The Day I Fell In Love With Ballet

I started ballet when my Grandma Winnie, my dad’s mother, gave me a month’s worth of lessons for my sixth birthday. A dance school had opened in Cordell, where Dad had grown up and my grandmother still lived, about 15 miles south of our home in Clinton. The teacher, Carol, offered ballet, tap, and jazz classes in the basement of the local movie theater – a narrow, dark space made of gray concrete that, as I think about it now, in no way seems like a good place to teach dance.

I don’t know if I had indicated in any way that I wanted to take dance lessons prior to this, although I do know that I had an affinity for music. My parents both really enjoyed classical music and had an extensive collection of vinyl albums. The story goes that when my mom was pregnant with me, I would always get very active at night, kicking when she was trying to sleep, but if they put on Tchaikovsky’s Piano Concerto No. 1 (the Van Cliburn recording) I would calm right down. It’s still one of my favorite pieces of music. [Two and a half years later, they’d try the same method to calm my sister in utero, but it just made her kick harder…their first clue that we were going to be two very different kids.] The record player was often in use at our house, and while classical music was the predominant genre, my dad also loved jazz, especially Louis Armstrong, and soundtracks such as West Side Story also regularly hit the turntable. I’m pretty sure I danced around the house to whatever music was on, as children do, but I don’t think there had been any discussion of formal lessons before I received this birthday gift.

My mom contacted Carol to see what we needed to do to get started, and she recommended that we come and observe a class so that I could see what it was like. We did – and I have very vivid memories of that experience.

I remember that I wore one of my favorite outfits – plaid polyester bell-bottom pants in red, white, and navy; a navy long-sleeved shirt with a broad white collar; and navy slip-on clogs with a wooden sole. (Yes, it was the 1970’s.) I especially felt the clogs were appropriate for the occasion, because I could stand on my toes in them – which is all I knew about ballet at the time.

I remember that I was immediately impressed by the feeling of the class. The formality and discipline made it seem very special, this gathering of students and teacher, almost religious in its ritualized structure and concentrated focus.

I remember that I was happily satisfied by the way music and dance were combined specifically and purposefully in each exercise. That marriage made so much sense to me as I watched, even with no understanding of the French terminology or any knowledge of the concepts underlying the technique.

I remember being engaged by the progression of the dance steps in size, complexity, and dynamics as the class developed. From being stationary at the barre to traveling across the floor; from small movements of nuance to expansive dancing that encompassed the entire body; from slow, long steps to those that were quick and darting – the ever-changing nature of the class work enthralled me.

I remember turning to my mom in the middle of the class, grabbing her arm to get her attention, and whispering intently “I am going to be a ballerina.”

After the class, when Carol came over to talk to us, I told her I loved it and couldn’t wait to get started. I then said to her exuberantly, “See, I can ALREADY do THIS!” and proceeded to go up on my toes in my clogs and twirl around.

I remember feeling very accomplished at the time, and interpreted the two women’s laughter as indulgent pride in my amazing and obvious talent. Later, when I was a teenager in the midst of high-level ballet training, Mom would tell this story and I was always quite embarrassed by my younger self’s over-confidence and lack of proper knowledge. Of course, now, with an understanding of childhood development and years of experience teaching countless youngsters who have shown me how they too can stand on their toes, it just makes me laugh.

I took from Carol for three years before she quit teaching to raise her family. By then, another studio had opened in Clinton and I was taking classes there as well, from the woman who would be my primary teacher during my formative training. But I learned a lot of lessons during those first years with Carol. I learned how to do my own ballet bun at age six, because by the time I got out of school and we drove to Cordell for my class, I would be late if I didn’t get ready in the car. I got my first experience of “the show must go on” when my partner in one of the recital dances broke his leg and I had to go it alone. And Carol cast me in my first solo role at age eight, and coached me on the importance of really being the character, a lesson that has always stuck with me.

But most importantly, I’ll never forget how magical she made that first class seem to me. I try to impart some of that magic every time I teach.

My Sister Is A Badass

My sister, Dawn, is one-of-a-kind. She is fearlessly honest – voted Most Likely To Tell You How It Is by her high school classmates, she has never put up with anyone’s bullshit. She is bossy, somewhat short-tempered (although that has evened out over time), and has certain expectations about the way things should be done that can at times make her a tad difficult to be around if you are the one not adhering to her standards. She is also a big softie, the tough exterior surrounding a heart of gold. And if she loves you, you are a pretty lucky person.

She takes after our mom in many ways, thus they often butted heads as we were growing up.* When we were kids, Mom could just give me her patented “look” – gritted teeth, eyes glaring – and I would immediately dissolve into tears, because I never wanted to disappoint – the first-born, perfectionist, Type-A trifecta at work. However, when Dawn got “the look,” it only seemed to stoke her stubbornness. She has her own way of looking at the world, her own way of doing things, and has never been afraid to be herself, even if it meant getting in trouble.

I don’t think it was easy being my little sister in our small town. I was a driven, straight-A student, and I’d found my obsessive passion for dance at age 6. Dawn is one of the most intelligent people I know, but it’s not the typical “school smart,” and her tendency to color the sky green and the grass blue (a true kindergarten story) frustrated teachers that always expected her to be more like me. She also danced, but didn’t love it. She was in band, but never learned how to read music. Her biggest successes growing up involved the visual arts (an area which doesn’t mind as much if you color the sky green and the grass blue), but most of that came when she was in high school – which, if you know small towns, means after she’d already been compared to me too many times and been pigeonholed by our differences, rather than celebrated for her particular strengths.

One of her biggest attributes is curiosity. I’m intellectually curious, but Dawn is curious in a hands-on way that has led her to have multiple degrees (B.A. in Studio Art, B.A. in Communications/Theater Emphasis), skill sets, hobbies, and jobs. She’s worked retail with her own custom-framing shop, and also at a convenience store. She’s done art work for a t-shirt printing company, and designed and painted ballet backdrops. She’s built costumes and scenery for stage, bookshelves and cabinets for home. She has directed plays and been the technical director for ballet performances. She found her current career path while pursuing an M.F.A. in Stage Management – and it wasn’t becoming a stage manager; as a graduate assistant she worked as a theater electrician, which involves taking care of all the lighting needs for events in theater spaces. This led her to the Meadows School of the Arts at Southern Methodist University, where she has been the Assistant Master Electrician, the Master Electrician, and has taught lighting-related classes. This school year, in addition to her Master Electrician work, she also served as the interim Production Manager – a job in which having a curious nature and knowledge about many different aspects of things is actually a necessity.

Another of Dawn’s best qualities is her willingness to go the extra mile for those she loves. She did every possible job you can think of in helping me put on ballet productions with Western Oklahoma Ballet Theatre, from box office to lighting design to building scenery to being on stage herself as the most magnificent Mother Ginger you’ve ever seen. Her support and helpfulness continued when I moved to work at Oklahoma City Ballet, including, but not limited to, helping gut and rebuild a studio floor and serving as tech director for performances of the school and summer intensive. In these and so many other ways, both large and small, she has been my rock.

Right now, as I am navigating loss of work, grieving a job I loved, and worrying about next steps in the middle of a pandemic prohibiting me from taking much meaningful action, Dawn has been a constant, and not just in the literal quarantine sense of she’s always in my home. She has been listening if I want to talk, letting me cry without issuing any platitudes, offering her “no BS” insights when appropriate, cooking delicious meals, being quiet while I teach online classes, reading me funny things she runs across on social media, and letting me binge watch original Law & Order episodes without complaint. And she’s done all of this while working and teaching remotely herself.

My sister is a badass. And truly the best.

*Dawn and I also butted heads a lot growing up; I’m saving those stories for another time. 🙂

Zoom In

As I think a lot of people are doing, I have been using Zoom (an application I had never heard of a month ago) quite a bit in the last few weeks. My sister, who works for Southern Methodist University, has had several Zoom meetings the past few weeks – with three on her schedule tomorrow. I used it last week to “hang out” with a couple of friends and chat, but mostly I have been utilizing it to teach ballet.

So far, I’ve taught classes with about ten students logged in each time. I purchased an adapter and cord to connect my laptop to my television screen, so I could see the dancers better in their little squares. I worked out the best way to configure my living room for class: push the furniture out against the walls, hang a light-colored cloth over the dark fireplace so I can be seen in my black teaching clothes, pull my coffee table closer to the TV for the laptop, bluetooth speaker, and my water.

I usually start getting everything organized for going online about 20 minutes ahead of the actual class, and the rituals of preparation help me to focus and calm the bit of anxiety I feel in trying to adapt class to both an online format, and for dancers who might be in less than ideal spaces. I saw a comment on Facebook from one of my teacher friends, saying that her husband thought it was weird that she put on perfume before she taught an online class. Other teachers chimed in, mentioning that they too go through their pre-class ritual as if they were actually teaching in the studio – make-up, perfume, teaching shoes and clothes, water bottle, and so on. There is definitely comfort in the familiar, especially when we are employing those rituals in unfamiliar situations.

I’ve definitely enjoyed teaching classes via Zoom, because it’s absolutely better than doing nothing, and I think offers much more than livestreaming or filming a class that students can follow along with but has no interaction. The students in my classes have been fully committed to the work, and the lessons have felt productive even though we can’t really do a full class with traveling and jumping.

Today, I taught a private lesson via the format, my first. I usually don’t like private lessons, for a number of reasons. I always want to fix everything at once, and with only one student in front of me, this tendency (that I have tried to hone over the years when teaching class into “today let’s focus on this”) comes to the fore and can be very overwhelming for the student. I also really like the vibe of a class – the energy, the opportunity it gives the dancers to watch their peers, plus learning and dancing together helps create a sense of unity.

However, today’s private was a lot of fun and really productive. I had a couple of things I knew I wanted to work on with Bailey heading into the class, and for the most part those are what we focused on. I had her repeat exercises a few times, after I gave her corrections, so she could try out the notes and begin to synthesize them into her work. Together we broke down some steps, analyzing her muscle usage and movement habits, and then tried to find new ways for her to think about executing the steps. It was an hour long lesson, and we only got to rond de jambes par terre (about halfway through the opening barre exercises), but I definitely saw progress in what we’d been working on. And I think the private lesson worked well for me online, because talking to Bailey via a computer screen buffered my intense focus in that setting.

Afterwards, I got a text from her mom, Erica, also a dance teacher. She said that Bailey loved the lesson and wanted to set up a regular schedule with me. When I responded that I was glad she liked it, because I worried that it was too tedious for a 12-year-old, Erica sent me a message that I will always treasure: No, she really WANTS to understand how to fix things. And you make everything exciting and feel “important.“

For a teacher, feedback doesn’t get much better than that.

Switched at Intermission

When I recently blogged (in three parts) about a flu-stricken Nutcracker weekend, some of my friends initially confused that story with another time that our Clara became ill. That is also a funny story, illness notwithstanding, and after spending a good chunk of the day trying to update my C.V. after not touching it for five years, funny sounds…necessary.

First, some set-up. In my production of The Nutcracker, Clara receives a lovely bed for her doll as a gift that then later “grows” along with the Christmas tree, the toy soldiers, the mice, and the Nutcracker. It appears in its larger form following the battle, once the King Rat is defeated and Clara’s living room has begun transforming into the Snow Forest. The Nutcracker, now revealed to be a young Prince, invites her to sit and then gallantly pushes her downstage left where he situates the doll bed so that they can both watch the snow scene unfold. First is the Snow Pas de Deux, performed by the Snow King and Queen, followed by the Waltz of the Snowflakes. At the end of the Waltz, the Snowflakes make a diagonal from downstage left to upstage right, and the Snow King and Queen reappear to inform everyone, in elegant ballet pantomime, that Clara and the Prince are going “that way” (gesturing upstage right in third arabesque) on a journey to the magical Kingdom of the Sweets. The two couples bow to each other, Clara perches on the doll bed again, and the Prince then pushes her conveyance along the diagonal as the Snow couple make a beautiful pose, the Snowflakes shimmy their hands, and the curtain slowly closes on Act I.

This particular incident happened way back in 1998 (which in some ways doesn’t feel that long ago…in others, yes, it does), and the dancer performing the starring role of Clara was Ashley, a young, small-for-her-age student of Filipino descent with long, gorgeous black hair halfway down her back, curled into ringlets for the show. It was the final performance that year, the Sunday matinee, and Act I had gone well. The Snowflakes made their diagonal, the Snow Couple reappeared, and the Prince began pushing the doll bed upstage right in the direction of the Kingdom of the Sweets and intermission. Just as he was getting up to speed, and I was giving the standby for the curtain to close, Clara (Ashley) suddenly clapped her hands over her mouth, bailed off the back side of the bed, and ran for the stage left wings…where she was promptly sick. [Yes, she did make it off stage – see The Show Must Go On (Part 1) for the only time I’ve had a dancer vomit ON stage.]

I got to Ashley across the stage as soon as the curtain was closed, and we quickly determined that she was not going to be able to continue with the performance. Straight to the student dressing room I went…(which is its own fun story – the Southwestern Oklahoma State University Fine Arts Center has a lovely house and a big stage, and only two small dressing rooms. So, for any production with more than ten dancers, we were allowed to utilize the orchestra rehearsal room as our “dressing room.” The downside (besides it not being a dressing room at all?) was that it was located on the opposite side of the building from the stage, and the only way for the performers to get backstage, other than going through the audience, was to go along a hallway through the music wing, and outside for 30 yards to the backstage door. Yes, outside in December. But I digress.)…and got Ashley out of Clara’s costume nightgown. I dispatched helpers to take care of Ashley, find her family, etc. and then started yelling for “Lori! Lori!”

Lori was in the same level as Ashley, and was the closest to an understudy that I had. She had performed as a Party Girl already, and was probably slated to perform in Act II as a Pastry Chef, but I needed a Clara. I grabbed her and said “You have to go on as Clara, because Ashley is sick.” After a brief moment when her eyes bugged out a little, we got her into Clara’s nightgown. I did a quick overview of Act II with her, and then we rehearsed the pantomime, in which she tells the story of how Clara and the Nutcracker Prince defeated the King Rat. That was the hardest bit for her in the second act; the rest was sitting and watching for the most part.

On stage Lori went, as Clara. Front and center for the first part of the act, and then upstage center on a raised throne for the majority that followed, until she once more was escorted downstage center, took a seat on her doll bed, and was pushed off stage, waving at those assembled as the curtain closed. She did a great job. So great that most people in the audience apparently didn’t even notice that we’d switched Claras.

That’s really awesome…except that Lori was a sturdy, blue-eyed blond whose hair barely touched her shoulders.

Purpose

One of the hardest things for me to deal with right now is not working. I have always loved my work – teaching ballet, directing a school, choreographing, working with dancers, producing performances. For a long time, I did this on my own in small-town America; most recently I did it with a larger professional organization. But the work was essentially the same in both – long hours, lots of different skill sets used, the satisfaction and pride found in helping dancers of all ages and levels learn and grow, the fun in creating, the sense of family that is built through time spent together in these pursuits. My work has always made me happy, because I felt like I was accomplishing good things. So, to go from spending 9-12 hours a day at work, moving virtually non-stop from task to task, to doing almost nothing, in comparison, has been challenging.

When I used to have a day off, I luxuriated in being lazy. I love to read and watch tv and movies, I like jigsaw puzzles and coloring. I have a few games on my phone, and can always scroll Facebook and Instagram. But those activities, for me, are about rest and giving myself time to recharge, so that I’m refreshed and ready for work. I need purpose.

But when one’s purpose has always involved gathering groups of people into a large room and dancing, and that is not currently an option, what can be done? Can one’s sense of purpose be re-purposed?

I’m working on finding the answers to those questions for myself. I’ve been exploring teaching ballet online. It’s not ideal, but it’s better than nothing – and the classes I’ve taught have definitely been the highlights of this time of social isolation. I started this blog, as both a way to challenge myself creatively and provide myself with a daily task, and I have enjoyed the process and the feedback I’ve gotten. I’ve also been making lists of little projects that need to be accomplished each day – mostly mundane, like work out or vacuum, but writing them down makes me feel more motivated to actually do them, and then it feels like I’ve done something purposeful when I complete them.

Most importantly, I’m trying to keep in mind that sheltering in place has its own exceptional purpose – saving lives. When I look at the current situation from that perspective, then spending an afternoon watching a movie or putting together a jigsaw puzzle doesn’t seem quite so frivolous, after all.

Quarantine Workout

I got a text a few days ago from my godson Walker that said “Our new quarantine workout channel,” with a link to a dance workout by Caleb Marshall. I clicked it open, and a tall, handsome guy – Caleb – was talking about how I (or at least the viewer) was going to feel good after this song as he moved into place with two other dancers. The trio was set up beside a hiking trail in the mountains, and they launched into a really fun routine to Lizzo’s Good As Hell. Caleb hammed it up and threw out funny lines, and all three dancers were lip synching and having a blast. At one point a hiker walked into view on the trail; as he passed by the gyrating group, for whatever reason, both of his middle fingers were extended in the classic obscene gesture. That made me laugh out loud, that they hadn’t edited the video or started over, just left the random guy flipping them off as part and parcel of the experience. The whole video made me smile and I wanted to get up and dance.

Walker sent me another video, and gave me a brief tutorial – Caleb Marshall has a YouTube channel, The Fitness Marshall with 2.39 million subscribers (so you may already know about him). He makes cool dance videos to famous pop songs, filming them in various locations, almost always with a couple of backup dancers. Sometimes one of the backup dancers is Caleb’s boyfriend Cameron, who does the Level 1 (easier) version of the routine and makes the funniest faces. You can join what Caleb calls The Booty Army by subscribing to his channel, which has such perks as longer workout routines and early access to his videos.

After I taught an online ballet class yesterday, which Walker helped me with by being my demonstrator, we were chatting with some of the participants and Walker mentioned his new obsession with The Fitness Marshall. One of the students’ moms messaged me after the class to thank me, and relayed that her daughter had burst into tears after the class because, while she was really happy about the class, she was also sad, because she misses ballet and her dance family so much. And then she asked what videos Walker had been talking about. I gave her the info and the assurance that “They’ll make her smile.” I got a video about half an hour later of her daughter having a blast dancing to one of Caleb’s videos, with the message “Thank you, Walker.”

I was inspired to attempt to dance along with The Fitness Marshall myself. Now, during my life, I’ve done a lot of different types of exercise. When I was an obsessive teenaged ballet student dancing all the time, I also swam, biked, and walked a treadmill in the futile quest for different legs. Throughout my adult life, I’ve engaged in all of those activities off-and-on, added the elliptical and aerobics to my repertoire, and then yoga. Yoga has been my most consistent activity over the last twenty years, because it provides pain relief in my neck and shoulders (where I hold my stress), and in my hips and lower back (which are cranky from years of ballet). But my favorite activity has always been dancing. I have a few dance-oriented exercise DVDs that I used to do pretty regularly for cardio, until I started having trouble with one of my knees. However, my knee has been feeling a lot better lately…and I have been feeling the need to be more active during this time of social isolation…and Caleb’s dance videos just look like so much fun.

So, I did a three-song workout this morning, and it WAS so much fun! I sometimes messed up the choreography. The first time I did the wrong arms, my inner perfectionist reared her head and started to get judgy, instructing me to “Figure that out!” But then I reminded myself that it didn’t matter if I did the wrong arms or went the wrong direction; what mattered is that I was moving and I was enjoying myself.

I’m going to try to hold on to that perspective through this unsettling time – keep moving and enjoy life as much as possible – and I’m pretty sure that’s going to be the real Quarantine Workout. However, I’m looking forward to another fitness session with Caleb and company tomorrow.

Thank you, Walker.

I Have A Better Idea

In an earlier post [see The Show Must Go On (Finale)], I recounted a conversation with my oldest godson, Charles, in which he said “I have some ideas,” and noted that there was a story behind that statement. That is the subject of today’s post.

Charles was all about dance, even before he could walk. My mom gave him a pair of ballet slippers for his first Christmas, when he was seven months old, and we have photos of him in the shoes with his leg lifted in somewhat of an arabesque. By two, he was trying to do the choreography that my teenaged company dancers were performing. We have an old VHS tape of him doing all the divertissements from Nutcracker Act II by himself when he was three. And he choreographed from a very young age, as well. I remember once, around Easter, he had a whole bunch of Hershey’s kisses in pastel foil wrappers out on the kitchen island, moving them around in obvious groupings. When I asked him what he was doing, he said “I’m making a dance.”

This particular story happened when Charles was five. I had a guest choreographer in residence to set her one-act version of Alice In Wonderland for the company during a two-week summer workshop. At the time, my studio was in the un-air conditioned second floor of an old downtown building. Yes – summer, upstairs, no AC – it was scorching, even with fans blowing at high speed. But that didn’t stop Charles from wanting to watch every rehearsal.

One afternoon, the choreographer, August, was working on the Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum section. She had set this ballet before, but was making adjustments to the choreography as she staged it for us. Something wasn’t looking the way she wanted with the Tweedles, and so she experimented with a couple of different things. Nothing was really making her happy and you could tell she was getting frustrated, both with the dancers and herself…and the heat wasn’t helping. Finally, she settled on an option, and said “Let’s take a break and then try that version for now,” before moving to sit down at the front of the room.

She was talking to me, something about how she still didn’t like what she’d set, but felt like she needed to keep moving forward, when Charles walked over, put his hand on her leg, and earnestly leaned in.

Charles (with complete confidence, once he had August’s attention): “I have a better idea.”

Penny (cringing slightly): “Charles!”

August: “Oh, I’m sure you probably do.” And then she burst out laughing.

I’m sure he showed her whatever his “better idea” was, but I no longer remember if she used it or not. The funny part to me has always been that he had the nerve to say that to her at the ripe old age of five, and I’ve related this story many times over the years, usually in illustration of Charles’ born-to-dance confidence. However, as I think about it now, it also reflects a few other important things. One of those is that Charles felt safe enough in his environment to make that bold claim. The other is that August allowed that what this precocious child said might be true, and acknowledged it freely.

All of our children need that sense of safety, so they feel secure in sharing their ideas with the adults in their lives. And all of us adults need to not take ourselves too seriously, so that we can remain open to the possibility that our kids just might have a better idea.

Revelations

I have been in love with Alvin Ailey’s iconic masterpiece Revelations since I first saw it on video in the early 1990’s. I have watched it over and over, shared it with my students, studied it. I have seen Alvin Ailey American Dance Theater and Ailey II perform it live on several occasions, an experience I highly recommend to everyone.

I’ve given much thought to the power of this work of dance art over the years. Created in 1960, it has been performed by AAADT all over the world, and is considered the most widely seen modern dance. Using African-American spirituals and gospel songs, and formed around Mr. Ailey’s memories of his childhood in Texas and in the Baptist Church, it is divided into three connected sections – Pilgrim of Sorrow; Take Me To The Water, and Move, Members, Move – each with multiple parts.

Part of the work’s power is derived from its structure. The three sections are distinct, with different costumes, colors, and themes. Yet the ballet seamlessly unfolds, taking the viewer with it on a definite journey. Some of the choreography seems simple – side bends and gestural arm movements done in unison form the basis for the famous opening, I Been ‘Buked. However, by grouping the dancers in a tight central formation for the unison, inserting levels and unpredictable moments of individual timing in the arm movements, and then opening the group across the stage, taking the dancers away from each other only to inexorably draw them back together, Mr. Ailey imbued these simple gestures with strength and purpose.

Some of the choreography is very difficult from a technical standpoint, particularly for the men. I Wanna Be Ready is a male solo that requires intense abdominal strength and absolute control, while Sinner Man is a virtuosic trio for three men, full of jumps and turns, that never fails to make the audience go wild. This juxtaposition throughout the entire work, from simple to complex, from large groups to smaller, keeps it interesting and engaging. Every time I see Revelations, I marvel anew at how Alvin Ailey made all the right choreographic choices.

All the right choreographic choices culminated in a work that transcends the initial inspirations of Texas and the Baptist Church and speaks to universal themes of sorrow, faith, love, surrender, joy, and hope. At a pre-performance talk I once heard then-company dancer Guillermo Asca respond to the question of if he ever got tired of performing Revelations, because it is in the repertory of the company each season. His response was no, and he compared it to being able to look at a masterpiece painting every day of your life. I got to meet and work with Mo, as his friends call him, when I worked for AileyCamp New York a few years ago, and we talked about this some more, after I shared that I had heard him speak. He told me that, for him, each rehearsal and each performance brought something new to his experience of the work – different people dancing different roles around him, dancing different parts himself, different audience reactions, noticing a certain nuance of a step or a quality in a dancer he hadn’t seen before…every time he got to be a part of this work, it spoke to him again.

The Alvin Ailey American Dance Theater is making certain works available online right now with their All Access program, and they started this past Monday with, what else, Revelations. I hadn’t seen it in a while, on video or live, and when I heard the music and saw that stunning opening grouping, I got chills. I watched, enthralled. I grew teary-eyed at Fix Me, Jesus, and couldn’t stop my body from moving to Wade in the Water. I whooped after Sinner Man, laughed with the gossiping ladies waving their yellow fans in The Day is Past and Gone, and clapped through the encore of Rocka My Soul in the Bosom of Abraham. I didn’t want it to end.

Revelations spoke to me, again. That’s what great art does.

Be Interesting

In one of the last classes I taught in a studio before the pandemic shut everything down, I said to the pre-professional dancers in front of me “You have to be interesting.” This is a variation on a theme of mine, particularly when I teach dancers that are aiming for a professional contract. Often I couch it in terms of being more expressive or sending energy beyond the physical self, but really, I’m talking about that special something that makes people take notice – a certain je ne sais quoi, the ‘it’ factor.

Quite often when I start to talk about this in front of a class, in terms of the way the students are working, they look at me like they don’t understand. Ballet is so difficult, to attain proper form alone takes years of single-minded devotion. Technique – which I quite prize as well – is the focus of most serious young dancers, because there is a certain level of proficiency that must be reached before a professional career can even be considered. And in this age of competition dance, Instagram, and YouTube, a student’s understanding (and I would argue some teachers’ as well) of what technique is can become quantified into things like how high you can lift your leg or how many pirouettes you can do.

When the “tricks” get all the attention, a couple of things happen. The first is that transitions and details – where dancing actually lives – don’t get proper care. The second is that artistry isn’t addressed, or is considered something that can be added later, “when I get on stage.” The emphasis is on the what, not on the how or the why. But it takes understanding and synthesizing all three to make a true dancer.

Dancers are, by nature, perfectionists. And dancers are made through correction and critique, through being told what they are doing wrong more than what they are doing right. Sometimes this leads to a self-protective, cautious way of working that is turned inward. The dancer is not expressing themselves through the movement, they are merely doing steps. But dance is a performing art, and the idea is to catch the audience’s attention. So that’s when I say things like “You have to be interesting.”

As I’ve been working on this post, I’ve been pondering what it means to “be interesting,” both from a dance perspective and beyond. And the more I think about the interesting dancers and interesting people I know, the more I am convinced it’s about being fully yourself.

Being authentic.

Being willing to show vulnerability.

Owning your weaknesses as well as honoring your strengths.

Being honest, with yourself and others.

Being courageous enough to try, even if you know you might fail.

The Bride Wore A Red Cape

As with everyone at this surreal time, our family has seen many of our plans, both large and small, upended recently. One of the biggest of these was the wedding of my godson Rhys and his fiancée Susan. Originally set for May 30th, following Susan’s graduation from the University of Pittsburgh School of Nursing, it was to take place at the Carnegie Museum of Natural History in Pittsburgh, on a grand marble staircase steps away from the museum’s magnificent exhibit of dinosaur skeletons.

When the COVID-19 crisis really started to evolve, Susan was on spring break with her parents in Florida in early March. Colleges and universities were extending spring breaks and beginning to talk about the possibility of going online for the rest of the semester. Events were being postponed or cancelled. Susan and her parents, Melinda and Hugh, began talking about the very real possibility of the wedding needing to be postponed. Susan didn’t want to wait to get married, so they began discussing options.

Susan grew up in the Chicago area, and her parents have a lake house on Long Lake, about an hour north of the city. That popped up as a potential location for a small family ceremony. Melinda works as a project manager, and that skill-set carries over into everyday life spectacularly – she hosts amazing parties and plans church dinners for hundreds of people, making it all look easy. My favorite example of her organizational prowess is when Rhys and Susan were living in New York City and had an infestation of bed bugs (via some curtains they’d ordered online). Melinda had the exterminators called, had ordered the special bed bug “oven” that all their belongings had to go through to get rid of the critters, and was on her way to help the kids deal with the problem while I was still in shock, saying “Bed bugs…you have bed bugs?!?” So, when Susan asked her mom if she thought she could plan a small wedding at the lake house, Melinda said she thought the biggest obstacle was that there was only one oven. However, at that point in time it was just an idea.

When Susan got back to Pittsburgh after break, she found out that her senior year would end with online classes and her graduation ceremony was cancelled. The museum was definitely going to close through May, so the wedding was not going to happen there on May 30th. Then all non-essential businesses in Pittsburgh were closed by the mayor, which meant that Rhys, who works as a massage therapist at a local spa, suddenly had a free calendar. Both knew they wanted to get married sooner rather than later, and with the pandemic changing daily life rapidly, they decided on as soon as possible. So, Susan and Rhys headed to her parents’ house in Glen Ellyn and the planning began for a small wedding at the lake house on Friday, March 27th.

The neighbor’s yard was reserved, because it had a more unobstructed view of the lake. A livestream was organized for distant family and friends, wedding outfits selected (because the big wedding is still going to happen next year, so different attire was needed for this ceremony), and the menu planned for the post-wedding dinner. Susan and Rhys then headed to the lake house so that Susan could have a few days of uninterrupted focus on school work. The groom’s Oklahoma contingent arrived at the lake house after a day of careful traveling armed with plastic gloves, hand sanitizer, and disinfectant wipes, with a whole day to hang out with the couple before the wedding day.

Rhys and Susan have been together for nearly seven years. Dancers at the time, they met at orientation on their first day at The Ailey School in New York City, and began dating shortly thereafter. I remember seeing her that first day – a tall red-head with an infectious energy talking to another dancer in the lobby – but didn’t officially meet her until that December when I visited Rhys. When I told him I really liked her, he responded with “I’m totally winning,” because she was 1) willing to play Yu-Gi-Oh with him and 2) totally cool with “nostril kisses” (a funny thing he did to me when he was little where he would try to put his nostril on the end of my nose; I had mentioned he probably should not ever try it with a girl). They’ve supported each other through surgeries, bed bugs, bad jobs, dancing, leaving dance, moving, and school. Rhys is not bothered that Susan is taller than him and he loves her intelligence; Susan is not bothered that Rhys is shorter than her and she loves his caring nature. They make each other laugh, and are perfect for one another.

Friday dawned cold and gray, with the threat of rain later in the afternoon. The lake ceremony was scheduled for somewhere around 4 pm, keeping it somewhat flexible in case the rain did materialize. Susan’s family arrived, and we unloaded food, ran cable for the livestream, and put up a small white tent. The groom’s family moved to the basement to start getting ready, while the bride’s did the same upstairs. We checked in with long-distance relatives – Walker, Rhys’ twin, hadn’t made the trip, but had dressed up (his top half at least) in suit and tie to watch the livestream, and the boys’ dad, Wesley, was tuning in from work. Pastor Kendra, the officiant, arrived and touched base with everyone. Then it was time, and we moved outside to the neighbor’s lawn. We figured out the best spot for Kendra to stand with the lake behind her and got word from the bride that the tent should be struck since it wasn’t raining. Once it was out of the way, Susan’s sister Amanda started the processional music.

The theme from Jurassic Park accompanied the bride and her parents as they made their way around the giant cedar tree and walked toward us. Susan was radiant in an ivory strapless jumpsuit, with a large red cape billowing behind her. She had shown me the cape the day before; her grandmother had made it 50 years ago, and her mom had kept it because it was beautiful and exquisitely made. It came to mind when they discussed the very real possibility of it being cold during the wedding, so they got it out and it was perfect with the jumpsuit. Even better was Rhys’ reaction; in keeping with the tradition of the groom not seeing the bride’s dress, he saw Susan’s ensemble for the first time as she walked toward him during the ceremony. His jaw dropped for a moment when he first saw Susan, and then he said “She got a cape? I want a cape.”

The laughter continued through the brief ceremony, because first, the local train whistle provided some additional accompaniment and shortly thereafter, honking geese flew overhead (side note: Susan really doesn’t like geese due to being chased by one when she was young, so that made it even funnier). Kendra took it all in stride, conducted a beautiful wedding, and within minutes Rhys and Susan were married…right before a fishing boat moved into view on the lake, and the rain hit. It was perfect.

We all headed back to our respective homes the next day, Rhys and Susan back to Pittsburgh, where she started working right away at the hospital’s COVID-19 screening center. All of us are facing uncertainty and fear – trying to adapt our work to online platforms or not having any work at all, anxious about finances, worried about the health and safety of our loved ones. But for a little while, we got to put all of that aside and just bask in the love that these two have for one another, and in the love we have for them.

It really was perfect.

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