Author Archives: asher
On Ballet – Wednesday Class Notes
Tonight my work at the barre was largely pretty good (except the odd moment of OMGWTFBBQ during a frappé combination) and my work at center was … um. My adagio was awkward, my turns were mostly horrible (with a few good ones). The little jumps went well, though. The little jumps always go well. I could do little jumps until tomorrow morning*. I mostly even counted them correctly. Mostly.
My turns were horrible, though, for the right reason — not because I wasn’t working, but because I was: working, and thinking about stuff, and trying to get things coordinated. And sometimes thinking a little too much.
Basically, my heels don’t like to touch the ground when I’m preparing for a turn. I do this weird boingy thing off the supporting leg. I get through the turns, but they don’t look great, and if I would do it right, I should have basically no trouble doing doubles and stuff.
So then I start thinking about getting my heels on the floor, and everything else goes to hell in a handbasket.
Keep hands and feet inside the vehicle until the ride comes to a full and complete stop.
So that’s my goal for this week: stop turning like a half-baked gymnast.
I am getting better at being upright and not tipped over backwards, and at keeping my collarbones open and my sternum lifted and my shoulders down instead of scrunched up around my ears. My arms have decided that they get to dance, too, which is good. For a long time, I had to think about adding arms to barre and floor combinations; now I have to concentrate on not using them when Brienne doesn’t want them.
In other news, I came out of this class feeling strong (if hot: once again, I left class looking like I’d showered in my ballet kit). So there’s that. And, also, I ate a ton of vegetables today. So yay!
Notes
*The only disconcerting thing about little jumps is that sometimes one suddenly wonders mid-combination if one’s dance belt is adjusted correctly, and if one didn’t just feel it shift. Sometimes one panics just a wee bit.
A Conversation From Last Night
Last night I met Jim, one of the men who does the Beginner/Intermediate class on Monday nights. He is a charming older fellow; one of the folks who throws out little improvised dances while Brienne listens to the music and decides how best to torture us next. I do this, too, so I liked him immediately.
After class, as we put our Normal People Clothes back on, he commented on how hard Brienne works us. I emphatically agreed. Then he said something about how ballet training has changed since he was young (I would guess he’s in his seventies) – how there is less focus now on endurance because they don’t want us to wind up with enormous thighs. He said, “Nijinsky had huge legs.”
Check out those hams. Nijinsky in Le Spectre de la Rose (image via Wikimedia Commons; public domain in US).
This is true. Pictures of Nijinsky show not a graceful sylph of a man but a solid little acrobat with legs even bigger than mine. Standing still, Nijinsky defied modern expectations about how dancers should look. In action, he was such a glory that he is still – at least among dancers – a household name.
“When he jumped, he just seemed to float,” Jim commented, “It was because of those enormous legs.”
So maybe I should take a moment to appreciate my own enormous legs, my legs-that-get-in-their-own-way-in-fifth-sometimes, my legs that force me to have suit pants specially tailored, which are also the same legs that lend me high, powerful leaps in the studio and sharp acceleration on the bike (and, not coincidentally, also the same legs that made Denis follow me all the way up a major local climb on the day we met).
I guess most of us hate some or another part of our bodies. We dancers and cyclists can be especially hard on ourselves — we spend hours upon hours dressed in skintight super-suits and, in the case of dancers, starting into mirrors. Our passions make stunning demands on our bodies and literally reshape them (as a dancer-from-childhood, I am blessed with funky hip sockets; as a cyclist, with Achilles’ tendons you could use to string a crossbow). I am no exception. I stare at myself in the studio mirrors and I think, Egads, are my legs really that big?
I have been learning to live with my legs, in part because returning to ballet has made a start at refining them (some days I’m like, “OMG, I have ankles!”). Maybe someday I could even learn to love them?
Maybe I am not the next Nijinsky, and my name will never become part of the saintly canon recited by dancers everywhere.
That doesn’t mean I can’t learn to appreciate the power implicit in these gigantic quads and wholly-unreasonable calves … does it?
Monday Class Notes, Some Other Stuff
Tonight I was having issues with my knees. Specifically, they did not want to be straight. Something to think about.
Brienne taught tonight, with her famous athletically – demanding barre. Four men in class (including me) and ten or more women. We were a big group!
Brienne roams and corrects during barre. I got a million corrections tonight; I was a bit of a mess. Also got a compliment on a self-correction, which was nice. Praise is always good, but really good when it’s for fixing yourself.
Our adage really felt like dancing, and I think I did it well the first couple of times. I am finding it much easier to remember choreography now. Still got lost in the count in petit allegro, though. I love little jumps and get carried away.
Evidently, from outside the room we sounded like elephants.
My left gastrocnemius (that big calf muscle), which I injured somehow last week, held up fine today. I think it is basically healed (thanks in part to a certain physiotherapist!).
Next time I’ll try to write down our choreography … speaking of which, I have decided to go with Satie, pending opinions from people who know stuff.
Leather side down!
2 AM. Can’t Sleep: Choreography.
I realized this evening that I will have to make an audition video for the graduate programs in Dance/Movement Therapy.
I kind of knew this anyway – it just hadn’t sunken in yet.
Tonight, in bed, I found myself percolating choreography. This is new – mostly I percolate writing. But it suddenly occurred to me that here I have this awesome chance to do something cool; make a dance and perform it and film it.
I am thinking about using either one of Eric Satie’s gymnopedies (three, maybe?) or a selection from Holst’s The Planets (Mercury, perhaps?). Very different pieces, but both ones I’ve loved so long that they’re in my bones. When we were little, my sister and I created epic ballets to The Planets every chance we got.
So now I can’t sleep because my brain won’t quit dancing. I guess I should apply the brakes to avoid mania, but this creative force feels really good.
Now if I can just master grand jete en tournant (or, as my phone would have it, en gourmand) by November………..
On Ballet! – Instant Saturday Men’s Class
This morning, Denis, Nicolas, and I all arrived for our 10:00 class with plenty of time to change … only to realize that the Saturday schedule is also different in the summer. Oops! We then took a pre-class field trip to the farmer’s market across the street, where Denis and I purchased a bunch of kohlrabi (my favorite vegetable!), a pretzel batard, and a huge frozen duck.
When we returned to LBS, the school director had opened up, so we hung out and waited ’til Margie arrived. That was probably wise, because by then Denis and I were basically out of cash.
Surprisingly enough, it was just the three of us today. Margie decided that since all the students were guys, we’d focus on power for leaps. I love jumping, so I enjoyed the heck out of that class.
After, I stuck around for the next class as well. Today’s highlight (besides ZOMG 2.25 hours of ballet class!!!)? Developpés. I have been struggling with these a bit, and I now realize it’s a technique thing*.
For the past several weeks, presumably, I’ve been developpé-ing to passé/retiré** then extending and using sheer force of will to crank my extension higher***. Margie instructed us to continue to bring the knee up before beginning to extend. The result? Instant higher extensions. Looks better, too — much more graceful; much less like something you’d see a machine on a construction site doing.
We’re building dancers, not buildings.
During the grand allegro bit, we did a combination with a double pirouette. I went for it and made one happen. And then my ego was all like, “Surprise!” It wasn’t the best double ever, but being as I’ve only been back in the studio for a couple of months, I’ll take it.
Oh, one last bit. So about that glissade-assemblé thing? It seems I was just overthinking it. And also my glissades are looking kind of light and bouyant and a little bit awesome (relatively speaking).
Now I need to go find some food, because all that ballet can really make you pretty hungry.
Notes
*This statement is more or less inherently redundant. It’s ballet! Of course it’s a technique thing.
**Which one you’re doing depends on whether you’re going to close back where you started or on the other side of your supporting leg. Passé involves passing the leg — in other words, you might begin in fifth closed behind, developpé to passe, and then close in fifth in front. Retiré means you put your foot back where it came from.
Your Mom may not be impressed by your decision to take up ballet (though mine seemed happy to hear that we’re dancing and was really excited for us about getting to take class at the Joffrey), but she will indubitably be ever so proud to see you putting things back where they came from!
***This was painful, but probably a decent workout for some of the core muscles, I guess?
Ballet Lessons: Fear of Falling
At LBS, I have the privilege of working with a number of really good teachers. Even though we’re doing the same basic stuff (it’s all ballet, after all), they all teach a little differently, and that means that their classes amplify one-another.
Recently, I had a class with Claire — the same really sharp teacher who stuck a finger in the middle of my chest and said, “Lift this up and forward!” and sort of instantaneously corrected a major postural fault. That solved a lot of problems for me, though I still have to work on it consciously all the time, and sometimes I even over-correct.
Somewhere around the middle of the class, after we finished a bit of across-the-flooring with a turn, Claire said to another student, “You almost went for a double there, didn’t you?” The student in question agreed that, yes, she had.
Claire then said something very much like, “You guys should always go for the double, if you feel like it. The worst thing that’s going to happen is maybe you fall over. You can either be careful and go for the single, or take a risk and go for the double and you might fall — but you might hit the double! Or, you know, you might miss it a thousand times, but then you’ll get it, and you’ll have it.”
I wish I could remember her words more exactly. The point she was making is that you’re never going to do a double pirouette until you try to do a double pirouette — and that falling isn’t that big a deal.
No matter how badly you want to do something, you’ll never succeed until you try — and you can’t let fear get in the way.
This isn’t to say that you can’t be afraid. Bravery isn’t the absence of fear — it’s being afraid and taking the leap anyway.
In the ballet studio, as in life, people fall down sometimes when they try new things. Injuries occur once in a while, but almost anything worth doing involves some degree of risk — and as far as I know, none of us have died of humiliation yet. At least not in class.
In real life, I guess people do sometimes seriously get hurt or die as the result of actual falls. However, I think the fear of falling itself does a lot more damage — the fear that makes us not get up and do the things we dream about doing.
In ballet, we address this possibility by reaching for moves that are just beyond our grasp: once we have a single pirouette nailed, we reach for a double instead of shooting for 32 fouettés right away!
The student who almost did a double pirouette in our combination went on to hit several as class continued. She looked thrilled for herself, and I think we were all thrilled for her.
In real life, we can do the same thing. If we can set aside the fear of falling, we can stretch our comfort zones a little at a time, and if we do, sometimes we’ll find that they grow by leaps and bounds.
On Ballet! – Wednesday Class Notes
First, it was Open House night, so class was freeeee! Woohoo!!!! Free ballet class is like the best thing EVAR.
It was also packed. I think there were about fifteen of — four on each barre, except my barre, which had three.
Second, Brienne’s class is officially one heck of a workout. Not counting hot rides on the bike, I haven’t sweated like this since Muay Thai. Seriously. And it’s every. Single. Class. By the end of barre, I was soaked, flat out dripping, like I’d just stepped out of the shower (you know, assuming I had, like, showered in my ballet clothes — which I mostly try to avoid, though I did accidentally run my canvas shoes through the wash).
Row, row, row your barre,
Gently down the sweat…
I was like jelly again today during grand battement, so I hung out after class and asked Brienne for some pointers on how to fix that. I think she has me sorted. Now I will practicepracticepractice until I nail that down.
In case you’re wondering: think about driving the weight down through the supporting leg while the imaginary string that always pulls you up keeps pulling. This is what I’m doing when it works, I think; obviously, this is what I’m not doing when it’s a hot mess.
I suspect I also do better when I can’t see myself in the mirror. I get distracted. More stuff to think about and work on and stuff.
In other news, I am beginning to think that all this ballet is actually really going to make me rather a better cyclist.
First of all, it makes weighing less a huge freaking deal. You know how much of a pain it is to haul extra weight up a hill on a bike? That same extra weight makes everything you do in ballet class that much harder. By the end of Brienne’s barre, I feel every single extra ounce.
For the record, I really have to be motivated to ride so hard my legs burn. Give me someone to chase up a climb, and I’ll make my quads scream. Beyond that, I tend to be like, “Meh, I’m going fast enough right now. I don’t need to go faster than 20MPH max speed on this ride. I can afford to average 14 (or 12, or whatever). I’m good.”
In ballet class, I don’t get that luxury. I get Brienne going, “…And now we’re gonna do it again!” Which she totally does every time we finish a combination that makes us all look like we’re about to cry, but we’re keeping it all inside because there’s no crying in ballet class (say that in your best Tom-Hanks-in-A-League-of-Their-Own voice). And because I find group class settings highly motivating, I keep pushing.
For the record, my thighs feel really different than they did, what, five? weeks ago? Six? You know, back when I bit the bullet and got back into teh ballets. They look kinda different, too.
Which brings me back to point two: I am stronger than I was before I got back in the studio. My core is stronger. My legs are stronger. The balance between my quads and all the stuff that opposes them is better. My butt, people, is like cold blue steel. Okay, so actually kinda warmish peachy steel with a nice layer of foam on top, but steel, kay? Like if I was standing in a parking lot, and you backed your car into my butt, I would dent your car.
All of that makes me a wee bit faster on the bike.
As for center work: There were no “Fosse! Fosse! Fosse!” moments during petit allegro . Just me losing count occasionally, but mostly doing okay. Once, during our nice little adagio thing, I realized my arabesque looked more like an ar-embarrassment, and fixed it without falling over. I’m gonna blame that on being super hungry by then, though … yeah. It was totally the result of low blood sugar. Ballet bonk. (FWIW, I was a tad cranky on the way home.)
Anyway.
It wasn’t my prettiest class ever, but I can tell I’m making progress, and that’s what counts.
That’s it for now.
Leather side down!
On Ballet! – Quick Monday Class Notes
Strengths Today:
Barre work was pretty okay, though I got lost in a couple of long combinations (mainly because I can’t think and count at the same time, apparently).
l am, however, getting better at remembering combinations in general, so there’s hope!
My back is improving. I spend less time each class going, “Fosse! Fosse! Fosse!” and not keeping it all inside.
Also, surprised myself with a decent pirouette in a combination (decent is relative, here, probably?). Huh. So that’s that.
Weaknesses Today:
I have some kind of mental block about following a glissade with an assemble. Since this is like the most common sub-combo in the history of ballet … Erm. Yeah.
Frustratingly, I can glissade and I can assemble … as long as they’re separate.
Together? Well, I could do this when I was seven. It’ll come.
Edit: PS, I pulled a muscle in my calf but was able to finish class. Because that’s how cyclists ballet, y’all.
On Ballet: Saturday Class Notes
So it happened, yesterday.
We had a substitute, who was awesome, and I got called out in class on being lazy with the pulling-up-the-quads and the using-all-those-muscles-that-make-your-turnout-turn-out.
I mean, not that I was being lazy on purpose. Like, I thought I was doing all that stuff.
Except it turns out that I wasn’t — or, rather, I wasn’t doing it all the way — and that when I really engage the the piriformis and all those other muscles, my turnout suddenly gets quite a bit better. But, wow, it takes work, and concentration, and I can’t keep it going for all that long yet*.
Pull these muscles up. Then pull them up some more. Then a little more. Then unlock your knees, pull them back up, unlock your knees again, pull them back up, and you’re good to go.
Baby steps?
It’s funny how knowing there’s some arcane thing you’re good at makes you want to work to do that thing even better. Somehow, as humans, we’re wired to want to work on the stuff we’re good at. Likewise, we see perfecting the thing we do well as a kind of responsibility — or, at least I do. Of course, the upshot of all this, in my case, is that I tend to neglect the stuff I’m not good at.
The cool thing about ballet is that there’s no room for that (maybe this is true of life in general?). If your legs are great and your arms suck, you suck it up and work on your arms … while still working on your legs because, you know, you don’t want those to just fall apart. Same thing goes if you’re strong on technique but weak on musicality or interpretation. You can’t let one go while you’re working on the other.
The sum of all this can seem like a bit of a centipede’s dilemma. Suddenly you’re trying to remember to keep your belly zipped up; your turnout muscles REALLY, REALLY engaged; your shoulders down; your neck long; and your arms … well, not tangled, at very least — all while counting, or also remembering some combination, or while balancing on the ball of one foot, or while doing turns. Oh, and also, don’t lock your knees.
Little by little, though, all of these things become normal and natural — like all the tiny little elements involved in riding a bike.
Of course, in the beginning, as soon as one thing becomes natural, your teacher adds five more.
…But if I wanted to do something easy, I’d have gotten into rocket surgery, right?
Notes
*And, also, my thigh flabs still get in the way when I’m in 5th, even though I’ve now lost 11 pounds this year and they’re quite a bit smaller than they used to be. Having ridonculously huge cycling muscles doesn’t help, either.
Ballet Lessons
Lesson One: Everyone Starts At The Beginning
There’s a famous saying in cycling circles attributed to Greg Lemond: “It never gets easier, you just go faster.”
It reminds me of something my ballet teachers say: “In ballet, you keep doing the same basic things. You just get better at them.”
Many adult beginners (and probably some child beginners) walk into the studio carrying a load of worry about being beginners. Adult re-beginners often walk into the studio carrying a load of worry about how much they’ve lost in the year or ten years or more that have elapsed since last they slipped on their slippers and danced ballet.
Yet, just as basic elements of cycling remain the same no matter how long you ride — you turn the cranks and balance; that’s basically it — the basic elements of ballet never change. Like cycling technique, ballet technique elaborates upon itself.
The five basic positions (of which you will mostly never use one — the third — unless you can’t get into fifth for some reason) never change.
Everything begins and ends with turnout and plié.
Tendu leads to dégagé. Dégagé leads to grand battement. Grand battement leads to jeté. Jeté leads to tour jeté. Tour jeté, for what it’s worth, looks really impressive.
You learn tombé and fondu at the barre; later they become connecting steps that you will use all day, every day, at center and eventually on the stage.
And still everything will begin and end with turnout and plié.
When we first began class, Denis worried about how polished many of our classmates seemed. Now, he is beginning to show a little polish of his own. He began at the beginning — all the way at the beginning, having never set foot in a ballet studio before.
Last Saturday, at the Joffrey, the population of our class ranged from newbies even less polished than Denis to one guy who danced with a degree of refinement that suggested he was at very least an advanced student who was either filling in a class due to a scheduling issue or possibly working back from an injury.
We all did the same things. Nobody judged anyone else.
We were all true beginners once. Every principal dancer commanding the stage; every top racer commanding the mountain — they, too, were beginners once. They, too, start every single day — every class, every workout — with the same basic things we do. They have simply been doing them longer.
So beginning is important — and not just important. It’s good. If no one was ever a beginner, we would not have the David Hallbergs and Jens Voigts of the world; the Natalia Osipovas and Marianne Voses of the world.
I’m not going to say we shouldn’t worry about being beginners. To worry is human. What we shouldn’t do is let that worry stop us from beginning.
Everyone starts at the beginning … and once we start, we often learn that the little elemental skills we learn at first lie at the heart of something beautiful; that the beginning is, in fact, the most important part.
danseur ignoble 