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.
Sunday, July 22, 2012
Pushing my envelope
Class at a Manhattan professional studio
Level: Intermediate
Air temperature: approx 102 degrees Farhenheit
Teacher: Russian
Teacher's assistant: fantastically good dancer, a little haughty
Barre: survivable if I really, really concentrated -- he didn't give combinations... they just happened
Center: Excruciating -- even relegated to the back row, but a treat to watch the company trainees and retirees, the up-and-comers and the on-the-way-outers all so powerful and assured. Now I have something to really strive for.
Favorite (killer) combination: temps-de-cuisse sissone (side), p-d-chat 2x, reverse, then t-de-cuisse sissone front, t-de-cuisse sissone back, t-de cuisee front 3x... reverse the whole thing. Phew.
Very sore today.
Level: Intermediate
Air temperature: approx 102 degrees Farhenheit
Teacher: Russian
Teacher's assistant: fantastically good dancer, a little haughty
Barre: survivable if I really, really concentrated -- he didn't give combinations... they just happened
Center: Excruciating -- even relegated to the back row, but a treat to watch the company trainees and retirees, the up-and-comers and the on-the-way-outers all so powerful and assured. Now I have something to really strive for.
Favorite (killer) combination: temps-de-cuisse sissone (side), p-d-chat 2x, reverse, then t-de-cuisse sissone front, t-de-cuisse sissone back, t-de cuisee front 3x... reverse the whole thing. Phew.
Very sore today.
Saturday, May 26, 2012
Yoga and Ballet: parallel lives?
I was complaining that yoga just isn't ballet, and it's not, but I'm taking this yoga class from a professional dancer/choreographer and it is totally kicking my butt. It's fantastic to watch her move through the asanas, so fluid and so light. She practices a pure, classical Hatha form, which means lots of sequences (vinyasas) that really focus on alignment and core energy. I'm hoping that a couple weeks of this will get me to a place that will benefit my dancing when classes start up again in June.
The relationship between yoga and ballet, in their modern forms as we know them in the "West" might be closer than it seems at first glance. Mark Singleton's fascinating book Yoga Body: The Origins of Modern Posture Practice explores the "invention" of physical yoga through a confluence of Indian nationalism, western Orientalism, the physical culture movement, and other varieties of late nineteenth and early twentieth century body-based ideologies (e.g. eugenics, Muscular Christianity...). Likewise, Jennifer Homan's incredible Apollo's Angels reminds us that ballet as we know it is the strange marriage of French aristocratic court ritual, Italian folk theater, and Russian nationalism both Imperial and Soviet. Oh, and throw in some Scandinavian nationalism as well, which is also part of the whole yoga thing, according to Singleton. And then both really take off as commercial ventures in England and then, in the first blush of the modernist era, the United States, under the influence of "exotic" foreigners from the Orient (Russia, India...). Furthermore, the fundamentally Romantic core narratives of ballet seem to me linked to the romantic idea of yoga as a soul-purifying and elevating practice in which the improvement of the physical body is linked to the advancement of the spiritual self; Giselle? La Sylphide? And let's not even talk about La Bayadere (sorry for lack of accent -- not that advanced with this tool yet).
Now that it has occurred to me, I'm going to have to root around and find out if there has been any work done comparing the histories of the two disciplines and their recent histories... any comments?
I was complaining that yoga just isn't ballet, and it's not, but I'm taking this yoga class from a professional dancer/choreographer and it is totally kicking my butt. It's fantastic to watch her move through the asanas, so fluid and so light. She practices a pure, classical Hatha form, which means lots of sequences (vinyasas) that really focus on alignment and core energy. I'm hoping that a couple weeks of this will get me to a place that will benefit my dancing when classes start up again in June.
The relationship between yoga and ballet, in their modern forms as we know them in the "West" might be closer than it seems at first glance. Mark Singleton's fascinating book Yoga Body: The Origins of Modern Posture Practice explores the "invention" of physical yoga through a confluence of Indian nationalism, western Orientalism, the physical culture movement, and other varieties of late nineteenth and early twentieth century body-based ideologies (e.g. eugenics, Muscular Christianity...). Likewise, Jennifer Homan's incredible Apollo's Angels reminds us that ballet as we know it is the strange marriage of French aristocratic court ritual, Italian folk theater, and Russian nationalism both Imperial and Soviet. Oh, and throw in some Scandinavian nationalism as well, which is also part of the whole yoga thing, according to Singleton. And then both really take off as commercial ventures in England and then, in the first blush of the modernist era, the United States, under the influence of "exotic" foreigners from the Orient (Russia, India...). Furthermore, the fundamentally Romantic core narratives of ballet seem to me linked to the romantic idea of yoga as a soul-purifying and elevating practice in which the improvement of the physical body is linked to the advancement of the spiritual self; Giselle? La Sylphide? And let's not even talk about La Bayadere (sorry for lack of accent -- not that advanced with this tool yet).
Now that it has occurred to me, I'm going to have to root around and find out if there has been any work done comparing the histories of the two disciplines and their recent histories... any comments?
Tuesday, May 15, 2012
I'm struggling with the long hiatus between the end of the spring semester and the summer session at my local ballet school. Six weeks is too long, but in my small town there are no other ballet schools, so I just have to suck it up and do barre at home as best I can, workout in the basement to my various ballet-exercise dvds (feeling like a doofus as I do), go to yoga (sigh -- I don't hate yoga, but it's just so... yoga).
I used to be absolutely addicted to yoga, actually. I went four or five times a week to a fancy-pants yoga studio, yog'd through my first pregnancy, could do things like elbow-supported headstands for indefinite periods of time, and read Yoga Journal. I don't know what happened to all that. I moved away from California and my favorite yoga teacher, maybe that was it. So sometimes I wonder if my current somewhat insane interest in ballet won't go the way of yoga, fading into a mild interest that results in attending the occasional class and doing some plies at home. Who knows? I guess it doesn't matter. I love it now.
So, tomorrow I'll go to yoga, but as I'm doing surianamaskara A, I'll be thinking brise vole. Yes I will.
I used to be absolutely addicted to yoga, actually. I went four or five times a week to a fancy-pants yoga studio, yog'd through my first pregnancy, could do things like elbow-supported headstands for indefinite periods of time, and read Yoga Journal. I don't know what happened to all that. I moved away from California and my favorite yoga teacher, maybe that was it. So sometimes I wonder if my current somewhat insane interest in ballet won't go the way of yoga, fading into a mild interest that results in attending the occasional class and doing some plies at home. Who knows? I guess it doesn't matter. I love it now.
So, tomorrow I'll go to yoga, but as I'm doing surianamaskara A, I'll be thinking brise vole. Yes I will.
Sunday, May 6, 2012
One of the nice things about going back to ballet in my forties has been that I actually enjoy it in a way I wasn't able to as a competitive young dancer. I look at myself in the mirror and I think, "Wow, I can DO that," where I used to think, "I hate my knees!" or something along those lines.
Another nice thing is that leotards, tights, and dance shoes have all gotten so much more comfortable. No more scratchy nylon or glistening spandex! Split-sole technique shoes! And best of all, the new pointe shoes are just so much better than the old ones.
What? Forty-something bunhead on pointe? Sure. Why not? Okay, don't tell me why not. But let's just take a look. My last pair of pointe shoes from back in the day were Capezios, one of the first models they made in imitation of the Freeds that were actually de rigeur at my ballet school, but the ballet mistress had taken pity on me and allowed me to buy the Capezios when I started going through a pair of Freeds a week and my dad threw a fit. But for the added durability I paid an, ahem, stiff price. Those babies were hard as rocks. I still have them, complete with bloodstains and horrible black marks from beating them against the wall to try to soften them up. They're really, really ugly, not to mention I can still recall how much they hurt my poor young feet.
Now I'm on my second pair of Bloch (European Balance, size 5xx, for my "peasant" feet) pointe shoes; delovely! Of course, pointe is not for the faint of foot, but these are actually quite comfortable and I've only had one blister in all this time, that caused by my toe pad being a bit out of kilter. Oh, yeah, toe pads. Old style: bare feet, tape, sweat and blood. New style: lovely little padded toe sock, no blisters, no blood.
One of these days I'll post a compare and contrast photo of my pointe shoes old and new.
Okay, time to go do some plies.
Another nice thing is that leotards, tights, and dance shoes have all gotten so much more comfortable. No more scratchy nylon or glistening spandex! Split-sole technique shoes! And best of all, the new pointe shoes are just so much better than the old ones.
What? Forty-something bunhead on pointe? Sure. Why not? Okay, don't tell me why not. But let's just take a look. My last pair of pointe shoes from back in the day were Capezios, one of the first models they made in imitation of the Freeds that were actually de rigeur at my ballet school, but the ballet mistress had taken pity on me and allowed me to buy the Capezios when I started going through a pair of Freeds a week and my dad threw a fit. But for the added durability I paid an, ahem, stiff price. Those babies were hard as rocks. I still have them, complete with bloodstains and horrible black marks from beating them against the wall to try to soften them up. They're really, really ugly, not to mention I can still recall how much they hurt my poor young feet.
Now I'm on my second pair of Bloch (European Balance, size 5xx, for my "peasant" feet) pointe shoes; delovely! Of course, pointe is not for the faint of foot, but these are actually quite comfortable and I've only had one blister in all this time, that caused by my toe pad being a bit out of kilter. Oh, yeah, toe pads. Old style: bare feet, tape, sweat and blood. New style: lovely little padded toe sock, no blisters, no blood.
One of these days I'll post a compare and contrast photo of my pointe shoes old and new.
Okay, time to go do some plies.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)