Ballet is hard, and seeing students discover this fact is both exciting and painful at the same time. Once serious ballet training begins, a student will spend a lot of time facing the barre, and in most studio settings, this means they’ll be staring at a blank wall for months. So how does one instill the joy of dance and foster that passion from the first class to the final bow? Here are a few ideas.
Training isn’t entertaining. Allow the hard work to hook students.
Sadly, in our insta-culture where everyone gets a trophy, many teachers fall prey to the “ballet is boring” trap, and they try to keep their students engaged by bribing them with theatrics or prize rewards.
Guess what? Ballet is engaging on its own if it is taught correctly. There is no need to reinvent the wheel. Dancers love to work hard. The excitement and eventual satisfaction a young ballet student feels when required to work on a step over and over is brand new to them. Allowing a dancer (of any age) to fall in love with hard work is paramount to falling in love with ballet – for life.
Encourage personality from the beginning
“The world doesn’t need another mean ballet dancer,” I tell students. First impressions are key. What we say with our faces sets the tone for the entire experience for the student, the teacher, and eventually the audience. I firmly believe that encouraging expressiveness is key to helping the ballet dancer enjoy the work.
What we say with our faces sets the tone for the entire experience for the student, the teacher, and eventually the audience.
When concentrating, we often forget about facial tension. The muscles are memorizing an expression of the face at the same time as gaining the strength to stretch the legs, hold the arms, etc. Proper epaulement uses the head, so why not also use the eyes? Not only is it engaging to watch, but it helps the dancer begin to discover their artistry.
I explain to ballet students that the difference between looking like a student or a professional is often as simple as the facial expression you’re making. In an audition, if there are two dancers of equal ability, but one looks pleasant and the other looks nervous, guess who’s more than likely to get the school acceptance or the job?
Focusing primarily on the performance is an opportunity missed for joy
We live in an impatient society, and with all of the instant access to everything; we’ve lost the joy that comes from anticipation. Ballet students need to be encouraged to see the work in the classroom as rewarding in itself, and then, when they finally make it to the stage, they will have the entire experience to relish for life – not just the time from curtain up to curtain down.
Performing is a goal. It is a reward. It is the cherry on top. But in the training of ballet dancers, if we don’t teach how to enjoy the journey in its entirety, our artists are going to miss out on the chance for a huge love affair with ballet.
These are terms, which have garnered some negative attention in the ballet world as of late. I have witnessed school directors and teachers back away from them as if they were dirty “four letter words.” I believe this is simply because ballet teacher training has rarely been required in our current American dance culture. Simply having an amazing performing career does not constitute one’s ability to be a successful teacher, and vice versa.
Teaching is an art, and it is one that must be cultivated. Yes, there are those to whom it comes more naturally, but still, just as one needs to know their ABC’s before being able to form words and sentences, the vocabulary of ballet needs to be taught correctly, and in proper order before one can truly grasp its intricacies and become a ballet dancer.
Early Training
For the beginning student, ballet needs to be taught slowly and with much repetition. Many teachers give class rather than teach class. Combinations made up on the spot from class to class do not instill the correct muscle memory for a dancer, and they become confused.
I have heard the argument, “How will the dancer learn to pick up choreography if they are repeating combinations?” To this I reply, “How many times did you write your own name before learning to write someone else’s?”
A tendu is a tendu is a tendu. If a step is properly taught, learned, and executed over and over, students will recognize the steps when they are presented with different combinations and choreography later on.
Why the resistance?
I believe that the resistance to teaching a ballet syllabus or adhering to a curriculum simply comes from the fact that many teachers have not researched and received proper teacher training. I was definitely one, who like many, taught during my ballet career and after, and I now realize that my classes were built on my own memories from being a professional dancer – not a student. It wasn’t until I began taking teacher training courses that I began to reconnect with what it really takes to make a dancer from scratch.
Freedom in structure
Teaching takes discipline, preparation, and continual self-education. When I look back on the teachers who were the most instrumental in my training, I see one common thread. While they may not have come from the same background, they all had a clear class design.
Carefully designing one’s ballet class and sticking to the structure allows the instructor to hone in on the details of training and help the student perfect their craft. Time spent “choreographing” a combination on the spot is time taken away from the student, and thereby, class becomes more about the teacher.
I encourage ballet teachers and directors who are reading this to think about what a gift it is to pass on the language of dance to the next generation. Let’s speak that language as clearly as we can. My most influential teacher, Duncan Noble used to say, “There are only two types of dancers: Good or Bad.” I know now how true that statement is and how crucial the instructor’s role is in that statement.
Everybody knows Nutcracker. Even those who have never seen a ballet in their life have heard the Sugarplum music piped over an Oreo commercial or listened to Waltz of the Flowers drifting through Target as they go about their December shopping.
As dancers, we know Nutcracker in a very different way. For many of us it was our first ballet and our first experience sharing the stage with professional dancers. I remember watching as a child, favoring the theatrical party scene over the dance heavy Land of the Sweets. I badly wanted to join the action on stage, preferable as a reindeer pulling Clara’s sleigh.
Nothing could beat the magic of the Christmas tree growing with Drosselmeyer’s power. I would sit in the dark theater, captivated by the lights and scenery, yearning to be a part of a universe where Christmas trees were unconstrained by laws of nature.
Photo by: Tim Motley Marzipan – Grand Rapids Ballet Nutcracker
These days, as a professional dancer, I am part of that world every holiday season. With this regularity comes a loss of that sense of magic. The realities of a hard stage and too many saut de chats in snow scene, the bruised toenails from pointe-work laden Marzipan, and the struggle to keep the body warm and pliable amidst snow storms and slushy streets can all contribute to the Nutcracker blues.
Ample stage time affords an opportunity to work on aspects of your dancing you may neglect in shows with shorter runs.
Suddenly, nothing is worse than hearing Tchaikovsky’s Christmas masterpiece any more often than absolutely necessary. I have to cover my ears while Christmas shopping to avoid hearing the popular Russian dance music. I cause quite a scene sprinting to the next store where I can escape from the songs I’ve rehearsed to for two months every year.
So, what’s a dancer to do?
First, distractions help. Our company always organizes a Secret Santa that begins tech week. We give each other a couple of small gifts or one larger present, sneaking around the cavernous backstage of our performance hall to plant gifts.
Decorations also tend to make their way into the dressing room. Last year our stage manager spread Christmas spirit by slowly embellishing our dressing rooms. By the last show, I arrived at my dressing room to find Christmas lights strung over the door frame, my mirror framed in tinsel, a tiny Christmas tree taped to the makeup area, and ornaments hanging from the coat rack.
Think of the children in those seats that may be inspired to pursue a career in dance because of your performance.
Games like these go a long way towards maintaining a playful outlook and keeping a sense of camaraderie amongst the company despite the exhaustion and stress we experience during this season. However, there are also more focused options to lessen the monotony of so many performances.
Ample stage time affords an opportunity to work on aspects of your dancing you may neglect in shows with shorter runs. You can choose a different focus each night: concentrate on your character and stage presence Thursday, emphasize you port de bras Friday, hone in on footwork Saturday, and then take the freedom to just dance during the Sunday matinee. Being so comfortable with the steps allows you to develop your technique and artistry in new ways. The stakes are lower with so many performances: Nutcracker is the time to take risks!
Finally, a shift in perspective can help break through the fatigue. Imagine sitting out in the audience, bubbling with excitement as the orchestra warms up. Think of Nutcracker as the family tradition it is for so many and the chance for us as artists to interact with a community that may never see any other ballet. Think of the children in those seats that may be inspired to pursue a career in dance because of your performance. Think of yourself as a child, wishing for a part in the magical Land of the Sweets.
When I can remember all this, the stiffness eases, the pain melts away, and exhaustion cedes to a second wind. I step on stage and I’m in that childhood dream: Clara’s fantasy world becomes my own. For two hours, I am part of a world where visions of sugarplums dance, evil mice can be conquered by a well aimed shoe toss, and Christmas trees grow to heights only possible with the magic of Nutcracker.
Walking into the studio in the morning, the energy is different than the typical pre-class vibe. Normally bodies are lounging, splayed on the floor, knots gently worked out and coffee sipped as the dancers prepare for the day ahead. Today, however, bright colors are everywhere, laughter fills the air and the room hums with excitement. A lifeguard with a swimsuit and whistle stands at the barre with a safari leader, taking class in his field boots. The whole cast of Monsters Inc. stands at the back wall, and a cat in a black leotard adjusts her ears.
As we begin to jump, Superman flies through the air, cape blowing in the wake of a grand jete.
“Gelsey Kirkland” stands in the corner of the room at one of the boys’ usual barre spot, surveying the costumes with red lips parsed. His – I mean her – golden headscarf shimmers and large sunglasses only serve to draw more attention to her bright lipstick shade. An over-sized sweater and ballet skirt complete the look. She returns for Halloween every year, Balanchine port de bras and dramatic flair included.
Grand Rapids Ballet Halloween Costumes
Our ballet master enters the room, eyes twinkling but attempting to maintain some aura of professionalism.
“Plies!” he orders. We get to work, still snickering as we catch each other’s eyes. I have to avoid looking at Gelsey who is doing some elaborate stretching routine. Just as we’re settling into the normality of this absurdity, a wave of chuckles washes over from the back door of the studio. I turn to see a forest creature covered in rustling leaves… on stilts! Without a word, this creature hobbles over to the spot next to Gelsey and does the appropriate port de bras for the rest of the combination.
We try to pull ourselves together and focus on our tendus. Our ballet master nobly leads us through the rest of barre, fighting to keep the smiles from cracking his concentrated manner. Yet, even he couldn’t subdue a laugh once we got to center and Gelsey began accentuating each combination with added turns, grand port de bras, and a head roll flourish.
As we begin to jump, Superman flies through the air, cape blowing in the wake of a grand jete. Gelsey whips out a tambourine for grand allegro. The Monsters Inc. cast snickers in the back corner. Our director pops in to toss a few bite sized candy bars to anyone who nails a pirouette or jumps particularly high.
Sometimes I forget how incredible it is that this is my real life. This is my workplace. This is my job: my colleagues, many of whom are my best friends, dressing up for Halloween and dancing, combining popular culture and superhero costumes with the refined art of classical ballet. Ballet can be painful, exhilarating, difficult, frustrating, rewarding, and exhausting. But the word I would choose to describe it by, over all others (especially on a day like Halloween)? Unique.
I stood staring at the casting sheet. I felt others jostling around me for a better look at the board, but I couldn’t bring myself to move. Where was my name? I had wanted so badly to be in this piece – I had been dancing all summer, I had felt strong in the audition, and this ballet required heavy acting – my strong suit. So where was my name? I searched the casting sheet one more time, hoping there was a mistake or oversight, but knowing in the pit of my stomach that I had not been chosen for the part.
Pursuing a dance career without encountering rejection is entirely impossible. Yes, a ballet career brings glittering triumphs on stage, artistic fulfillment, glamorous galas, and the satisfaction of honing your craft each day. Yet, the shadow side of these glorious perks is the constant battle with rejection. The risk of putting yourself out there, whether auditioning for a summer program, a company, a new piece, or just taking class, is being told you are not good enough.
This feedback is all too easy to interpret as “I’m not a good enough person”. This faulty translation accounts for the deep heartache and intense struggles accompanying rejection. The ballet world requires such a high level of dedication that personal identity can become inextricably linked with professional identity. “I’m a dancer,” I’ll say, as I introduce myself to a new acquaintance. There’s nothing wrong with being proud of our profession: We spend an immense amount of time dancing, our lifestyle must support our intensely physical job, and the art form is all-consuming. Yet, the first step of dealing with rejection is to remember we are not our profession: We are human beings who dance.
… remember we are not our profession: We are human beings who dance.
The second step of dealing with rejection is accepting that being turned away doesn’t doesn’t necessarily mean you lack any talent as a dancer. Rejection only means that you don’t fit the vision of that specific choreographer or director or teacher on that specific day. With this in mind, the intense pain of rejection can lesson: Rejection need not be an internalized failing but is merely a combination of factors that didn’t quite align. Perhaps I was strong, I did dance well in the audition, and my acting ability was recognized, but my movement style was just too fluid for the choreographer’s idea of this particular character.
… being turned away doesn’t doesn’t necessarily mean you lack any talent as a dancer.
So I pulled myself away from the casting list. The third step of dealing with rejection is seeing what opportunities open up as a result of the roadblock. I looked to the schedule and saw I could go understudy a rehearsal for Clara in Nutcracker, a role I’d always wanted to dance and wouldn’t have had the ability to learn otherwise. Later that night I rented the movie of the ballet we had auditioned for and realized that my interpretation of the character was totally different than she was portrayed in the film. In the future, I would learn to do this type of research in advance to approach auditions with a better idea of what the choreographer desires. The next day I peeked into rehearsal, watching the woman who had received the role I so desperately wanted, work through the new choreography. I still felt twinges of jealousy, but also saw the unique quirkiness and total commitment she brought to the movement. That confidence and full investment was something I could definitely take into my next audition.
Rejection is hard and uncomfortable. But it should never be devastating. It’s an opportunity to remember that you are still a wonderful person, that dance is an extremely subjective art form, and that losing out on one role or one job may in fact create an opening for a different, just as valuable experience. The final step of dealing with rejection is to realize that you are never alone – every dancer experiences roadblocks and obstacles. In fact, if you are going to be a ballet dancer, you can relish the experience of rejection and use it to connect with your colleagues: It’s one thing every dancer will be able to relate to!
We’re excited to share a new dance film featuring New York City Ballet Principal Ask la Cour and American National Ballet Principal Sara Michelle Murawski. Directed by the Toht Brothers (Adam and Ben) with cinematography by Ed David, the film displays the art form beautifully. The choreography, also done by Ask la Cour, is set to music by Jane Antonia Cornsih, who won a British Academy Award for music. Enjoy!
Well, let’s be honest maybe not EVERY student… There are several people that come to mind from my college days that I’m not sure I’d enjoy sharing a barre with. But if you are a student of the arts ergo film, fashion, photography, theater (especially theater after all every actor should dance and every dancer should act) or even graphic design, an appreciation for the performing arts is extremely beneficial. When you have an artistic quality, it’s best to explore one’s creativity in all mediums and that way it truly prepares you for your chosen career.
The physicality of ballet is something that most people miss out on.
I think the lecture classes that satisfy the arts credit at most colleges and universities don’t necessarily capture the essence of dance. It’s hard enough for dance majors to stay awake in those classes let alone general studies students. Now don’t get me wrong the classes are academically challenging and historically important to any college undergrad but most students are not fully engaged. (Trust me I know I’ve taught them and woke up the sleepers and failed the no shows.) Would you rather read about a play or be in one? Do you want to research a science experiment or perform one yourself? Same concept. Dance is a kinetic discipline therefore should be explored as such. Maybe the solution is a mixed bag. Partly study and research and partly physical exploration.
In past experience, I liked to give my studio class students research papers for extra credit so they could study and have an appreciation for dancers who danced before them. Or perhaps just one day out of the semester, the lecture class could join an already existing studio ballet class and gain a new perspective… I digress. Either way, the completely open minded student will indulge in an enriching experience should he/she choose a beginner college level ballet class or dance appreciation.
The physicality of ballet is something that most people miss out on. The body soul connection is really only something you can fully understand in a studio, standing in front of the mirror, with a veteran dancer as your teacher. Grasping the full artistic expression will take longer than a semester but at least the perception of ballet could change. For example, most college students unexposed to the arts, ballet is simply pink tutus, nutcrackers, twinkling music, spinning around, and men in tights. Aspects they were exposed to as a child but, have no interest to most young adults. If a semester of ballet can tip the scale in the other direction just slightly… That’s a win!
… the completely open minded student will indulge in an enriching experience should he/she choose a beginner college level ballet class or dance appreciation.
Stripped down to the nitty gritty, ballet is literally blood sweat and tears. I think when students experience how hard the basic technique is, they realize how difficult ballet is. From the very first port de bras and plié at the beginning of the semester they begin to realize how much they DON’T know. As the professor slowly introduces each and every building block of vocabulary, by mid-semester it starts to sink in that the student has only seen the tip of a very large iceberg. (An iceberg that consists of over 500 hundred years of history and evolution.) Then at the end of the semester, as the student demonstrates a newly learned, 32-count grand allegro with very little verbal assistance, students can understand how much further they would have to go to mastery. The students begin to understand that it took those professionals and instructors who have mastered it a long time to get to where they are. To that place with a company, on a stage, in front of an audience, loving every moment!
I always used to tell my non-dancer college students this, “You don’t have to love it, you don’t even have to like it, just have respect for it, for everything ballet is,” and by the end of the semester they usually do.
Step one: It is going to be okay! There are millions of people on the planet and a very small percentage of them actually become prima ballerinas. Most of them are beautiful, fabulous people, born with phenomenal musicality and naturally spectacular feet. So you’ve come to terms and now you can admit it, you’re burnt out. So now you’re here in this weird place… You have had countless hours of technique class from brilliant people and performed all the right classical pieces and danced in lots and lots of recitals. You’ve been to intensives and you have all the audition dates and times for all the best programs in the country. And, if you have to put on another pair of pink tights and wrap up your hair anytime in the near future you might just freak out and throw your pointe shoe across the room because you’ve had enough.
Step two: Just take a breath and think it through. Ballet is all-consuming. Literally and physically. Needing a hiatus from it can be the best decision you will ever make. You will either miss it…. Or you won’t.
When you leave a company, leave your studio, go to college, and stop taking class you’re body and soul will communicate how you really feel.
Some dancers can quit walk away forever and never look back. They can be comfortable with saying, ‘yeah I used to be in ballet…’ End of story. I know girls that danced on their dance team in high school or participated in competitions on squads that have never stepped foot in a studio since. To someone like me, that is incomprehensible. I discovered that I need to be a part of the art form in some capacity. Whether it’s teaching, taking class weekly, or sitting in the audience. Ballet is in my blood and I can’t deny it. You have to ask yourself, “Do I miss it?” And you don’t have to answer yourself in the midst of a burn-out right now, give it 6 weeks, or maybe even 6 months. If you miss it, you’ll feel it in your bones. You’ll accept that no other activity gives you the satisfaction that ballet can. Maybe you transition to yoga or Pilates, even a Zumba class to stay in shape, but you may realize that nothing gives your soul satisfaction the way ballet can.
Step three: Remember that there are consequences for taking a break. If you are expecting a career in a company I do not recommend following the advice in the above paragraphs. As you probably already know, the ballet world is competitive. If you don’t accept a scholarship, company contract, or paid performing opportunity, there is a chance you will never experience another offer. I’m not trying to scare anyone… It’s just the honest truth. The ballet world keeps turning during injuries, set-backs and yes, burn-outs. It’s just the nature of show business. Those dancers lucky enough to have the focus and health to maintain a brilliant career are nonetheless remarkable. We all try to hold onto whatever aspect of the dance we can, as long as we can. But it is fleeting.
The important thing is find your joy, if it’s in ballet, you’ll know it. Try and snag a few days to unplug, unwind, and relax. Get some sleep and see a non-ballet movie with a non-ballet friend. Seek out advice from a parent, close teacher, or friend. Just keep in mind that if you ask someone with little knowledge about ballet, they may not fully understand. (Or worse yet, might give steer you in the wrong direction with noble intentions.) Remember you’ve already come so far, through all the pointe shoe blisters, sore tendons, slips on stage, and demanding teachers you’ve made it farther than a lot of people your age. Trust your instincts, they know what to do and remember that everything usually works out for the best!
Recently, I had the opportunity to watch a master at work: I took photos at a Master Class taught by the one and only Edward Ellison, which meant I got to be a fly on the wall and soak up his words of wisdom. Among my favorites? “I want to see your fire.”
It was interesting, because obviously, every dancer in that studio was passionate about ballet. They had risen on a Sunday morning to take an optional class, they listened intently and worked to apply correction, and tried to move with steely accuracy. There were perfect fifth positions, gorgeous lines, and precise landings, but “fire”–or the ability to go for it–was the difference maker. It made me think about my favorite dancers, the ones I grew up idolizing, and what made them so special: They shared an intangible x-factor that made their arabesques seem higher, their turns whip around faster, and their entire movement more alive. You could practically see them throwing themselves into every step, holding nothing back, and moving with this sense of fearless abandon. It is this feeling that makes ballet so captivating.
While technique is the tool, skill, and foundation that’s fundamental to ballet, courage, passion, and artistry are what make a dancer.
As a student, it is tricky to balance that feeling, because you want to do every step perfectly, which means you’re worried about technique, being exact, and doing everything right. These are admirable motivations–after all, what is ballet without technique? Technique is the foundation. But going for it is often what gets you there. So, how does one strike a balance between taking the chances that make you a better dancer and still trying to do your best?
Perhaps a major fear surrounding taking chances, pushing yourself beyond your comfort zone, and going for it is being scared to fail. Countless dancers are perfectionists by nature, which is what makes them so driven and devoted to their craft. However, from a psychology standpoint, fear of failure can actually deter success. We become too afraid to try because we want to get it right. We don’t want to step out of our comfort zone because we don’t want to be wrong. Despite this, “going for it,” is how you learn the boundaries of your current abilities, test temporary limits, and eventually allow yourself to grow as an artist physically and mentally.
While technique is the tool, skill, and foundation that’s fundamental to ballet, courage, passion, and artistry are what make a dancer. If you stay within the limits of what you know, you don’t give yourself the opportunity to reach new heights. Going for it doesn’t have to be flashy, or demanding attention, but it does entail turning inward and finding your fire, so to speak. What’s that little extra push that allows you to go a bit further? Is it confidence? Is it passion? Really, it is a combination of the two that enables you hit that fifth position, hear the music, and give it everything you have.
When you play it safe and dance small, you take away opportunities to see what you are capable of, and where you want to go.
Sometimes, we don’t know what we can do until we do it. I was thinking back on my own training, when I was eleven or twelve and was in one of my first pointe classes. We were working on going down the barre with one hand, stepping into a coupé pique. I’m sure we all looked very much like we were waiting to fall: Nervously gripping the barre, timidly scooting onto pointe in terror. My teacher, after fifteen minutes of urging us to “step out” and “go forward,” finally uttered: “You’re being so careful that you’re going to hurt yourself.” The idea was that caution isn’t always your friend, nor does it give you the desired outcome. Of course, there were times that I fell—not just in that step, but in countless others as well. Just as you don’t know how to balance until you let go of the barre, sometimes, you have to risk the slip in order to get the step, so to speak.
Ballet is built on routine: It is created of the same steps, repeated, typically, in the same order that is barre and center work. This routine is what allows performances to unfold so masterfully, and affords dancers the opportunity to be creative within their interpretation of choreography and character. However, that routine is what you make of it. When you play it safe and dance small, you take away opportunities to see what you are capable of, and where you want to go. Give yourself permission to get a step wrong, to miss so you can move forward, to find the fire that makes good dancers into great ones. Come out of your shell. Let your body move without your brain second-guessing it. Sometimes, trying to be perfect can get in the way of what is really good. No good ever came from fear of failure, but in terms of going for it, bettering your technique, and establishing the next stage of your dancing, it is your fire that lights the way. Let it burn.
While the Olympics only happen once every four years, they arm us with enough excitement and patriotism to last awhile: From Simone Biles staking her claim as the world’s foremost gymnast, Michael Phelps going out with a golden bang, and various records shattered by the world’s most exceptional athletes, the Summer 2016 Olympics were nothing if not memorable.
Of course, being the bunheads that we are, it is impossible not to draw parallels between the elite athletes in the Olympics and the elite artists that make their home in ballet. After all, both devote years to training, maintain strict discipline, and are passionate about reaching the highest possible level in their area of expertise. So, questions remain: Could ballet benefit from the spotlight and media buzz that follows the Olympics? Where is the overlap between arts and athletics, and how does the “dance” requirement for female gymnasts in their floor routines change our perception of artistry?
First, there are some similarities between ballet’s greatest competitions and the structure of the Olympics. Varna International Ballet Competition, held once every two years and known for its prestige, has produced dancers that are the equivalent to household names like Michael Phelps, including Daniil Simkin and Sylvie Guillem. Jackson International Ballet Competition is also held every four years, and bills itself as an “olympic-style” competition where premiere young dancers from around the world compete for gold, silver, and bronze medals as well as cash prizes and company contracts. Competing in ballet has become a “normal” part of dance culture, but remains heavily disputed. Viewers, enthusiasts, dancers, and teachers worry that ballet has, in fact, ventured too far into the sports arena, with gymnastics-esque extensions, quadruple pirouettes, and insane flexibility popping up more and more often in classical variations. While competitions are undoubtedly bridges to opportunities for young dancers–and exciting for audiences, especially those used to the intensity and obviousness of competing in sports–there remains the unsettling feeling that the thirst for gold and having “prix winner” by your name somehow diminishes ballet as an art form.
Dancers are unique: They require the physicality of athletes, the fierce spirit of Olympic competitors, but also artistry of the highest order. In a way, ballet transcends both elements of athletes and artists.
This becomes particularly thought-provoking when you consider it through the Olympic lens. Female gymnasts are still required to include dance in their floor routines and perform to the music, while male gymnasts perform passes that don’t pretend to be artistic, just purely athletic. It is a bizarre parallel to draw, and highlights the fundamental differences between ballet and Olympic-style competitions: Female gymnasts should be judged on their athleticism and execution, not their ability to shove some dance moves into already jaw-dropping routines. They are athletes. Should we expect them to be overtly artistic, too? Meanwhile, we judge dancers, especially young ones, harshly when their performances cross more of the arts/athletics line than we would like: I’ve seen one too many comments on variations videos condemning the dancer for being too “gymnastics-y.” Being a gymnast isn’t an insult. They are exceptional athletes. The catch is, to be a truly great dancer, you have to be an artist. Can we judge artistry? I believe to a degree, we can, but somehow that goes overlooked a bit too often in most competitions, just as having an Olympic gymnast add a shoulder shimmy into their passes seems out of place.
To determine whether ballet would benefit from Olympic-levels of attention, we have to think about what we want ballet to be, a conversation that has seemed conflicted especially within the last decade. In virtually every medium, from athleticwear brands to the pages of Vogue, in commercials, on television shows, ballet is popping up as part of our pop culture. Dancers themselves have taken to social media, which adds a layer of insight ballet’s make-it-look-effortless mentality didn’t necessarily lend itself to. Before, we, as the general public, saw the end result: A performance. Now, we see dancers sleeping in airports on tour, outlining the diets that fuel their bodies in magazines, in rehearsal, and bleeding through their pointe shoes. This isn’t altogether different from the bevy of Olympian-focused press in which athletes showed the media a glimpse inside their schedules or eating habits. And just like those of us who consumed Olympic news like it was going out of style, audiences want to go inside the art, so to speak, with dancers. We want them to perform perfectly, but at the same time, we secretly love knowing that they are human, too.
People looking to be wowed by athleticism may not value the artistic prowess of a Dying Swan or flirty Kitri.
We’ve already cemented ballet as a competition, which is the first streak of Olympic similarity. It has retrained us not to just enjoy a beautiful dancer, but to want to watch the best dancers. Another gap between ballet and Olympic sports: Those sports can be graded, much like math, on how precisely they add up and the times they are completed in. While in ballet, there’s certainly an element of this too–a sloppy fifth position is always a no-go–can you judge a dancer in a competition if you’re purely grading them as artists, or do competitions by default turn dance into a sport?
What would change about ballet if dance was in the Olympics? Well, increased public visibility is a significant change, but when your audience changes, so do the expectations. People looking to be wowed by athleticism may not value the artistic prowess of a Dying Swan or flirty Kitri. Would we expect Michael Phelps to smile while he breaks thousand-year-old records? No, because Michael Phelps is an athlete. So, what are dancers, and how does that relate to dance’s future, the Olympics, and the great arts vs. athletics debate?
Ballet would always benefit from more visibility, because that visibility could lead to more funding, which, in turn, could create job opportunities, thus allowing more dancers to pursue ballet as a career. Dancers are unique: They require the physicality of athletes, the fierce spirit of Olympic competitors, but also artistry of the highest order. In a way, ballet transcends both elements of athletes and artists.
So, dancers shouldn’t be Olympians. Dancers should be the elite, intense competitors in the area they have devoted their lives to, much like Olympic athletes. They should be dancers. Athletes go for gold, they work to break records, they score, slam dunk, and cross finish lines. Dancers create. Dancers go for art.
