It has been over 2 months that I’ve been back in ballet classes. Month one was a fairly rigorous re-introduction to basic barre work.  Early on, I had a feeling that with the addition of one more class, technique would come back much more quickly. So, for the month of February and in to March, I paid up and took three classes per week. They paid off.  Initially, both daily tiredness and general, low-grade soreness hit hard.  But the satisfaction of progress eventually overrides both.

Along the way, I take notes on my classes, including Ballet Bob’s bucket-of-cold-water truisms.

Class Notes:

• Commit to great technique.  Strength will follow.  Balancing will be much easier with these two things in place.
• Balance isn’t just about finding a point on the wall and staring at it. It’s more about “turning on” core and standing leg muscles.
• Concentration isn’t supposed to show in your facial expression.  Impossible, I say.
• Surprise, surprise: landing consecutive sautees, in the same position, is much harder than it looks
• Plies should move with the music and should never “hit bottom.”  The knees “catch” a plie and send it back up.
• Arabesque beyond 45 degrees has to be one of the more unnatural elements of ballet
• Holding on to the barre too tightly is a sign that back muscles aren’t engaged (or just weak).
• Even when a class is 90% barre work, hydration helps.  Dehydration is a disaster.
• Changements are still my favourite step in ballet, followed by the grand battement.
• Ballet classes are expensive

Bob’s Bon Mots

“Think of your pelvic floor as the child in a bitter custody battle.  Your legs are the divorcing parents.  The standing leg always gets custody!  Do not grant custody of the pelvic floor to the wandering leg!

“Darling, I have a small wish.  Could you not do what you just did there?”

“Oh.  My.  GOD.  Could I please put my hand on your leg?”

“Fifth position is about the scapula!  That sexy scapula!  Which by the way, looks so lovely in a Lululemon shirt.”

“Great great great!  Yes Yes Yes!  Right Right Right!”

“Gather round.  Who would like to see who I dated?  That’s her.  A woman!”

“This is a picture of Susan’s arabesque.  Oh Susan Jaffe, we hate you.  No we don’t.  That’s jealousy speaking.”

“Your foot is moving through a space the size of a tiny, tiny alleyway, every time!  Some of you seem to think that your leg has a multiple lane roadway to itself!”

I have always found second position arms and legs difficult.  Without looking down, it’s so hard to get the heels spaced and aligned.  But look up, and in to the mirror, and I remember that my shoulders are raised and my elbows are falling (”wet chicken wings,” says Bob).  All the while, my standing leg is slowly creeping back to parallel.  So I fix the arm, but then the leg is a mess.  Fix the leg, then the other leg, both arms, wrists! Second position, quelle disastre.

Lately however, it dawned on me that the elbows are staying up, turned and forward without much concentration.  And movement in second position is staying more aligned, not passing through five versions of “second.”  This isn’t to say it’s easy.  My shoulders still burn and my hip cracks with every grand battement a la second.  But dare I say, this treacherous feat of focus is slowly becoming memorized.

In Twyla Tharp’s excellent book, “The Creative Habit,” she refers to this phenomenon when explaining the importance of consistent practice:

Muscle memory is one of the more valuable forms of memory…It’s the notion that after diligent practice and repetition of certain physical movements, your body will remember those moves years, even decades after you cease doing them. What’s amazing is how long dancers’ bodies retain the information.  Let’s say I ask Rose Marie Wright, a dancer with whom I worked thirty years ago, to teach dances she performed for many years…If she demonstrates the dance without thinking about it, she will re-create each step and gesture perfectly on the spot, the first time…That’s muscle memory.  Automatic.  Precise.  A little scary.

The always-interesting neuroscientist Jonah Lehrer stretches this concept more broadly:

An expert athlete largely performs on auto-pilot. Manny Ramirez doesn’t think about the mechanics of his swing and Kobe Bryant isn’t contemplating his jump-shot when he pulls up behind the arc in the 4th quarter. They are performers and they’re performing. They might think about these details during batting practice, or during warm-ups, but the best athletes cultivate a kind of mindlessness during the game itself.

I think this also explains why the best free throw shooters tend to have the most elaborate free throw rituals. They’ll lick their hand, grab their shorts, spin the ball, dribble it three times, etc. (Tennis players go through a similar routine before serving.) The purpose of these rituals should now be obvious: they help keep those self-conscious thoughts away, and allow players to segue into a more automated state of mind.

My muscles have not memorized second position entirely, that’s for sure.  Still, on some days, some of the time, I’m noticing a more reflexive ease in which they come together.  In a recent class, one teacher remarked, “these arms are holding shape for so much longer!”  But, lest I thought I had the muscle memory of a Kobe free throw or a Federer down-the-line, forehand return, she followed with, “Now make it look like you aren’t thinking about your legs.”  The practicing continues!

It is a little known fact that I am in love with Rahm Emanuel.   Initially, this seems alarming, as America’s chief of staff is almost exclusively known for being a combative, political attack dog, prone to unhinged outbursts and oppressive work habits.  In one interview, DCCC executive director Brian Wolff gave this advice to incoming White House staff working with Emanuel:

Develop a thick skin; cancel your vacations, weddings and personal appointments.  Learn what the term 25/8 means - 25 hours a day, 8 days a week.  He expects you to be available every single second and he calls you constantly. Don’t bother coming up with reasons why you can’t be available.  He goes nuts.

Admittedly, he sounds repellent.  But delve further and the best part of Rahm is revealed.  From an old but terrific profile in Rolling Stone:

When Rahm was a boy, his mother forced him to take ballet lessons, and he threw himself into it with the same intensity he would later bring to politics, winning a scholarship to the Joffrey Ballet.

This week, as a subtle nod to his past, the Christian Science Monitor (oddly enough) praised Rahm as having “a political choreography [that] is not only prescient but perfectly followed.”

Be still my beating heart.  Rahmbo, the Democratic Golden Boy; Obama’s right hand man; the former political brains of Bill Clinton’s White House is also a professionally trained ballet dancer.  How is this not featured in every interview he does?  He should be meeting the press and facing the nation as “White House chief of staff AND classical ballet dancer,” Rahm Emanuel.  Credit is not being paid where due!  At the very least, standard mention would put his legendary intensity into context.  After all, isn’t “explosiveness” required for executing fouettés?

Veteran staffer Jose Cerda has joked that there should be a special trauma ward in Washington for people who have worked for Rahm.  But close friends have added that his toughness is merely an outgrowth of being a ballet dancer: With professional ballet on your resume, you had better be ready to fight if you hope to survive in politics. In any case, Senator Lindsey Graham offers a word of caution:

You can be on the other side of the room and in one graceful leap he’s on you like a cross between Baryshnikov and Bruce Lee. Expect a swift, classically executed kick in the crotch. You’ll be stunned, doubled over and dry heaving…but three minutes later you’re marveling at the speed and exquisite precision of his footwork.

In spite of the ballistics and because of the ballet, my one way love affair continues.

To my D.C. dancing friends: It is rumored that Rahm takes private lessons at one of Margaret Townsends’s studios.  If I were you, I’d start watching for the 6:00 AM car service, rolling up at the back door.  Take pictures, take notes then report back to me.

Peter Quanz teaching

How do I know when the end of winter is near?  When the National Ballet returns from the post-Nutcracker hibernation.  Finally!  Tomorrow night the dancers hit the stage with the highly anticipated, world premiere of the Innovations mixed program. I’ll be seeing the show on Thursday following of course, my favourite and free Ballet Talk lecture.

Catch today’s Globe & Mail for a helpful break down of the show, by choreographer.

Stephanie Hutchinson in rehearsal for Innovations

Sonia Rodriguez in rehearsal

I read almost everything Seth Godin puts his name on.  Today, I finished the “The Big Moo,” a follow up to Seth’s remarkable book, “The Purple Cow.”  Here are key excerpts from a chapter entitled, “What Business Can Learn From Dancers.”

…While some dancers are driven to become brilliant interpreters of others’ work, they are not unique.  Remarkable dancers are always trying to find a way to put their own signature on their work.

…An award-winning dancer, choreographer, and director for Broadway and film, [Bob] Fosse was not known for his stellar dance technique.  He was often accused of having “bad feet” (feet that turned in instead of out), terrible posture (he hunched) and poor flexibility.  But Fosse used his awkward, atypical style to his advantage.  Instead of forcing himself in to these positions that were just too foreign for his body, he incorporated his bad habits into an original style that became his trademark.

None of these artists followed the form’s artistic norms. They were the misfits and the oddballs. Each, in his or her own way, set out to do something brand new and timeless, utilizing what was inherently unique inside. And each of them was uniquely qualified to do just that…No carbon copies allowed!

The chapter goes on to profile Jack Cole, Isadora Duncan and Jose Limon. In each case, including Fosse’s, the dancer was looking to create their brand and leave a legacy. As with any business looking to do the same, they were left with the risky choice to perform unlike everyone else or fail.

This month, instead of two ballet classes per week, I’m taking three.  The additional class has already made a difference.

The most obvious effect is that the improvement of technique accelerates dramatically.  With only a day or two between each class, there is simply no time to forget.  This got me thinking about the marginal benefits of adding a fourth class.  Then a fifth and a sixth!  Could I effectively reach the elusive 10,000 Hours by just increasing my weekly attendance?  I took my question to Ballet Bob and he countered with a firm, “Definitely not.”  

Bob explained that ballet is powerful in shaping bodies and the most crucial element in this shaping is alignment.  Here, small, gradual doses of change work best since proper ballet form is so unnatural.  By adding too many classes at once, the uninitiated body becomes exhausted and begins to rely on bad (read: lazy) technique.  Poor technique compromises proper alignment and long-term advancement therefore becomes unlikely.  In short, the law of diminishing returns kicks in.  

Three classes per week is perfect.  The body has just enough time to recover while achieving proper alignment through correct muscle memory and slow strengthening.  Any less than three and the mind and muscles start to forget.  As well, strength is only maintained, not increased.  But with more than three classes, the muscles, tired from too many classes, will rely on bad form.  It’s key then, to have the patience to gradually develop proper, albeit slow-growing, alignment and strength.  Once this happens, add more classes so that you never forget it.    

There is an old dance adage that says, “Miss one class and you will notice.  Miss two classes and your teacher will notice.  Miss three and the audience knows.”  Put differently, you (and maybe even your teacher) will notice that progression quickens by moving from one, to two, then to three classes per week.  But until your skeleton becomes abnormally perfect and your muscles freakishly strong, don’t do more than that.

I recently began moving documents, photos and scrappy things to Evernote.  The migration takes a while but since the results are so logical and organized, it’s worth it.  In all of my gathering, I have come across too many bits and pieces that have some how been packed up, kept in tact and never thrown away.  The pile in front of me includes some photos from camp, a Mario Batali ravioli recipe, an old J.Crew catalogue, plane ticket stubs, my undergraduate transcript and two tear outs of Kate Moss.  As most of it gets archived in to Evernote (originals, tossed!), a pattern emerges: ballet has been following me around for a long time.  A scan down memory lane:

[1984] My first pair of ballet slippers.  The destroyed soles imply that I was doing grand jetes at age four.  Not quite, they’re just really old.

[1997] In grade 12, my good friend Mike impressed me with this genius bit of superimposition.  As a testament to his technical wizardry, he simply took my yearbook photo and popped it on this likely position.  It was on my bulletin board for years.

[1998] An old brochure from a high school spring break trip to Montreal.

[2001] Tanya used to make me a birthday card every year.  This was for my 21st birthday, and states inside, “Happy Birthday Ballerina!  I can’t believe we’re 21!  Oh my god, we’re soooo old!!!”

[2004] An old birthday card from Sara, a ballerina in her own right.

[2005] I’ve seen Swan Lake more than any other ballet.  This is the ticket from a great rendition performed in Glasgow.  I remember thinking that I shouldn’t be going because I had too much studying to do.  Lesson: I still remember the performance and I don’t remember what I was studying for.

[2005] I still have study notes from graduate school that are tough to get rid of.  They took so long to make and they sure are pretty.  When I made this set, I must have had other things on my mind.  Look closely.  Pirouetting directly beside the Kuznet’s Curve is my reoccurring ballet scribble.  Who said economic development inequalities couldn’t be cute?

[2009] Just this week, I got a standard piece of mail from my Dad: an article, clipped and folded, that directly relates to something I enjoy.  In this case, Dad sent Alastair Macaulay’s NYT review of New York City Ballet’s Balanchine and Robbins program. This will top my pile of ballet bits to be turned in to an Evernote notebook.

(For those without someone acting as your personalized, posted, human RSS feed, see Macaulay’s review here)

This past week marked the end of my first month, back to ballet classes.  Along the way, I made notes of some lessons and challenges that became clear.  Naturally, I’ve also jotted some of Bob’s reality-check truisms.

January/February:

• The closer your arms are to your body, the easier - but uglier - the full turn.  Arms must stay in an open, wide position.  The balance will come, I’ve been assured.
• Combining fondus with cou-de-pied is awkward at any other pace faster than “very slow.”  Since the foot is only lifted 2-3 inches off the floor, I find this frustrating.
• In a classical arm position, the arm itself has three positions: shoulder to elbow turns in; elbow to wrist turns out; the wrist turns in.
• My left leg can do everything better than my right.
• Shoulders must stay forward while the working leg moves back and the standing leg stays straight.  I can’t imagine a time when this comes easy.
• It’s true, yoga improves balance, flexibility, strength and concentration.
• My plies are improving.   This is because I stopped moving when I was told to stop moving, not when I wanted to stop moving.  The teacher knows more than I do.
• It’s realistic to expect classes where there is a gain in understanding but a loss in physical progression.  Sometimes it has to get worse before it gets better.
• You’re rarely standing as straight as you should be.

Bob’s Bon Mots:

“Good my Annie, better!  Oh, but by the way, it wasn’t perfect.”

“May I remind you all that we haven’t joined the local gym, we have joined the National Ballet School.”

“Lift to the air and then pray, pray, pray to the hamstring gods!”

“Yes!  Two hundred percent better!  But we aim for one thousand percent here.”

With any classical ballet company, the full-length, narrative ballets always provide the predictable framework for a season. We know that in a given year, it’s fair to expect Giselle or La Sylphide, The Nutcracker at Christmas and some version of Swan Lake. In recent years contemporary works have interspersed the classics and have, as Karen Kain says, “established themselves as irreplaceable parts of the ballet canon.”

I understand why companies seek this variety. Both existing and potential audiences want it. By virtue of its history, ballet regulars have seen the same shows repeatedly. It takes a true fan to really appreciate Swan Lake for the fourth time (I would know) and the thrill of Tchaikovsky’s Nutcracker loses its charge after a few Decembers. Non-ballet fans tend to dismiss the possibility of ballet altogether. They insist that ballet performances are too long and complain that the antiquated story lines are pointless. A guy who has never seen a ballet will scoff that it’s merely prancing and therefore too feminine, not athletic. Without modern works, it is thought, the ballet gets boring, for everyone.

Until last year, I would have disagreed. The neo-classical and contemporary pieces have always seemed wacky and scared me away. How am I supposed to make sense of the off-center positioning, the turned in legs and the outrageous costumes? Who decided that flexed wrists and ankles looked decent? Give me the corps and give me rigorous pointe work!  Normally, I bypass the modern ballets because they’ve seemed confusing and awkward, reminiscent of overly-interpretive high school dance recitals, complete with bad music.

Late last year, my criticism dissolved when I saw the National Ballet of Canada perform Chekhov’s The Seagull. Twisting my own arm, I walked in to the Four Seasons Center with my bad attitude, wondering how I would get through a “poem-turned-ballet.” Upon entering the theater, I saw Ivan Urban sitting on the stage, in bare feet, folding a paper “seagull.” I can see him because the curtain remains lifted while the audience filters in! We don’t even get a measly curtain call? I think to myself, “I am going to hate this.”

Then the lights dim and the dancing begins. Within minutes, I was reminded that Sonia Rodriguez is a joy to watch no matter what the dance. Over the course of The Seagull, she effortlessly shifted from a needy teenager, to a brassy Vegas showgirl to a jaded, broken adult, dancing each roll flawlessly. Greta Hodgkinson played an arrogant and forgotten ex-prima ballerina in a way that was both pathetic and hilarious. The Seagull featured very revealing solos and technical pas de deux, just like the classics.  I admit, the poem’s “plot” was a bit tricky and the frequent dream sequences provided an uneasy feeling of what hallucinogens might be like.  But, to my humble surprise, it became easy to accept this unconventional ballet because the dancing, by itself, was just plain spectacular.

One challenge of any ballet company is to keep its repertoire enticing.  That likely involves a very creative advertising campaign featuring a full season of perfectly executed ballets, both classical and contemporary.  The challenge for an audience member - existing or potential - is to open that closed mind.  This will likely involve showing up to the shows that you find yourself avoiding.  Don’t worry, good ballet is always good no matter the story, music or costume that it comes dressed in.

In 2001, the Washington Post ran an article on amateur ballet.  I bookmarked it years ago and still find this analogy so funny and accurate:

“The common denominator,” writes critic Robert Greskovic in his encyclopedic and entertaining guidebook “Ballet 101,” “is perfection of participant and of execution.” Which may be why, he notes, for New York arts critic Clive Barnes, “the notion of amateur ballet came a little too close for comfort to the idea of amateur brain surgery.”

Brutal but true.  Past a certain age, it seems that taking ballet lessons involves a constant confrontation between “better late than never” and “you can’t teach an old dog new tricks.”  I push for the former!