I loved reading about your PNB "Nutcracker" roles, until that part where you were publicly upbraided for the dragon fiasco. Regardless of what happened, that was definitely not OK. That must have really hurt, and I can't help but imagine that was a shattering experience for you. Learning to take criticism is important for developing skill, but can be corrosive. Engaging in any activity that requires rigorous training, listening to a coach or teacher correcting our missteps, tends to instill in us an internal disciplinarian, a little voice that we hear inside our head whenever we fall short of our goal, reminding us of our imperfections. Over time, if we hear this voice too often, we may convince ourselves that our goal -- to dance, act, perform, teach, whatever -- is unattainable and further practice would prove fruitless. It is helpful to have another internal voice saying something positive, like, "That effort didn't turn out as well as I'd hoped, but I'll keep working on it and next time I'll nail it." Have fun dancing!
Thanks Rick! When I was writing this I had to sit back and try and remember whether it was truly that bad. Our memories are so fallible, it’s entirely possible that the upbraiding wasn’t awful or abusive—but boy I remember being so upset. My memory of the humiliation is undeniable. I’ve had some wonderful teachers and coaches at other points in life/in other pursuits and I think I’m pretty good at shrugging off failure to some degree. But a few years ago I fell while performing in a student circus show and you can be sure I was crying backstage (from shame not pain) until I got a grip on myself.
I love this so much, Martha. My mother sent me to tap and ballet classes starting at nine with a woman who'd been a Rockette in the 50s. She taught out of the basement of the Masonic Temple in my home town. The serious (and oh so very beautiful) ballet students studied at the Roberson Center which was attached to the city's museum. I may have hinted to my mother that I'd like to take ballet there, but she made it clear it was out of our finances and besides, Miss Goundry had been her girlfriend's teacher when she was young and that made her more than good enough for me. I tapped till I was sixteen, eventually becoming a "Goundry Girl", learning kick lines and how to know if your line was straight as you pivoted in a time step in a giant circle around the center girl.
Unlike the Roberson Center girls, we came in all shapes and sizes, ate cookies with abandon whenever someone's mom brought them in, and our leotards, tights and hair during class were a mirror of our own personal style - there was no dress code for class besides the correct shoes, a leotard and tights. At thirteen, we graduated from flat tap shoes to heeled ones.
When I left for college, I took advantage of the dance department as a theater major and found out I truly loved modern dance. I also found out that no one tapped like it was between 1940 and 1970 anymore and tap class no longer made sense to me. After I graduated, I moved to Rochester, NY where I got lucky and studied with a woman who'd been in Garth Fagan's company. MoMing was still open when I moved to Chicago and that was where I took my first classes - it closed soon after. I wish we could have crossed paths there. After that, I took class at Links Hall and danced for a while with Abiogenesis which was a pretty experimental dance company. We did a lot of weird flash mob type things in the early 90s. Fun, strange, borderline dangerous.
But eventually, I found I was choosing between acting classes or shows or bartending shifts or dance classes and it felt like too much of a luxury somehow -and eventually, I too let it slip away. And it is such an interesting secret sadness to carry - to live somewhere among friends and community that have never really known me as a dancer. I feel the same way about music these days, too. "Do you play?" someone will say and I answer, "Oh, I used to." Finding my way back to a guitar feels maybe more daunting now. Thank you for giving voice to this.
WHOA -- Amy I had no idea. I took tap for a year and was pretty terrible at it -- I wasn't good at moving only the lower half of my body! It is a funny secret sadness; it's good to know we share it. I'm poking around now for good places to take some modern classes, let me know if you want to come with :)
I read this deeply, looking for parallels across my own current focus on trying to reclaim my body (although my own, unlike yours maybe, never seemed to be mine in the first place).
It may be a stretch, but I was struck by the fact that growth of your breasts marked a transition for you: not of dancing, but of thinking of yourself as “a Dancer” vs someone who danced as you moved away from the company feeder school?
Either way, my heart swells to see you reclaiming this part of yourself as part of your healing.
Thanks so much Gina. I thought of this strange parallel as well: my boobs were part of what cast me out of ballet, and yet were also instrumental in bringing me back, and helping to evolve my perspective. This past month of finally having some energy back has been a game changer for recovery -- I feel so much more whole. I also of course had a terrible flash of good old-fashioned body dysmorphia in the studio when I noticed that my lines looked better now that my breasts have been chiseled down a few sizes. SO messed up!
The world has really done a number on us all, right??
I've never been more keenly aware of the dichotomy between HEALTH and LOOKING HEALTHY (aka THIN). And still, it's so hard not to get sucked into that line of thinking, even when you know it's so not right!
I went to Connecticut College with is a very dancey school. I did not know this when I applied. Chuck Davis came to do a masterclass with his troop. I was not a dancer yet somehow I was there.
Oh man! I remember wanting to apply to CC when I was in high school, because of its dance program. I loved taking Chuck's class at ADF. It was a breath of fresh air -- literally, because it was outside on the quad.
A recent film, "Faraway My Shadow Wandered" ~ Liao Jiekai, Sudhee Liao, might likely change your own dance in a way you have yet to discover. "tricycle.org" would be a good place to find it. With the opening of your eyes in the morning, you are continuing a dance that your dreams led. Good luck with that, my friend.
This is amazing and really resonates. I had a dimly sort of similar journey except I went to a local studio which wasn't as serious as a place like Ruth Page (sp?)... the go to place for child dancers I'm chicago in the 80s. Dancing in college probably saved my life. At the time, I felt conflicted about devoting college credits to "just dance" but come to realize how the muscle memory in the most expansive sense of the word has helped keep my chin up and shoulders squared in difficult times. Plus my students always enjoyed the way I swooped around the classroom.
Thanks Gin! In college I also experienced guilt and conflict about spending time dancing as opposed to "learning" (my father always needled me that I was majoring in basket weaving ...) but, again, all these years later I'm glad I stuck with it as long as I did.
I loved reading about your PNB "Nutcracker" roles, until that part where you were publicly upbraided for the dragon fiasco. Regardless of what happened, that was definitely not OK. That must have really hurt, and I can't help but imagine that was a shattering experience for you. Learning to take criticism is important for developing skill, but can be corrosive. Engaging in any activity that requires rigorous training, listening to a coach or teacher correcting our missteps, tends to instill in us an internal disciplinarian, a little voice that we hear inside our head whenever we fall short of our goal, reminding us of our imperfections. Over time, if we hear this voice too often, we may convince ourselves that our goal -- to dance, act, perform, teach, whatever -- is unattainable and further practice would prove fruitless. It is helpful to have another internal voice saying something positive, like, "That effort didn't turn out as well as I'd hoped, but I'll keep working on it and next time I'll nail it." Have fun dancing!
Thanks Rick! When I was writing this I had to sit back and try and remember whether it was truly that bad. Our memories are so fallible, it’s entirely possible that the upbraiding wasn’t awful or abusive—but boy I remember being so upset. My memory of the humiliation is undeniable. I’ve had some wonderful teachers and coaches at other points in life/in other pursuits and I think I’m pretty good at shrugging off failure to some degree. But a few years ago I fell while performing in a student circus show and you can be sure I was crying backstage (from shame not pain) until I got a grip on myself.
I love this so much, Martha. My mother sent me to tap and ballet classes starting at nine with a woman who'd been a Rockette in the 50s. She taught out of the basement of the Masonic Temple in my home town. The serious (and oh so very beautiful) ballet students studied at the Roberson Center which was attached to the city's museum. I may have hinted to my mother that I'd like to take ballet there, but she made it clear it was out of our finances and besides, Miss Goundry had been her girlfriend's teacher when she was young and that made her more than good enough for me. I tapped till I was sixteen, eventually becoming a "Goundry Girl", learning kick lines and how to know if your line was straight as you pivoted in a time step in a giant circle around the center girl.
Unlike the Roberson Center girls, we came in all shapes and sizes, ate cookies with abandon whenever someone's mom brought them in, and our leotards, tights and hair during class were a mirror of our own personal style - there was no dress code for class besides the correct shoes, a leotard and tights. At thirteen, we graduated from flat tap shoes to heeled ones.
When I left for college, I took advantage of the dance department as a theater major and found out I truly loved modern dance. I also found out that no one tapped like it was between 1940 and 1970 anymore and tap class no longer made sense to me. After I graduated, I moved to Rochester, NY where I got lucky and studied with a woman who'd been in Garth Fagan's company. MoMing was still open when I moved to Chicago and that was where I took my first classes - it closed soon after. I wish we could have crossed paths there. After that, I took class at Links Hall and danced for a while with Abiogenesis which was a pretty experimental dance company. We did a lot of weird flash mob type things in the early 90s. Fun, strange, borderline dangerous.
But eventually, I found I was choosing between acting classes or shows or bartending shifts or dance classes and it felt like too much of a luxury somehow -and eventually, I too let it slip away. And it is such an interesting secret sadness to carry - to live somewhere among friends and community that have never really known me as a dancer. I feel the same way about music these days, too. "Do you play?" someone will say and I answer, "Oh, I used to." Finding my way back to a guitar feels maybe more daunting now. Thank you for giving voice to this.
WHOA -- Amy I had no idea. I took tap for a year and was pretty terrible at it -- I wasn't good at moving only the lower half of my body! It is a funny secret sadness; it's good to know we share it. I'm poking around now for good places to take some modern classes, let me know if you want to come with :)
I would love that! Yes, let me know!
I read this deeply, looking for parallels across my own current focus on trying to reclaim my body (although my own, unlike yours maybe, never seemed to be mine in the first place).
It may be a stretch, but I was struck by the fact that growth of your breasts marked a transition for you: not of dancing, but of thinking of yourself as “a Dancer” vs someone who danced as you moved away from the company feeder school?
Either way, my heart swells to see you reclaiming this part of yourself as part of your healing.
Thanks so much Gina. I thought of this strange parallel as well: my boobs were part of what cast me out of ballet, and yet were also instrumental in bringing me back, and helping to evolve my perspective. This past month of finally having some energy back has been a game changer for recovery -- I feel so much more whole. I also of course had a terrible flash of good old-fashioned body dysmorphia in the studio when I noticed that my lines looked better now that my breasts have been chiseled down a few sizes. SO messed up!
The world has really done a number on us all, right??
I've never been more keenly aware of the dichotomy between HEALTH and LOOKING HEALTHY (aka THIN). And still, it's so hard not to get sucked into that line of thinking, even when you know it's so not right!
Brava! Quite a history. And what a joyful rediscovery for you, Martha. Dancers dance. Have fun!
Someday, let me tell you my embarrassing Chuck Davis story.
I went to Connecticut College with is a very dancey school. I did not know this when I applied. Chuck Davis came to do a masterclass with his troop. I was not a dancer yet somehow I was there.
Oh man! I remember wanting to apply to CC when I was in high school, because of its dance program. I loved taking Chuck's class at ADF. It was a breath of fresh air -- literally, because it was outside on the quad.
An excellent post, Martha.
A recent film, "Faraway My Shadow Wandered" ~ Liao Jiekai, Sudhee Liao, might likely change your own dance in a way you have yet to discover. "tricycle.org" would be a good place to find it. With the opening of your eyes in the morning, you are continuing a dance that your dreams led. Good luck with that, my friend.
Thank you Brian. I will look up the film!
This is amazing and really resonates. I had a dimly sort of similar journey except I went to a local studio which wasn't as serious as a place like Ruth Page (sp?)... the go to place for child dancers I'm chicago in the 80s. Dancing in college probably saved my life. At the time, I felt conflicted about devoting college credits to "just dance" but come to realize how the muscle memory in the most expansive sense of the word has helped keep my chin up and shoulders squared in difficult times. Plus my students always enjoyed the way I swooped around the classroom.
Thanks Gin! In college I also experienced guilt and conflict about spending time dancing as opposed to "learning" (my father always needled me that I was majoring in basket weaving ...) but, again, all these years later I'm glad I stuck with it as long as I did.
Another level of amazing grace, Martha.
Thanks Claudia!