I went back to the Wednesday studio tonight -- wow, it was packed. Miss Noodle was absent, but there were several more pasta-girls to take her place, and as I was watching combinations and waiting for my turn I noticed that the noodle thing is kind endemic to the studio. So I started taking closer note of the teacher. She's a noodle type too; better technique of course, but there's this squirmy, wiggly thing going on there.
When I was a teenager, our local free weekly paper had a review of Flashdance (remember, I'm over forty) that ran as long as the movie was playing in town, and since I grew up in Seattle, and it rains all the time, people watch a lot of movies and popular movies could play for six, seven months. So I remember this review very clearly, because I read it every week as I was being a little bun-headed poser in a coffee shop near Cornish (my ballet school). It went something like this:
An animated piece of rubber surgical tubing works in a factory, but only wants to dance, dance, dance, which for no discernible reason, she is permitted to do.
That "animated piece of rubber surgical tubing" bit cracked me up, weekly, at the time, and it floated to the surface of my memory as I was watching one particularly limber lass busta move tonight. It's a funny style, so unlike the strait-laced thing I grew up with and also that I still think of as being "good" ballet. But it has its attraction.
I have a theory about it, too: a lot of these gals are "contemporary" or "lyrical" dancers and a lot of them have also done a ton of hip-hop, etc., and those particular genres of dance, with their competitions and their dance squads and so forth, really emphasize insane flexibility and a kind of acrobatic virtuosity. Then, if you watch a more "modern" classical ballet company, like NYCB, you notice that their dancers also have these super-dramatic gestures that exaggerate classical forms. Thus, allonge is super extended, hips and shoulders out of square, and my favorite is the move that looks sort of like you're ripping off your shirt as you carry your arms from first to en haut. Of course, when Wendy Wheelan or Sara Mearns does it, it's elegant, restrained, just a hint of the mannerism that gives flavor and style, but when most of us amateurs try it on, it goes all crazy for us.
I think it's pretty obvious I'm a bit of a ballet snob. Not that I think I'm all that as a dancer (look, I'm just doing this for fun at this point, girls), but rather I've watched a lot of ballet and I've formed my taste over many years and many performances by many dancers, and what I've come to think is that the technique is what keeps ballet from descending into utter silliness. When I'm in class, I'm thinking about form all the time, not in the mean way I used to when I was a kid, but in a kind of analytical, exploratory way -- I think I learned that approach from all those years of yoga, which taught me to listen to my body rather than to try to just boss it around. That's what keeps it from getting boring and/or frustrating, I think. And when I pay to see ballet, I want to see dancers who are just there, completely channeling the classical form, even if they're asking their bodies to do things that aren't standard steps or gestures. And a lot of this lyrical/contemporary stuff lacks that core. Not all of it, by any means. Just a lot.
So what fascinates/concerns me about Noodle Studio is how mannerism (in the art historical sense -- not only am I over forty, but I am an art history professor, so you'll have to deal with my jargon, I guess) seems to be the style, rather than an element of style added to the mix.
I must say, it's really fun. And while I am regrettably dissimilar to rubber surgical tubing, I like when for no discernible reason I get to just dance dance dance!
Friday, September 21, 2012
Thursday, September 20, 2012
Ballet Blind Dates Episode 2: The noodle
I feel like I'm dating or something... Monday's date was really nice, but she wasn't my type, exactly. So, six blocks away, another studio, another teacher.
It wasn't promising, at first sight: basically, imagine what happens when you set up your dance studio in a converted self-storage garage type space. Yup.
No dressing room -- the other place was looking better and better -- it had the nicest dressing room I've ever seen at a ballet studio, to be honest. Date #2, not so much. I changed in the bathroom.
So, I'm waiting for class to start and the other students are starting to congregate. This very tall, skinny noodle, about 30, maybe, comes in. She's the kind of indie-chick I think I really wished I was, at that age, but I wasn't. A little dorky, a little cool. She starts stretching out and my god, the child has not a tendon in her body, evidently. I have never seen a white girl who was not Russian bend the way this youngster was bending. The other women, and the one guy, looked like Regular People, ranging in age, body type, and outfit from "Hello, I'm new at this," to "I bought this leotard in 1985 and I don't give a crap what you think." There were about eight of us all told. As we're finding our places at barre, and after I've introduced myself to the teacher, another tall skinny type, looking a bit like a yoga instructor with ballerina feet, Noodle Chick is stretching (again!) and one of the other students, who turned out to be a relative newbie, asks her "Are you a professional dancer?" Noodle Chick is embarrassed and flattered, and makes appropriate noises. The other girl says, "Because you;re so good." Noodle demurs -- no, she's not a professional, but she has been doing this for a while, off and on for years.
So, of course, out of the corner of my eye, I watch her. It helps that this is one of those weird studios with mirrors on three walls (WTF?) so you are constantly assaulted by your own, and everyone elses' reflections. Right off, like, during plies, I start to notice something incredibly disturbing about Miss Noodle. That hypermobility seems to have given her this bizarre disjointed, wiggly way of moving, so for example, when she does a grand port-de-bras, her whole middle comes unhinged. And her long, long, boneless arms are just flying everywhere, as if gravity itself is a bit cowed by their rubbery defiance.
Come grands battements, things get serious. I start to worry that Miss Noodle is going to do a damage to herself. Her back looks as if it's taking a huge amount of strain because the corollary to fantastic flexibility is, as we all know so well, poor tone. This woman has the moves, for sure, but it's strange to see a dancer who basically has no core, no center.
Meanwhile, the teacher isn't giving much correction, and certainly isn't messing with Noodle's contortions. Her combinations are challenging, from a mental standpoint, and she likes to set them to presto tempos. Good for the brain, good for training the feet and legs for petit allegro. Good for sweating buckets in the steamy southern California evening.
Center, and I get to watch Noodle in action -- beautiful extensions, of course, though no surprise she can not sustain them -- I think she simply doesn't have the strength. The more I watch her the more I worry about her -- there's something disjointed, literally, about the way she moves. She mentioned to the girl who thought she was a professional that she keeps getting injured. No doubt! It sort of distresses me that the teacher doesn't work with her on this issue a little more actively.
In fact, in retrospect, I don't think the teacher did a ton of teaching. She seemed like a great choreographer and her combinations were fun, dancy, way more enjoyable than Date #1. On the other hand, Monday's teacher really emphasized technique and was not shy to pinpoint my weaknesses and tell me what I was doing wrong right off the bat. Her combinations were not as much fun, but it's true that after class she said I should take her colleague's Saturday morning class too, "He teaches like a choreographer and I choreograph like a teacher," she explained. Well, Date #2 was all choreographer, I guess.
Conclusion: I think I'll go back to both studios for balance. I need Monday Night's discipline but I don't think I can resist going back to Wednesday, if only to gape at Miss Noodle and enjoy the live accompanist on Saturdays. Or, should I try a third blind date. I bought a bike so I can get around town (no car while I'm here) so I could possibly make my way out to what I'm calling the Important Local Ballet Company School this weekend. Hmm.
It wasn't promising, at first sight: basically, imagine what happens when you set up your dance studio in a converted self-storage garage type space. Yup.
No dressing room -- the other place was looking better and better -- it had the nicest dressing room I've ever seen at a ballet studio, to be honest. Date #2, not so much. I changed in the bathroom.
So, I'm waiting for class to start and the other students are starting to congregate. This very tall, skinny noodle, about 30, maybe, comes in. She's the kind of indie-chick I think I really wished I was, at that age, but I wasn't. A little dorky, a little cool. She starts stretching out and my god, the child has not a tendon in her body, evidently. I have never seen a white girl who was not Russian bend the way this youngster was bending. The other women, and the one guy, looked like Regular People, ranging in age, body type, and outfit from "Hello, I'm new at this," to "I bought this leotard in 1985 and I don't give a crap what you think." There were about eight of us all told. As we're finding our places at barre, and after I've introduced myself to the teacher, another tall skinny type, looking a bit like a yoga instructor with ballerina feet, Noodle Chick is stretching (again!) and one of the other students, who turned out to be a relative newbie, asks her "Are you a professional dancer?" Noodle Chick is embarrassed and flattered, and makes appropriate noises. The other girl says, "Because you;re so good." Noodle demurs -- no, she's not a professional, but she has been doing this for a while, off and on for years.
So, of course, out of the corner of my eye, I watch her. It helps that this is one of those weird studios with mirrors on three walls (WTF?) so you are constantly assaulted by your own, and everyone elses' reflections. Right off, like, during plies, I start to notice something incredibly disturbing about Miss Noodle. That hypermobility seems to have given her this bizarre disjointed, wiggly way of moving, so for example, when she does a grand port-de-bras, her whole middle comes unhinged. And her long, long, boneless arms are just flying everywhere, as if gravity itself is a bit cowed by their rubbery defiance.
Come grands battements, things get serious. I start to worry that Miss Noodle is going to do a damage to herself. Her back looks as if it's taking a huge amount of strain because the corollary to fantastic flexibility is, as we all know so well, poor tone. This woman has the moves, for sure, but it's strange to see a dancer who basically has no core, no center.
Meanwhile, the teacher isn't giving much correction, and certainly isn't messing with Noodle's contortions. Her combinations are challenging, from a mental standpoint, and she likes to set them to presto tempos. Good for the brain, good for training the feet and legs for petit allegro. Good for sweating buckets in the steamy southern California evening.
Center, and I get to watch Noodle in action -- beautiful extensions, of course, though no surprise she can not sustain them -- I think she simply doesn't have the strength. The more I watch her the more I worry about her -- there's something disjointed, literally, about the way she moves. She mentioned to the girl who thought she was a professional that she keeps getting injured. No doubt! It sort of distresses me that the teacher doesn't work with her on this issue a little more actively.
In fact, in retrospect, I don't think the teacher did a ton of teaching. She seemed like a great choreographer and her combinations were fun, dancy, way more enjoyable than Date #1. On the other hand, Monday's teacher really emphasized technique and was not shy to pinpoint my weaknesses and tell me what I was doing wrong right off the bat. Her combinations were not as much fun, but it's true that after class she said I should take her colleague's Saturday morning class too, "He teaches like a choreographer and I choreograph like a teacher," she explained. Well, Date #2 was all choreographer, I guess.
Conclusion: I think I'll go back to both studios for balance. I need Monday Night's discipline but I don't think I can resist going back to Wednesday, if only to gape at Miss Noodle and enjoy the live accompanist on Saturdays. Or, should I try a third blind date. I bought a bike so I can get around town (no car while I'm here) so I could possibly make my way out to what I'm calling the Important Local Ballet Company School this weekend. Hmm.
Tuesday, September 18, 2012
Way out West
Monday night I ventured forth from my temporary SoCal residence to take a class at a local studio. After my experience in New York in July, I was nervous. Not that it is bad to be challenged, but oy vey!
This being let's say the greater LA area, there was, as expected at least one actor (of the female variety) in the class. The other students were a twelve year old girl, an absolutely fantastic Asian woman in her thirties, clearly a professional of some sort, a gray-haired woman in her late fifties or early sixties, skinny as a rail, and me. The older woman (by which I mean, older than I am), had her pointes on. Wow. I thought I was radical, pushing my mid-forties and doing that. I was filled with admiration. And I couldn't help noticing that while no expert, she was pretty darn solid.
The teacher, a woman who by the looks of her has never missed a day at the barre, though she made it clear she's about the same age as the pointe-shoe lady, was like a ballet teacher in a t.v. show about adult ballet; I am imagining this t.v. show, but given the state of reality television and the current vogue for dance-related shows, it won't be long...
I was so stiff and self-conscious at first: what gets into me? The combinations weren't so much difficult as different to what I'm used to getting at home, so I struggled a bit. I looked at the ground, I wobbled: she noticed. I'll say this -- that teacher in New York did not even see me, but this gal was super-attentive. By then end of class I got the sense she had a very clear picture of what all of my failings as a dancer are. But she was generally quite jolly about it.
What was not jolly at all was her final combination: changements, quattres, and royales, as she put it "forever" -- or at least for 64 counts. I really, literally thought I would die. Fortunately, even miss former-professional ballerina struggled with it and the grey-hair and pointe shoes lady ran for her inhaler.
Best combination: a complicated thing with piques that defies description but that really kept the little grey cells going despite its fundamental dancey-ness.
Next up: to try the "Ballet-Booty" fitness class at the nearby yoga outfit.
This being let's say the greater LA area, there was, as expected at least one actor (of the female variety) in the class. The other students were a twelve year old girl, an absolutely fantastic Asian woman in her thirties, clearly a professional of some sort, a gray-haired woman in her late fifties or early sixties, skinny as a rail, and me. The older woman (by which I mean, older than I am), had her pointes on. Wow. I thought I was radical, pushing my mid-forties and doing that. I was filled with admiration. And I couldn't help noticing that while no expert, she was pretty darn solid.
The teacher, a woman who by the looks of her has never missed a day at the barre, though she made it clear she's about the same age as the pointe-shoe lady, was like a ballet teacher in a t.v. show about adult ballet; I am imagining this t.v. show, but given the state of reality television and the current vogue for dance-related shows, it won't be long...
I was so stiff and self-conscious at first: what gets into me? The combinations weren't so much difficult as different to what I'm used to getting at home, so I struggled a bit. I looked at the ground, I wobbled: she noticed. I'll say this -- that teacher in New York did not even see me, but this gal was super-attentive. By then end of class I got the sense she had a very clear picture of what all of my failings as a dancer are. But she was generally quite jolly about it.
What was not jolly at all was her final combination: changements, quattres, and royales, as she put it "forever" -- or at least for 64 counts. I really, literally thought I would die. Fortunately, even miss former-professional ballerina struggled with it and the grey-hair and pointe shoes lady ran for her inhaler.
Best combination: a complicated thing with piques that defies description but that really kept the little grey cells going despite its fundamental dancey-ness.
Next up: to try the "Ballet-Booty" fitness class at the nearby yoga outfit.
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