A humbled ballerina

The Dance Class 1874 Edgar Degas French
On view at The Met Fifth Avenue in Gallery 815

After hearing the Saturday pianist playing the same music for over two years I finally reached my breaking point. Thus I began my search for a new ballet studio.

I came across the website for a ballet academy that is very intense and Russian-looking. In the ballet world these two are synonyms. In a tiny corner on the website, they listed three adult classes, one of which is at 11 am on Saturday. that is where I went today.

When I arrived at the facility, I was surprised to say the least. It was situated in a semi-industrial complex with auto repair shops on the ground floor. On the exterior of the building I saw several signs of the ballet academy but after circling the building, I still couldn’t find the entrance. It turned out that the exterior fire space leading up to the one lone metal door on that side of the building was the entrance. I went up and gingerly opened the door. Let me tell you. It was one of the most rough-looking spaces I’d ever seen.

The corridor was short and dimly lit, with tiled floor and cushioned benches set against the walls. The color palette was very much New Orleans Voodoo fortune telling meets East European gypsy caravan. There was a dressing room in the back. I poked my head in, seeing to my shock that there was a bathroom nestled inside the dressing room. No, not a bathroom. It was just two stalls. Directly in my line of sight were benches, cubbies, closets, and a glistening toilet. I immediately retreated. I continued my exploration. there were four metal doors in total. One was marked “Men”. well, that’s not for me. the second one was marked “Private”. Ok. Don’t open that. Then there were two unmarked doors, leading to what I can only assume, the dance studios. There was no reception area, not a single soul in sight. I was certain that I was in the right school. But deeply unsure about everything else.

5 minutes to 11, young dancers from the academy’s junior division started filing in from the same entrance I used a few minutes ago. They looked so impossibly young, with their hair in a tight ballet bun, all dressed in identical baby blue camisole leotards. I assumed that this was the uniform for their class. As the clock ticked closer and closer to 11, I knew something was wrong. There were all the adult students?

I finally called the number on the website. A woman picked up promptly. I explained my situation and she sounded very confused. As we were still speaking on the phone, she emerged from one of the two unmarked doors. I stood up and asked about the 11 am adult class on the website.

“Oh no, we don’t update our website.”

Oh shit.

“The adult class was at 10. The 11 am is not an open class.”, meaning that it was the class for their academy students.

I was very disappointed and also felt foolish for not calling ahead to confirm their schedule.

“Wait here.” she said, matter-of-factly, and disappeared behind the last of the four mystery doors.

At this time the little dancer started going in after her, readying themselves for class.

Oh so that must be the actual dance studio.

Moments later, the lady reappeared, ushered me into the studio, and said, “Go talk to the teacher.”

I did as I was told. I walked in and found that the little dancers have already taken their positions at the bar. There was a man sitting in the front of the class. He looked up at me, expectantly.

“Err… I was sent in here?” as if trying to explain to him something my legs did of their own volition.

“Do you want to take a class?” he asked, in a slightly amused tone.

“Err… yes?”

I seemed to have decided to end each of my sentences in a rising tone.

“Well, there’s a spot right there.” He pointed to the spot where I was standing. Well, he wasn’t wrong. There was an open spot right by the door. I set down my bag and grabbed onto that bar for dear life. Oh what on earth am I doing here?

The class began. to my horror, the teacher didn’t give any combinations. The girls just knew what to do. Ah, the Vaganova method, just like in the legend. I had to follow the girls through the first 5 minutes of class. Then the combinations started to vary. But the way the teacher gave out instructions was so abbreviated that sometimes I couldn’t even catch what he was saying. I went back to following the girls. The combinations were very short but intense, which meant that there was little to no rest in between. We finished the entire bar portion of the class in under 40 minutes and I could barely feel my legs. In the end, my developpé extension height was the same as that of a dégagé. The muscles in my legs were seizing. I really tried my very best. I was sweating and panting while the young girls looked fresh as a daisy. Oh youth!

Center was more challenging to be sure. But by that point I was well acclimated to the class. it doesn’t mean I could execute what was asked of us but at least I wasn’t as at sea as at the beginning of class. Those girls were so well trained, their technique so pure and clean. There was nothing showy though the way they commanded their bodies was most impressive. What I witnessed was the classical technique and style in training.

At the end of class I went up to thank the teacher. He smiled at me and said that I did well. He asked my name and then shook my hand with both of his, a gesture I found most endearing. I told him that it was a very humbling experience and congratulated him on how well trained his students were.

“Oh yes. We try very hard here.” he chuckled.

It truly was a humbling experience. Having danced ballet for 8 years, I finally got to the point where despite the never-ending struggles with technique, I could find moments of artistic expression and more importantly, joy. I was doing well compared to other adult beginners but in the presence of these pre-professional dancers, I saw the chasm between us. Granted I could never be a professional dancer when I only started at the age of 25 and I wasn’t comparing my 32-year-old body to that of a 12-year-old girl, but what I saw firsthand was the amount of dedication, hard work, and talent that are required to master this art form. Seeing how hard the little dancers work was truly inspiring. I’m deeply humbled by this experience. Tomorrow I will go back to my ballet studio and continue on my own journey. This isn’t about comparing myself to other dancers. I simply wanted to see how good I can really be when I have tried my very best.