My dance teachers never yelled...except to be heard over the music.
Shortly after somewhat simultaneously delving into both Jennifer Homan's Apollo's Angels and Christina Ezrahi's Swans of The Kremlin, I jokingly exclaimed, "ballet's been cheating death since it's inception!" Despite any modern day chatter of it being a dying and irrelevant art (the reports of its death have been greatly exaggerated since at least the fall of the Russian Empire), and that it is merely an activity for those who lack the Olympian athleticism and grit of competitive sports, the art form is, still very much alive and kicking. Dancers once again enjoy the pop culture spotlight and the art form has been given more athletic clout as is evidenced the ever popular debate question: "is dance a sport?" By definition that dance is not a game that is regularly scored in some way (be it by points or time records), I prefer to refer to it as "an athletic art," but that's simply my feeling on the matter--the competition circuit has certainly created an arena in which dances and dancers can be scored, providing a grey area on the subject.
Dance competitions and company drama are readily accessible (and often grossly exaggerated) in all their reality TV glory, thanks to shows such as So You Think You Can Dance, Breaking Pointe and Dance Moms, all of which have given the art form a boost in cultural relevance, but not without side effect. It's easy to become engrossed in the inflated drama--drama, after all, is what we strive for on stage, and is, in part, what entices audiences to keep coming to our performances. The concern for me, as someone who now makes a living out of imparting my professional dance knowledge onto the next generation, is the normalization of what amounts to emotional abuse, in an attempt to get results out of an artist or artist in training. Dancers are certainly not alone in this plight--find me an activity that requires intense study, practice and mentors to achieve brilliance, and I'll find you a mentor who has overstepped their effectiveness by resorting to misuse of their power and influence--even those who self-study can be brutally damaging with their own techniques.
Suggested Reading: Teaching kids about emotional abuse can start with watching Dance Moms
Reflecting back on my own studies, I am fortunate to have nothing but a flood of good memories associated with my main teachers and those they surrounded themselves with. They always taught from a place of encouragement and love. We worked so very hard--not because we feared humiliation or anger from those to whom we had entrusted our training, but because we had been given permission to be enough as human beings, and that the only expectation (aside from our commitments to classes, rehearsals, and performances) was that we always bring the best we had--as artists and as people.
Inevitably, on this journey to "greatness," we stumbled, both literally and figuratively (I still do, now that I'm the one in the director's chair), but we developed a need to keep striving--to be better artists and more importantly, better people. Our mentors' harshest critiques were so elegantly tactful, never an attack on the dancer's potential or worth as a human being. I don't recall them ever raising their voices--unless it was to avoid being drowned out by music. They had no need to yell or become cross--if they hadn't earned our respect by virtue of their very successful and satisfying careers, they had charmed us by leaving mention of their achievements out of it, save for the purpose of relating an amusing anecdote or to invite us on a historical romp through their fond memories. They had nothing to prove by throwing their achievements in our faces, for they were quite at peace with their illustrious careers--moments in time which may never again be possible for any dancer. They were happy to make us their priority, and graciously groomed many of us for the inevitable future in which we would be the responsible for passing on what they had given us.
In my own professional career, I was a little slow to recognize when I was not being treated with the same respect I was eager to give--it didn't occur to me until later that even persons with great achievements can fail to appreciate themselves and feel the need to "fix" in their protégés, the things that they remain unsatisfied with, in themselves. Thanks to changing attitudes, emotional and tyrannical outbursts have fallen out of favor as a management style. That isn't to say that they are an extinct occurrence, but it is important to me that dancers (and their guardians, if still in training) continue to push for it. The yelling and swearing at and belittling of another human being (especially if they are at a formative age) is completely unnecessary, and rarely brings out the best in someone. It is important to set high standards, but also to supply the tools and help develop the skills necessary to succeed. As I reflect back on the priceless life lessons my dance teachers taught me, I feel compelled to pass them on, so here are a few that I try to take with me daily as I continue to learn how to be a better teacher:
Dance competitions and company drama are readily accessible (and often grossly exaggerated) in all their reality TV glory, thanks to shows such as So You Think You Can Dance, Breaking Pointe and Dance Moms, all of which have given the art form a boost in cultural relevance, but not without side effect. It's easy to become engrossed in the inflated drama--drama, after all, is what we strive for on stage, and is, in part, what entices audiences to keep coming to our performances. The concern for me, as someone who now makes a living out of imparting my professional dance knowledge onto the next generation, is the normalization of what amounts to emotional abuse, in an attempt to get results out of an artist or artist in training. Dancers are certainly not alone in this plight--find me an activity that requires intense study, practice and mentors to achieve brilliance, and I'll find you a mentor who has overstepped their effectiveness by resorting to misuse of their power and influence--even those who self-study can be brutally damaging with their own techniques.
Suggested Reading: Teaching kids about emotional abuse can start with watching Dance Moms
Reflecting back on my own studies, I am fortunate to have nothing but a flood of good memories associated with my main teachers and those they surrounded themselves with. They always taught from a place of encouragement and love. We worked so very hard--not because we feared humiliation or anger from those to whom we had entrusted our training, but because we had been given permission to be enough as human beings, and that the only expectation (aside from our commitments to classes, rehearsals, and performances) was that we always bring the best we had--as artists and as people.
Inevitably, on this journey to "greatness," we stumbled, both literally and figuratively (I still do, now that I'm the one in the director's chair), but we developed a need to keep striving--to be better artists and more importantly, better people. Our mentors' harshest critiques were so elegantly tactful, never an attack on the dancer's potential or worth as a human being. I don't recall them ever raising their voices--unless it was to avoid being drowned out by music. They had no need to yell or become cross--if they hadn't earned our respect by virtue of their very successful and satisfying careers, they had charmed us by leaving mention of their achievements out of it, save for the purpose of relating an amusing anecdote or to invite us on a historical romp through their fond memories. They had nothing to prove by throwing their achievements in our faces, for they were quite at peace with their illustrious careers--moments in time which may never again be possible for any dancer. They were happy to make us their priority, and graciously groomed many of us for the inevitable future in which we would be the responsible for passing on what they had given us.
In my own professional career, I was a little slow to recognize when I was not being treated with the same respect I was eager to give--it didn't occur to me until later that even persons with great achievements can fail to appreciate themselves and feel the need to "fix" in their protégés, the things that they remain unsatisfied with, in themselves. Thanks to changing attitudes, emotional and tyrannical outbursts have fallen out of favor as a management style. That isn't to say that they are an extinct occurrence, but it is important to me that dancers (and their guardians, if still in training) continue to push for it. The yelling and swearing at and belittling of another human being (especially if they are at a formative age) is completely unnecessary, and rarely brings out the best in someone. It is important to set high standards, but also to supply the tools and help develop the skills necessary to succeed. As I reflect back on the priceless life lessons my dance teachers taught me, I feel compelled to pass them on, so here are a few that I try to take with me daily as I continue to learn how to be a better teacher:
- Regardless of what you decide to do with your dancing, appreciate the skills that you gain by mastering your technique and artistry--they will prepare you for more than you know.
- Take care of your body--it is your instrument. Treat it with care, love, and give it the nutrition, conditioning, AND rest it needs to serve you.
- Cultivate your love for dance--if you are not loving it, everything about it starts to feel impossible and pointless, which can take it's toll.
- Take care to be humble--you will receive more opportunities than some of your peers, and less than others--take the time to celebrate your good fortune, while being sensitive to the disappointments of others.
- Punctuality, preparedness and neat appearance are a sign of respect--for your teachers, the art form, and yourself. Make them a ritual of your dance practice. However, in emergencies, we always prefer to see you arrive a little late if it guarantees you arrive safely and in one piece.
- Injuries happen. If the healing time is expected to be short, come and observe classes and rehearsals, so that you can remain current with choreography and corrections. If the injury is more serious, take some time away if you need. Being deprived of the thing that makes your soul sing can be very trying and the desire to be around it can fluctuate on a daily basis.
- If you feel you have been overlooked for an opportunity, and feel the need to seek reconsideration, be prepared to accept the original decision. Privately attend to your wounded pride, if necessary, and then try to learn from the critiques you have been given. Sometimes things are out of your control--but there's a lesson in that, too.
- If you are successful, you will inevitably feel the byproducts of jealousy--sometimes these can be quite amusing and other times, hurtful. Try not to be discouraged--those whose opinions really matter are usually too busy being successful to engage in such behavior.
- Be genuine--do artistically, what feels right from the bottom of your soul. People will see your passion and want to support it.
- Dance is an incredibly demanding art form--it's too hard if you don't absolutely love it. Taking time away to develop other parts of yourself is crucial, not only to your development as an artist and a person, but to maintaining a healthy relationship with the art form.
