deeper, richer, nuanced quality. The dancers similarly are not developing a connection to the space. They are also losing the intimate union that we had with the music.

I am one of the remaining disciples of the Luigi Technique who studied and trained for decades with Luigi. I am also a ballet teacher who studied with a direct disciple of Vaganova, herself. What these two genius master teachers had in common was an understanding of the importance of working SLOWLY to develop real depth to the work.

Today, when I am charged with teaching the Luigi Technique to “Advanced” dancers, I am still shocked by what happens when these technically secure, “advanced” dancers are asked to SLOW DOWN; really slow down. When I present a jazz combination in the way Luigi did in his “style” class, these dancers look like they’ve never danced before. These “advanced” dancers actually look like beginners; because when you strip away the busyness, when you slow down the speed, when you remove all of the tricks, they can’t really “dance”.

The other problem that I see today with convention training, (and training in general), has to do with the “warm up” or lack there-of. The exercises that comprise the “ballet barre” as we know it today, train the dancer and prepare the dancer for the physical demands and the art of ballet. In the exact same way, the Luigi Technique Exercises (warm up) train and prepare the dancer to work in the Luigi style. It would be IMPOSSIBLE to dance a Luigi combination well without TRAINING in these exercises.

When a convention teacher teaches some choreography that is fast, detailed, current and fun, what actually happens is that the dancers learn those steps; and perhaps some details of style and musicality. But it is all “on the surface” and in my opinion has nothing to do with actual training.

I have been, on a few occasions, asked to teach a “Luigi Class” at a convention. It simply can not be done, in any effective way, in less than 90 minutes and at least half of that time must be dedicated to the technique exercises in order for the combination to have any validity or usefulness. And the exercises must be TAUGHT and STUDIED, not simply “followed”. And unless I am given the time and space to work in this way, I will not accept the offer.

When the dancers of my generation (and those of today who are actually trained in this way) dance choreography that is fast, quirky, detailed, “busy”, what results is a performance that has something special, unique, and (to many) unexplainable, bubbling just under the surface. It is THIS “special something” that is getting lost. It is this “special something” that provides the depth to the work”. It is this “something special” that the quest for the Instagram clip is killing.

I’ve seen a lot of social media posts lately through which the authors are offering their services as dance teachers. These posts typically contain some information about the authors’ training and usually include a video clip or reel highlighting the teachers’ dance and choreographic abilities. And many of these prospective teachers are really struggling to find employment despite being extremely well educated and having absolutely stunning dance footage. I know some of these dancers, either personally or through social media, and I know how deeply frustrated they are.

I may be out of line, but I would like to offer some advice. I have done pretty well, over the years, securing employment as a dance teacher in New York City, and I would like to share how I was able to secure the positions that I did.

For those of you who may not know me, I am teaching/have taught at: The Joffrey Ballet School, Ballet Academy East, Broadway Dance Center, The Manhattan Ballet School, The Kanyok Arts Initiative, New York Film Academy, The New York Conservatory for Dramatic Arts, CAP21, Marymount Manhattan College, Hunter College as well as several smaller studios in the outer boroughs of NYC. I have also traveled the country and overseas as a guest teacher.

The competition for teaching jobs can be very stiff and lately it seems that EVERYONE has a fantastic education and EVERYONE has a gorgeous reel. So people continue to post about their education and continue to post their reels and continue to get no response.

So, to those of you finding yourself in this struggle:

There is one thing that consistently seems to be missing from these posts and seems to be missing from the cover letters that I’ve seen. No one seems to be telling prospective employers why they should hire YOU. Do a “deep dive”. Look at your work in the classroom. Look at what you bring to the table. What do you have that no one else has? What is your unique perspective on making a dancer? This is the information that, in my opinion, should be at the forefront of your social media posts, cover letters and applications. This is the information that can get you hired.

The other piece of advice I can offer is to take class anywhere and everywhere that you might be interested in working. Most studios offer some “adult” classes. Meet the teachers, meet the administrators and let these relationships develop slowly and naturally. This kind of networking can’t be forced. This kind of networking requires a lot of patience. But it was this kind of networking, and endless patience, that led to my positions at Joffrey and Ballet Academy East. And it took a couple of years, and a lot of patience, to build the relationship and rapport that led to a job offer.

I am in my 60’s but I actually haven’t been teaching that long. Social media was pretty much where it is now when I started teaching. I was hired by CAP21 with only two years of teaching experience and Joffrey with only 3 1/2 years of teaching experience, and I never once sent or posted a video or reel. A video or reel can show a studio owner or program director what you do as a dancer or choreographer. But a knowledgeable studio owner or program director knows that that has little bearing on your ability to teach and inspire a student. Develop the skills to explain YOUR unique perspective on dance education. Offer to teach a sample class. Let the industry learn how you can open a door to something uniquely yours to help train, educate and inspire a student to become the uniquely special dancer that they can be.

I usually spend a few moments each day scrolling through social media feeds and interacting with colleagues in the dance education industry. I have entered into discussions that have be enlightening, supportive and engaging. I have made some professional contacts that have proven to be invaluable. And, sadly, I have repeatedly come across trends that I find worrisome.

Apparently, it is becoming common place for students, and sometimes their parents, to complain when casting for a performance proves to be disappointing. The complaints are often accompanied by a threat to leave r drop -out if something is not done to address the complaint in some sort of satisfactory manner.

I am now in my 60’s and I would like to share an experience that I had in the 9th grade. My High School was starting preparations for the school musical. A group of students (myself included) volunteered to work on certain pre-production projects. After several weeks of working with these kids and the director, auditions were held. I was not cast in a role. In fact, I was the only kid who had worked pre-production who was not cast in a role. I was very upset. I came home from school and told my mother what had transpired. Her response:

“Well, that’s a shame but you aren’t always going to get what you want!”

I think that most parents today would find that terribly harsh. But guess what?: I don’t always get what I want. And I deal with that every day.

I have had many professional disappointments. There were many shows that I wanted for which I wasn’t cast. There were endless auditions in NYC where I found myself in the alley with the rest of the dancers who were cut. And with respect to teaching, there are many, many, MANY schools to which I applied that did not hire me. And even at the schools where I teach, and feel valued, and am happy, I don’t always get assigned the classes that I want, and sometimes I don’t get assigned enough classes at all.

And I deal with it.

Because I learned from an early age that I won’t always get what I want.

And all these decades later I am still in this industry. And I teach at some pretty great schools. And I love every minute of it. And that is because it was instilled in me that even if I don’t get what I want, I should still keep working; still keep trying. So I worked, and I tried, and I kept my eye on the target: becoming the best dancer that I could be.

And I don’t have tons of happy memories of being “the star” because most of the time I wasn’t. And I never complained. And my parents certainly never complained on my behalf. And although I don’t have THOSE happy memories, I do have a career (and a pretty great one) because I understood that I wouldn’t always get what I wanted. And I kept working anyway.

I teach a lot of college students who were parented with this above mentioned sense of entitlement and self-worth and they seem to be doomed to failure as adults. They too will often complain vehemently about casting decisions that disappoint them. But what is even more worrisome is that they are complaining about faculty members that they “don’t like”. I’m not talking about inept, inadequate or abusive teachers. I’m talking about teachers that students simply, for whatever reason, don’t like. And they expect something to be done about it. I recently learned that a conservatory program in New York has let three teachers go in the last year, simply because students have complained about them. I have also heard about conservatory programs changing schedules and hours of operation to accommodate student requests to “not come in so early” or “not have to go to school every day”. And what are these students being taught? They are being taught that they have some sort of right to always be comfortable and happy. They are being taught that their bad behavior has no negative consequences. They are being taught that they will always get they want.

Now, clearly there are students who don’t fall into this category. There are still many hardworking, dedicated students and I am fortunate to get to help guide them into their futures.

But what of the ever-growing number of students that do fit the mold that I find so worrisome? They graduate from college and they are still children. They roll into their mid 20’s and they still act and think like children. They have failures as adults and they react like children.

I recently found out that a former student who exhibited all of these problematic behaviors was fired from their first professional performing contract.

Worrisome.

At the age of 25 I set out to become a dancer. It was the mid 1980’s in New York City and the only option available to me was open class. Although I was primarily drawn to and interested in ballet, it seemed ridiculous to me to start ballet training as an adult. A friend had mentioned that there was a jazz teacher named Luigi who was good with adult beginners (I had no idea about who he was or the legendary reputation that he had) and I simply opened the yellow pages, dialed the number, and so began my journey to become a dancer.

I have been told many times, by many colleagues, that “open class” is not TRAINING. And on this point I beg to differ. Open class isn’t ORGANIZED training. But, at least at Luigi’s Jazz Centre in the 1980’s, there existed a system where one could train in open classes, progress through various levels, and receive a dance education. And so, on a Monday evening in October, nearly 40 years ago, I walked into Luigi’s Jazz Centre and took my first “Intro” class. It didn’t take me long to realize that this training needed to be daily, and I figured out a way to arrange my life and finances to allow for daily classes. And under Luigi’s brilliant tutelage I progressed gradually through the levels (Intro, Style, Advanced Beginner, Technique, Intermediate and Advanced).

After about a year, I started supplementing my jazz training with classes given by another jazz teacher named David Storey. David was teaching two classes every day (advanced beginner and intermediate), Monday through Saturday. It was David who explained that in order to achieve my goals, I would need to add ballet training to my regimen and suggested that I study under Debby Cruz (aka Diane Bryan) who was, in his opinion, the best adult beginner ballet teacher in New York. Debby taught two levels: Basic Ballet and Advanced Beginner Ballet; each level was offered multiple times per week. I started in the basic class and at her suggestion, when the time was right, I moved on to the advanced beginner class. After two years, Debby left New York and it was suggested that I study with Gabriela Darvash. Madame Darvash, like Luigi, was a fixture in the New York City open class system. She taught Monday through Saturday, and taught two Advanced Beginner, one Intermediate and one Advanced class every day. I started to study under Madame Darvash and like my training with Luigi, I was able over time, to progress through the levels.

Throughout my career I had many other teachers. Time and schedule constraints would often necessitate that I study with other teachers and these other teachers certainly enriched my training and added to my versatility. It is, in my opinion, nearly impossible to get everything from one teacher. But for the most part I was able to get consistent daily training from four outstanding teachers; guiding me from my first plié into my career.

What one must do, when one trains in open classes, is figure out how all of this disjointed and unorganized information that one receives, fits together. There will also be conflicting information as different teachers and different methods have different opinions; and such conflicts require deep examination and intense experimentation to resolve. But what results, if the student has the wherewithal and tenacity to put these pieces together and to resolve these conflicts, is in some ways a deeper level of understanding. A graded and proven curriculum and syllabus will obviously achieve a result, and probably achieve that result more quickly and easily. But the student who is forced to figure out how the “parts” make up the “whole” can come away with a deeper and more intuitive understanding of the process.

I am still taking open classes. There are many reasons why I’m taking class and I’ve discussed them in another article ( https://classicalballetandallthatjazz.com/2018/01/04/why-i-still-take-class-2/ ). But I’ve noticed changes in how the open class system now works. There are now many more teachers teaching much fewer classes. As I scan the schedules of the various open class programs in New York I can find only one teacher who teaches five to six days a week and I can find no teachers who are teaching multiple classes at various levels on a daily basis. There is an incredibly large number of “Guest Teachers”, “Master Classes” and “Workshops” being offered by famous dancers and choreographers taking over more and more of these schools’ programming. These offerings are fun, engaging and exciting. They create opportunities for dancers to get video footage for their social media feeds (a topic for another article). But they are typically not taught by seasoned TEACHERS and they don’t really constitute training. This shift has made it impossible for a student to STUDY with a teacher. What happens, instead, is an emphasis on “taking class” rather than in-depth study. And what the result of this shift seems to be is the production of extremely technically secure, very versatile dancers. But this versatility comes at a price: a steady decline in depth, nuance, personal style and that sense of “passing on the work” from generation to generation that was at the center of my training.

Studios are struggling to stay a float. They are trying to offer students what they want, in order to get them in the door. And what the students seem to want is this variety rather than consistency. And consequently the open class programs in which I teach are currently not able to offer me daily classes at multiple levels in which I can train dancers as I was trained. My beloved Joffrey Ballet School is currently working to expand its open class program, providing more classes to the teachers who are at the heart of its open class program. As the program grows, so will my ability to really train, nurture and mentor open class dancers and the future of the Joffrey open class program seems bright. But for now, what I CAN offer my students is that sense of “passing on the work” as I bring to them my “link” in an unbroken chain of tradition that goes back through the generations.