I watched the young nine year olds with their hair up in little ballet buns dancing about - so excited, so exuberant in their desire to express themselves through movement. The ballet class had not begun yet, and so these young dancers were simply "playing" before the class. Over and over again many of them kept trying fouettés and many other types of balletic turns which were far beyond their current skills, but, they were undaunted in their effort to try: replicating whatever images danced in their heads of what dancers, ballet dancers specifically, do.
I watched their joy and their enthusiasm with mixed emotions. On the one hand, I was delighted to see their spontaneous energy and natural instinct for dance. On the other hand, I worried for their futures: how their minds might be molded, how their bodies would likely be damaged, how their natural dancing instincts might collapse under the pressure of extreme expectations of perfection - of false ideas of what it means to be a dancer.
A part of me could not help but think: the implicit brainwashing had begun for these young minds. In fact, it probably began at age 5. The indoctrination of the balletic aesthetic and the balletic "rules" as the superior dance form, the ideal of what the term "dancer" meant had made its mark.
I recall my own joy in dance, my own childhood growing up in the ballet world. I was also exposed to other dance forms (thankfully) but, classical ballet, was my primary training base: I began dancing at the age of 3. Dancing has always been in my bones.
I write this record of my personal journey with ballet, not to negate the good aspects of the balletic practice, or to suggest that dancers not study ballet. I still teach ballet and I believe it CAN be taught well - with the dancer's health and longevity in mind. But, in order for that to occur, ballet practitioners must listen to the dance medicine/science community, pay attention to the research, observe the teaching practices in other dance forms, listen to dancers who know their bodies, and evolve the balletic practice for the better. The pedagogy must be more keenly questioned in how it trains a body for qualitative artistry, movement versatility, and longevity. Even more importantly, we must question whether we believe in longevity in the field of dance. If we do, then the training practices and perhaps the artistic products need to evolve with that goal in mind. If we don't, then dancers are like a mechanics' tools: replaceable commodities which, once used up or broken, can be thrown out and replaced.
I never stopped dancing. From age 3 through a Masters of Fine Arts in dance, I never quit. I pushed myself, I pushed my body. And, then, it broke. At age 23 my body broke. It had really broken before then. There were clear signs that my body just could not keep up with the physical demands I had placed on it. With several technique classes per day, rehearsals evenings and weekends, etc. I had reached physical burn-out. In a rehearsal where I was hardly doing anything stringent except shifting off of my standing leg, my kneecap (patella) slid out and dislocated. I fell to the floor, yelling out in pain. The knee joint felt like it had become jello, an odd feeling of eerie liquid instability. The injury was, in largepart, a result of technique training: the years of forcing my legs into the twisted, torque of 5th position - misaligning my patella, and softening/weakening the muscle tissue of the medial knee area (and, yes, I attempted to use the turn-out from my hip foremost, but, the expectations in the ballet technique class still demanded the flat 180 degree 5th - requiring torque). Like most injuries in dance, it is repetitions of harmful patterns over time that predispose the dancer to a more serious injury.
Before this point, I remember my body giving me indications that it was not okay. I realized at some point that I could not really stand up for any length of time. Instead, I always propped myself - leaning against a wall, or leaning down to rest my arms on top of my legs, or sitting if possible. I could move with no problem - put me in motion, and that was fine. But, don't ask me to stand in one place on my two legs. I always thought it was such an oxymoron: I am a dancer who can't stand up. How do you explain that? Of course, at the time, I did not realize or understand what was happening, I did not recognize this as a major problem. I just knew I had to keep moving, I had to keep pushing myself. Later, I realized my joints - especially my hip joints had become extremely unstable. I assume I must have overstretched the ligaments, and my joints were clearly hypermobile. Not only that, the often torqued positions of legs and feet in ballet had created unstable kinetic chains.
I have spent the last 20 years re-learning how to stand and walk. I say that in complete sincerity. Ballet technique practice, specifically, disturbed my ability to have a normal gait (heel-toe, parallel) and to feel a connection with the ground/the floor in a stable manner. If the gait pattern is disturbed, it effects muscular patterning all throughout the body (pelvis/spine/torso). The body is a thoroughly connected and integrated kinetic ensemble - a change in one part effects the others. I remember my medial thigh muscles were so over-stretched (from split stretches) that the dichotomy between how I sensed and felt control of the lateral part of my leg was drastically different from the laxity I felt up the medial thigh/leg. I felt so fortunate to be introduced to modern dance while in college - that was a breath of fresh air, and it helped my body find balance. Although, it takes a long time to undo early and long-term motor patterning. It was not until after graduate school, that I finally felt what it meant to be "grounded" and to "drop your weight" (as modern dance teachers would say) and actually feel a sensation, a real, enlivened connection from foot, to ankle, to knee, to pelvis and hips and even up into the torso. Once I found that connection, I could finally actually move through space with power - instead of always lifting away from gravity, as promoted in ballet technique.
I also recall a performance before this major injury occurred in which I could not really feel my feet or toes. I had this odd numbness sensation. It was a ballet performed in pointe shoes, and I could barely feel my feet. Luckily, the sensation did not last, and once I stopped doing the performance, sensation returned. During this time, I often noticed that when I would stop dancing, my body worked better, felt better, had better circulation, etc. My body was begging me to listen to it. But, I just had to keep going.
Over the past 20 years, I have worked to undo the unhealthy motor patterning that was, at least in part, caused by balletic technique practices. I had to stop stretching and instead focus very intentionally on strength building and re-education of my neuro-muscular system. I completely stopped forcing my body into the contorted position of 5th, which always created such unnecessary torsions from feet, to knee, to hip, to pelvis and spine that I felt like a wrecked corkscrew with no real sense of stability. I would describe it as "contrived stability": jamming your legs into a contorted position and then using muscular strength to hold it all in place. There are some bodies who appear to be able to withstand these types of contortions. My body wasn't one of them. However, no one would have known that by watching me. Dancers often learn to conceal and compensate very well - create the appearance that their body is fine. I call it "beautiful dysfunction." Ballet has, in many ways, perpetuated this phenomenon.
Regarding the mental brainwashing that strict ballet training can do: it was not until I finished graduate school that I could actually look at a (purposefully) non-pointed foot as possessing its own valid aesthetic within a work of choreography. The first time I saw a modern dance (around 12 or 13), I was horrified at the non-balletic forms and lines. It looked "ugly." I am not alone in being aesthetically brain-washed by the balletic dogma of "correctness." In my young, impressionable brain I believed that my authoritative teachers were right when they espoused the right and wrongness of specific movements. The "rules" of the ballet canon were like laws of the universe which necessitated adherence. Of course, I cannot really fault my teachers - they were trained in the same way - what else did they know? When I look back now I am saddened to realize that I was actually unable to see dance in any other way. I had a permanent imprint of what "correct" form for dance meant - and that was the classical ballet aesthetic. All dancers should be trained to see and appreciate dance in all of its myriad forms. That does not mean I am not an advocate of artistic rigor - there must be qualitative nuance and proficiency in dance and dance must speak/communicate to its audience. That is its purpose, afterall: communication and expression. How often the balletic practice has perhaps forgotten this underlying and overarching goal of dance. Young minds are particularly impressionable, thus, dance educators have a tall order in that regard.
Are there aspects of ballet practice which I find useful and beneficial? Yes. I am appreciative of the sense of fluidity, upright posture/verticality, precision, and general poise which ballet technique supports and perpetuates. We simply need to evolve the practice so that it strengthens and enhances dancers' abilities, and does not tear down and debilitate so many bodies (not to mention the mental damage ballet can do to young dancers).
I naturally gravitated towards an interest in dance medicine/science, probably intuitively due to my own bodily experiences in dance. If I could tell dancers any words of wisdom, I would say listen to your bodies! It is sometimes difficult to decipher what exactly is going on, but the body is usually trying to tell you something important if you listen. Tune-In.
