16 People Who Have Greatly Influenced My Life

I always get on list kicks during the month of December. It's just too much fun making lists to culminate each year. Without apology, I offer you my final post of 2015, which happens to be another list. This year started off great and ended great. It began working with students from one of my favorite communities (Alaskan dancers) and has ended the same way. While I am spending my free time here in Anchorage attempting to see the Aurora Borealis, I am passing the time waiting for them to appear by writing this.

Please enjoy my way of welcoming 2016. In no particular order, here are 16 people who have greatly influenced my life! Enjoy!

My mom with her Husband Jerry

1. Robin Kerollis Napiecek - I mean, come on! What good, gay, jewish mama's boy wouldn't add their mother at the top of this list? OK, maybe I'm not really a mama's boy anymore, but my mom is surely at the top. While she is currently my biggest (and most promoting) fan, she has also been my greatest support since birth. When this little suburban boy of the 1980's wanted nothing other than to dance beside little girls in pink tights, my mom didn't blink an eye to put me in a dance class. Most parents where I am from would have probably deterred their son from taking part. If I showed passion, commitment, or excitement, my mom made sure that she did everything possible to make sure I was fulfilled, even if it meant that she couldn't afford the finer things in life. Now that we are both adults, I succeeded in becoming a professional dancer, and she has improved her quality of living, she is still my number one fan and makes sure that everybody knows it!

2. Larry Rappoldt - The first artist that I met who truly showed me what it is to love your art was this man. At the age of 5, my mom hired Mr. Rapp to teach me how to play the piano. We spent time together nearly every week for 12 years. From weekly piano lessons to joining his middle school concert band, this gentleman inspired me to be passionate about music. I remember the first time I noticed him swaying back and forth as he played a beautiful solo. I asked him if he swayed to match the beat and he responded, "I sway because I feel the music inside my body and it moves me." This moment changed the way I saw music and has probably influenced me more than I realize. I wouldn't be the same dancer, choreographer, or artist if I hadn't worked with this wonderful teacher.

Ms. Kim

3. Kimberly Martin - Ms. Kim (though she is now Mrs.) was my main ballet teacher from the ages of 13 to 17. While she was integral to my training during those years, she has remained an important part of my life. When I was offered the Interim position to direct Alaska Dance Theatre, she was the first person that I called for advice. Kim is a kind, generous person who taught me that you get to choose your family. When I was 16, my mom chose to keep me home after I was asked to attend the Houston Ballet Academy's year round program. I was devastated. Kim stepped up and made sure that my year didn't go to waste. She put a futon in her spare bedroom (over an hour away from my home) and offered me a second home to live on weekends. After her Friday ballet class, I would travel to Wilmington, DE, where Kim gave me private coaching during every available hour that the weekend held. Not only did Ms. Kim let me live with her, she drove me to dozens of summer intensive auditions and helped my family by providing ballet slippers and tights for my training. Still to this day, there are few people I look up to, respect, and appreciate more than Ms. Kim.

Bob Rizzo

4. Bob Rizzo - When I was 15 years old, I was taking a workshop at a suburban Philadelphia studio that featured some guy from New York City who had been on Broadway, produced educational dance videos, and taught on faculty at New York University. While I took his class thinking he was some guy, I quickly learned that he was much more. After taking Bob's workshop, he took special interest in me and showed me that he was not only a spectacular instructor, but a great person and mentor. Over the next few years of my teenage life, Bob flew me to multiple venues to assist him in his workshops, let me stay with him in his Upper West Side apartment, and taught me the ins-and-outs of the New York dance scene. While I didn't end up following the same path that he had been cultivating me to take, Bob played a huge part in inspiring me to become the dancer I am today.

Katrina Killian

5. Katrina Killian - Not every pre-professional student is lucky enough to find a mentor that is wholly invested in their future. Through the School of America Ballet lecture demo series, I found Katrina. After only working with her for a few weeks, this wonderfully energetic woman took me under her wing and made it her mission to make sure that I had a fruitful career. She selflessly poured her heart into my training, guiding me through the challenges and rewards of training at a world-class dance institution.

My Danya!

6. Daniel Loya - I didn't want to put him near the top because mom should always get first mention and he doesn't like the spotlight. But, obviously, my soon to be husband and partner of 10 years grabs a spot on this list. Not only has Dan been my partner in life, but he has been my best friend, my mentor, my guide, and my rock. I can't imagine too many husbands that would willingly support their partner traveling non-stop for over 4 years to let them fulfill their career and dreams. All of my decisions are filtered through him and he makes me a better person by allowing me to be me and do what I love. I look forward to legalizing the bond that we already share over Memorial day weekend in 2016.

Visiting Ray last year

7. Ray Hoekstra - Every gay man should befriend an older gay man that has thrived before them. The first week that I met Dan he met Ray while watching me perform with Pacific Northwest Ballet, where Ray was a donor for the company. A month later, Dan forced me to meet Ray between a matinee and evening show in the throes of Nutcracker season. While I was reluctant to skip my daily Nutcracker nap, boy was I glad that he connected us. Ray, nearly 40 years my senior, became one of my closest friends and the person I looked to when I needed a role model to follow. Whether learning about being gay in times when people like me were persecuted, how to order a meal at a fancy restaurant, what it was like to watch your loved one's get sick during the AIDS epidemic, how to order a classy drink, or how to give back to the organizations that you believe in, Ray has always been the epitome of a classy gentleman. I have been so honored to have this man as a friend and I look forward to passing his legacy on as I grow older (and younger, just like him).

Cathy Moran

8. Cathy Moran - Ms. Cathy didn't run the first dance school that I attended, but she directs the school I grew up at and where I became passionate about dance. Not only did Cathy give me the gift of dance through a scholarship that allowed me to take classes my family would have never been able to afford. She showed me what it was to be a generous woman who is purely invested in her students. When I needed a male teacher to guide me, Cathy found one. When I needed to see what the world had to offer, she told me to try out other dance schools without jealousy. When I needed to make a mistake and quit a class to attend my 8th grade school dance, she offered me caution and understanding towards a decision that eventually guided me even closer to dance. Ms. Cathy cultivated a place where I was able to grow, be myself, and fall in love with my art form.

Kelly & me (Left: 1987 & Right: 2015)

9. Kelly Wolfe - This lovely lady and I go all the way back to the womb. Our parents were pregnant with us at about the same time. After we were brought on to this Earth, we had pictures in the paper of our diapers being changed, ran around farms playing games, and spent many of our waking hours together. Around the age of 5, the women's group that brought our parents together dissolved and, for some reason or another, our parents stopped meeting up with one another. Aside from one time, Kelly and I didn't see each other for nearly a decade. Then, on the first day of high school, we found each other to be in the same first period history class and reunited. Even after nearly a decade without communication, we picked up where we left off. To this day, we are still in close contact even though we live across the country from each other. Kelly is somebody who has always understood, trusted, supported, and believed in me. She is always that person who drops anything to make sure that we get to spend time together. If I had one female soulmate in my life, it would very likely be this lady.

Jock Soto w/Wendy Whelan (Photo: Paul Kolnik)

10. Jock Soto -When I went to the School of American Ballet, I had given up a Corps de Ballet job position with Colorado Ballet to train at my dream school. Soon after I had shifted my move from Denver to New York, Peter Martins selected 7 advanced level male students to move up into the now defunct elite level of the school, Special Men. When the list for this group of men went up, I was devastated to find that I had given up a job and didn't make the cut. Immediately, Jock stepped up to the plate and guided me forward. He suggested I attend the lower level Intermediate classes he taught, stood by my side correcting me at barre, and offered me valuable advice to push forth. By Thanksgiving break, I had heard the great news that I was being moved up into that elite level class. I have this man to thank for that.

Leigh Witchel

11. Leigh Witchel - The first time that Leigh and I were introduced was shortly after my School of American Ballet workshop. He was sitting in the audience to review the show (link here) and I happened to briefly run into him in my post show bliss at the old Lincoln Center plaza. I didn't really get to know Leigh until I returned to the east coast in 2011 to perform at the Guggenheim's Works and Process series, where Leigh acted as moderator for the event. During rehearsals, Leigh pulled me aside and reminded me that we had met years ago and that he had warmly enjoyed my graduation performance. After this, we began to cultivate a relationship that has grown into a great friendship. Over the past few years as I have drifted, floated, and soared around the country, Leigh has acted as a friend, confidante, and mentor to help me through highs, lows, and in building this new stage of my career. While I have many people interested in what I have been doing in my career over the past 4 1/2 years, I have not had many people interested in helping cultivate me into a better person, dancer, choreographer, businessman, and artist. Leigh has been a careful, caring, and honest guide mentor as I find my way as a maturing artist.

Abby & me in Swan Lake at PNB

12. Abby Relic - Mine Cootah! Don't ask. Abby and I have known each other since she was a Professional Division student and I was a Corps member at PNB. While we didn't connect closely during her first period living in Seattle, we got close quickly after she moved back to Seattle to join PNB after dancing in Portland and Cincinnati. As an adult, Abby has been one of my closest friends. She is smart, she get's me, and she is one of the only people who can truly make me belly laugh. As our friendship has grown, Abby has taught me how to accept people for who they are through both example and love. Her outlook on life is beautiful and she exudes warmth and joy to those around her. Plus, she has the laughter of a child!

Claudio Munoz teaching at HBA (Photo: Bruce Bennett

13. Claudio Munoz - This teacher who made this clean mouthed teenage boy scream "FUCK" at the top of his lungs as he landed a double tour definitely showed me what it means to be passionate about teaching. While Claudio has unconventional approaches to teaching, my time with him during my first summers away from home at Houston Ballet Academy put me on the right track to have a professional career. Whether using my voice to show the force of movement or screaming at me until I got it right (then giving me a hug to let me know that he was always on my side), Claudio intensely supports his students through their final years of training. When I need to find a way to get through to a student, I often imagine how Claudio would go about the task.

14. Chris Thomae - As I've mentioned before, I didn't grow up in a family with great financial resources. And like I have said in previous posts, I was definitely raised by the village. Chris was a strong force in my village. While I first met him as a kid in the masculine discipline of Tae Kwon Do, Chris was interested in all things culture. He loved dance, food, theatre, and more. Coming from the suburbs and having limited access to culture, Chris made sure that I sampled things like Vietnamese food, saw plays at the local theatres, learned how to play pool, and knew to read books that shared opposing views to my upbringing. While we are no longer in contact, Chris helped develop my hunger for new culture and openness towards the unknown.

Lauren & me

15. Lauren Bentley -I first met Lauren when we were in pre-school together. After switching schools in second grade, we ended up crossing paths again when we were in the same sixth grade class. We had a childhood love affair and broke up a few months later, which kept me from talking to her for nearly a year. After that year had passed, I quickly came to my senses that we had to remain close friends because we were always on each other's side. In eighth grade, Lauren and her mom generously introduced me to New York City by letting me tag along for a bus trip to see a Broadway show and to explore the city. As we moved through high school, Lauren was one of the few people that I would hang out with outside of dance classes. When I graduated from SAB, Lauren's family came up to New York City to support me in the city that they introduced me to. While we don't see each other as often as I would like, I know that wherever I am, she is exuding that quiet, calm sense of support that she carries with her.

Grandmom

16. Bernice Beck - My grandmother passed away about a decade ago. She had a head of silver hair, a voice like Patti and Selma from the Simpsons, and a love for tradition. What she loved more than tradition was me. Along with my mother, my grandmother would support me even if it meant taking the shirt off of her back. She would do everything possible, including sending letters to friends and businesses to help support me on my way to become a professional dancer. She was at every performance and would sit in the audience shouting my name as the curtain dropped. This woman was the epitome of family and support.

Boyd hanging out w/Puck in the physical therapy room

(LAST MINUTE NEW YEARS EDIT!!!!!! In my AK-BK Intensive Winter Workshop exhaustion, I was racking my brain to come up with this list of lovely people. And I realized that I missed one person that really means a lot to me and has made a huge difference in my life. And in the spirit of the new year and starting on a positive note, why not turn this list into 17 for good measure. This important person that I left off my list is none other than the wonderful Boyd Bender. Boyd came into my life right after I moved to Seattle to join Pacific Northwest Ballet. He works with the company as their virtuoso physical therapist. While Mr. Bender's purpose with the company is to keep dancers onstage, he functions as an integral process to the dancer's mental health. During my time with the company, Boyd quickly became much more to me than Bender the Mender. Growing up with a handful of male figures in my life, I still never really felt like I had a true father figure. The kind of man that is my idea of a true man; thoughtful, calming, generous, caring, funny, and in control of his emotions though unafraid to be emotional. Boyd came into my life when I needed a father figure to show me how to be a man. I'm much the adult I am today thanks to this guy! Happy New Year! )

Using Teaching to Supplement Your Salary

Teaching a contemporary class

Most dancers that identify themselves as independent dance artists need to have some type of backup plan to sustain themselves during off times, supplement their income, or throw some extra spending money in their pockets. While a handful of dancers choose to make some of their income working at a restaurant, as a barista, and at other non-dance jobs, I wouldn't be afraid to make the claim that a majority of freelancers use teaching dance classes to supplement their dancer salary.

Some dancers teach because it seems like the most obvious and practical way to work in their field when they aren't dancing in a studio themselves. Whether they are or aren't passionate about passing on our art, it is much more lucrative to teach an hour and a half dance class than it often is to work in other fields. Luckily, for me, teaching has never been an unfortunate necessity to help supplement my income. I have always known that I wanted to teach and freelancing has only allowed me to incorporate this aspect of dance into my schedule.

My interest in teaching didn't come naturally. In my earlier training years, I was more focused on the number of pirouettes I could execute than sharing my knowledge of dance with those younger than me. It wasn't until the age of 16 that I really took notice in the importance of having a passionate, caring instructor. Kimberly Martin, or Ms. Kim, was the first teacher that I had that went way out of her way to help me along my path towards becoming a professional dancer. I had many instructors that worked their asses off to get me to where I did, but Ms. Kim was a bit different. When she realized how passionate I was about dancing, she took me under her wing, coached me, inspired me, and even let me live with her on the weekends to extend my training as far as she could. Beyond that, I had incredible experiences with Claudio Munoz during my summers at the Houston Ballet Academy, Jock Soto and Peter Boal at the School of American Ballet, Paul Gibson as a Ballet Master with Pacific Northwest Ballet, and Bob Rizzo of Riz-Biz Productions. As teachers and mentors, these people showed me how giving and unselfish the art of teaching can be. Existing in the somewhat selfish profession of ballet, where you spend countless hours staring in the mirror and working on yourself, I knew I had to find a way to pull myself out of the narcissism involved in self-correcting and instruct those that had similar dreams.

The first time I tried to gain teaching experience was when Peter Boal took over PNB. Sitting in my first evaluation with my new boss and former teacher, I vocalized my interest in developing my chops as an instructor. I assumed that we would quickly bond over this since his teaching had inspired me only a few years prior. It was a bit surprising when he responded, "I think you should really focus on your dancing right now." Nearly, a decade later, I don't necessarily disagree with his opinion. But I still wish that he had given me the opportunity to develop my skills under his tutelage.

It wasn't until a summer layoff a handful of years into my career that I got my first true opportunity to conduct a classroom. I was visiting home for a few weeks between seasons when the director of my home studio called to see if I wanted to teach a few ballet classes for their week-long intensive. I jumped at the chance and nervously developed a lesson plan for the class. Secretly, I hoped that I would show up, leave the paper sitting in the corner, and prove the genius of a teacher that I was on my first try. But in reality, having a written lesson plan helped me out a great deal, as I was no prodigy. Where I think I lacked in experience, I made up for in blind passion.

I didn't have many opportunities to teach outside of, maybe, three more individual classes at home until I began working as a freelancer. The closest I got to working with students would be the three years I choreographed new works on the Professional Division students for PNB's annual Next Step Choreographer's Showcase. While I didn't get to work with this young talent in a classroom setting, I still had the gratification of helping these kids along their path.

Once I started freelancing, I realized how important it was that I find ways to supplement my income. I googled Philadelphia Ballet School, came up with a contact list of training facilities in the region, and started sending my information out in search for work. Only a few schools responded and, of those, only one ended up working out. I was extremely excited to get in the studio, but I was also a bit nervous for my classes. My nerves had gotten the best of me and when the school director asked how much teaching experience I had, I lied and told them that I had three years. The honest truth was that the number three was just a little less than the number of classes I had taught. My untruth meant that I would have to show up with undeniable confidence and avoid any errors in instruction. Luckily, things worked out well. Perhaps, I was kind of a natural.

Adv. Ballet class w/Alaska Dance Theatre (My Students & Pianist)

Over the past 3 1/2 years, I have taught everywhere from local schools to pre-professional training academies and for companies that hold drop-in classes. Recently, I have added professional dancers to the mix; teaching company class for Eugene Ballet, the National Choreographers Initiative, and Koresh Dance Company. All of these have been incredible, but the most rewarding experience I have had in my short teaching career has been working for nearly four months as Interim Artistic Director for Alaska Dance Theatre.

Getting to spend so much time working with my students at ADT, I was able to see the fruits of our labor in working towards perfection. In almost four months of classes, the students that I worked with had exploded technically and grew a great deal as artists. My passion for dance and their trust in my instruction created this incredible atmosphere where you could feel a tingling energy the moment that each class started.

One of my students at Alaska Dance Theatre - When I arrived, her leg was at 90 degrees, knee was bent, & foot wasn't fully extended. This was taken two months later.

I always knew in my heart that I had talent as a teacher. Dance isn't just my vocation. It is my ultimate passion. I immerse nearly every moment of my day in the dance world. My approach to teaching is essentially my own version of (and a way better version than) No Child Left Behind. No matter talent, body-type, or level, I always try my best to make sure that every student receives a handful of corrections throughout class. The schools that I have taught at have ranged from recreational dance schools to academies that only work to train professional dancers. Here and there, I have heard recreational school owners tell me that the kids just want to have fun. My instant reaction to this is, "Dancing is a lot more fun when you can do it well." I am tough, but I am honest and I don't let dancers get away with wanting anything less than the best for themselves.

It is very sad that I will not be returning to Alaska for the upcoming semester (though I will be returning to teach at their summer intensive in June). But lost opportunities can lead to new ones, sometimes instantly. The last few weeks I was in Alaska, I learned that the famous Millennium Dance Complex franchise was opening a new school in Philadelphia. Not only is this institution bringing commercial dance classes to my city, it opened its' doors a block away from my apartment. It seemed too good to be true. So, I sent my information to the owners, was hired on the spot, and solidified my place on the faculty at Millennium. After returning home from Alaska to a week of Nutcracker and another week to adjust to being home, this Saturday I begin teaching an Advanced/Professional Ballet class and an Advanced Contemporary class at this renowned institution. I am very excited to have the opportunity to continue having a regular place to continue teaching and look forward to gaining more teaching opportunities in the near future! Cheers!

Emotional Training in Ballet

After writing about the challenges of success last week, I've had a handful of conversations about success and failure. The world of dance, and beyond, idolizes a story of failure and adversity that opens up unknown doors, eventually leading to hard-won success. Who doesn't love a good cinematic happy ending? Unfortunately, for students in training and professionals with big goals, things don't always turn out that way. For this reason, there are many former and current dancers living jaded with emotional pain, regret, and without closure from the wounds that often go along with such a challenging, strenuous, and personal effort.

Valeska Mosich-Miller in Clara Magazine

While out in Los Angeles prepping to perform for one of my many Nutcracker gigs, I found myself in a conversation consoling a former dancer about her training years. I was staying with my friend and the woman, who was subletting her brother's room while he is out of town working on an FX series, just happened to be a dancer that was in Pacific Northwest Ballet's school during my first few years with the company. Valeska Mosich-Miller and I knew each other from that time, but didn't really interact much. In most schools attached to a company, there is a clear delineation between company talking to school and school talking to company (school students rarely approach company members). Although we had little interaction during that time, I surely remembered her. The reason being that I, and most other company members, recognized that she had stunning looks and a beautiful, tall stature. Many dancers would comment that she should find an agent and become a model. Apparently, we weren't the only ones that felt that way.

Valeska Mosich-Miller in Marie Claire

Valeska left PNB's school to train elsewhere for a short period of time. After a handful of unsuccessful auditions, she stopped searching for a company to call home because she started getting picked up by multiple modeling agencies across the world in places like Brazil, South Africa, London, and Los Angeles. While spending a week living with Valeska and catching up on where we are in our lives, we went out to dinner and had a very striking conversation. While Valeska has had great successes that most people could only dream of having, she was still struggling with the loss of her ballet career and her perception of wasted effort that was put into so many years of training.

I could tell that nearly 5 years of time away from ballet had not healed the emotional trauma and wounds of rejection that the ballet world can place upon dancers. Being that I am very interested in teaching future generations of dance artists, I have put a lot of thought into the whats and whys of a ballet career and how training affects young dancers. And what I have determined is that ballet training is essentially survival of the fittest.

Classical ballet instruction is extremely harsh on the body. Aside from the physical requirements of natural flexibility, accurate proportions, strength, and aesthetic; a dancer needs emotional fortitude to truly make it in this career. How is a dancer going to cope with casting that isn't in their favor? Will a dancer be able to continue with a performance after receiving bad news? What does a dancer do if they mess up onstage? Each one of these items can really challenge a dancer's ability to handle the stresses of a dance career. The physical demands of training will prepare one to execute the most difficult of feats with ease. While the emotional aspects of training ensure that a dancer doesn't fall apart in high stress situations. Unfortunately, the concept of emotional training is rarely revealed to students throughout their studies.  Perhaps, because teachers aren't even aware that they are teaching it.

Very few of my teachers really explained much about the emotional challenges of dancing other than saying, "Ballet is hard," "People get injured," or, "You don't want to be stuck in the corps."  That is until I started training under Jock Soto at the School of American Ballet. One day I particularly remember, Jock had stopped class after a student was having a mini-breakdown over the failed execution of a partnering combination. Trying to calm the student down and keep their head in the game, he stated, "Your grandfather just passed away and you got a phone call minutes before you step onstage to premiere the lead in Theme and Variations. That gray-haired lady seated in the orchestra paid $200 for her ticket and has no idea about your troubles. No matter what happens you must always perform to your best abilities because all the audience knows is that they paid a lot of money to see a good show." This comment seemed utterly heartless having never heard anything like it before. I remember many conversations after class where we tried to validate that what he had been saying was just downright heartless. But I can now tell you from experience, I have watched this exact story happen. I've experienced traumas and performed while reeling through an emotional life experience. It is a part of the job and our training helps us deal with this. Now, if only, as teenagers and young adults, we knew that a handful of the comments and experiences we have on the road to success are a part of the training, and not always teachers and directors playing mind games.

It is very common for students who never become professionals and professionals who never become principals to focus their anger and bitterness towards the last organization or two that they feel let them down or kept them from achieving their dream. I don't think this is avoidable and, sometimes, agree with these dancer's feelings. Unfortunately, though, these dancers got weeded out by ballet's survival of the fittest training. If your body is too weak, it will break down often. If your body doesn't fit the aesthetic, and dancers go to dangerous lengths to fit the mold, they will not make it through the training. I am always asked about anorexic and bulimic dancers, as is every professional in the field. I typically respond that there were some sick dancers while I was training. But for the most part, the career is too challenging to maintain that lifestyle and those dancers with eating problems fall apart before they finish their training or within a year of obtaining a job. If a dancer's technique isn't strong enough and they audition for years and years and eventually give up, they have been weeded out. If a dancer had everything going for them and obtains a job, but quits a year or two in because they didn't have a fairytale rise to the top, they have again been weeded out. There are so many challenges that ballet presents to dancers that make sure that the last dancers standing are those onstage and selling tickets.

It is rare to find a teacher or director that is so especially harsh that they seek to destroy a dancer's love for ballet. There are exceptions to the rule, but it isn't common. Most leaders want a dancer to succeed at what they are doing. The misinterpretation of emotional training is often the downfall of many potential dance careers. When one is involved in a school or institution, that one place becomes the dancer's entire world. My favorite example of this takes place at the dance academy where I was raised. Every year when Nutcracker casting is posted, parents call the director shouting, "WHY DIDN'T MY DAUGHTER GET CLARA." In a fair-sized school in the suburbs of Philadelphia, like clockwork, parents freak out because their child wasn't handed a role just for showing up and paying their tuition. Within days, studio gossip ensues and one small performance becomes a big ordeal, as if it is the make it or break it moment of their child's life. People forget that somebody is always going to be at the top and somebody is always going to be at the bottom. It is like this in school and it is like this in a company. It can become difficult to remember that there are hundreds of schools and companies across the country. And if a dancer is truly unhappy, they can always look elsewhere for an improved situation. Rejection and disappointment tend to be one of ballet's first emotional lessons.

If a dancer is truly talented and being overlooked, it may be time to try somewhere new or to understand that sometimes you are the best and sometimes you are the worst. And sometimes it is all a matter of needs and timing. Dancers often forget, like Valeska did, that ballet is based purely on opinion. Casting decisions and class placement often upset people because there is no formal basis to judge technique, artistry, and performance. Maybe a director put a dancer onstage for a specific role because they thought big eyes would look good in that role. Perhaps, she doesn't have the best technique, but she is intriguing to look at and intrigue sells more tickets than technique. And if the same group of dancers travel from state to state, school to school, or company to company whilst performing the same work, different opinions and choices may put completely different dancers onstage at every institution. There is no best dancer. There is, instead, I prefer this dancer.

What it comes down to is that ballet is often full of political opinion. The end goal of an institution is to put productions onstage as best they can and to please its' patrons and donors. Dancers are just pieces of a puzzle that need to be fit together. If a dancer doesn't fit in a certain part of the puzzle, then they don't fit. A company can't be so concerned about hurting a dancer's feelings that the quality of a production becomes a secondary priority. While dancer's feelings may get hurt, it is rarely personal. Ballet doesn't remember that dancers are human beings with emotions. But people do (and should). For this reason, it is the human side, or artistic staff, of an organization that is responsible in ensuring that there is still humane treatment towards a dancer who may be disappointed by casting or has been left out of a performance during their integral final years of training. This is often where emotional training fails. Instead of having a hard, potentially disappointing conversation, many company and school directors prefer to keep quiet about their reasoning. This leaves dancers to make assumptions that may be far from the truth. Maybe staff feels that they don't owe the dancer an explanation for putting them in the second cast of the corps after giving them a leading role in the last production. Or perhaps, that corps member isn't being cast well to test and see if they can handle performing less, which often occurs during the first years after promotion to soloist. Why can't a dancer just be told that they are being tested, instead of creating circumstances and sitting back to watch their reaction. Directors owe the human being, not the dancer, a reason for casting disappointments, frustrating circumstances, and mixed signals.

A great amount of emotional training happens every day in dance. I have found that, more often than not, the higher powers of dance organizations don't even realize that they are taking part in this important aspect of training. Since ballet is passed on by oral tradition, there is no text book on the exact way to train a dancer. My teachers taught me what their teachers taught them and so on and so on. Every generation tries to take the best part of their training and pass it on, while attempting to avoid passing on the worst parts of their training. But, sometimes, the harshest parts of their training were to make sure that they could survive in our stressful profession. Unfortunately, there are often better ways to go about things and those with power aren't even aware that they are doing more than just training the physicality of a dancer. If students are more aware of the emotional tests that they will be put through, they may have greater lasting power. It is really confusing for a teenager to understand that there are tests in our training, beyond how high one can developpe or how many pirouettes one can execute, if they are not made aware of it. Emotional strength is just as important a factor as technique in becoming a successful dancer.

Valeska Mosich-Miller (Photo: Patrick Fraser)

I felt for Valeska while we talked out her training trauma over tasty pork bao at a trendy L.A. eatery. And at the end of our conversation, she was shocked that she may have been ignored in school as a test to see if she could handle being ignored in a company. Or maybe she just didn't fit into the intricate puzzle of the school that year. Years and years of resentment didn't disappear, but she seemed more at ease with what was a very disheartening and hurtful time of her life. Over the last decade there has been a greater push to help preserve the bodies of dancers through proper maintenance, cross training, and better body awareness. Today, I would like to call upon the dance world to do the same thing with the dancer's mind. We need to start treating dancers with respect, openness, and honesty. There needs to be more support for teenagers who are working as high-level adults, often living on their own, and dealing with insane amounts of pressure. Bringing awareness and structure to the emotional training that is necessary to have a successful career will be the next step in extending the life of a dance career.

What do you think we can do to improve the emotional struggles that dancers experience in their training?

Is it ever appropriate to burn a bridge?

A beautiful bridge I found while freelancing in Rochester, NY

Growing up in a small local school, I gained a different perspective than what I may have gotten had I been part of a large institution. Being the only male at my studio over the age of 10 meant that I got a lot more push and direct advice than most dancers get during their training. While I received multitudes of direction throughout the years I spent honing my passion for dance at the Chester Valley Dance Academy, the most repetitious guidance I received was from the director of the studio. "Barry, you must never burn a bridge. The dance world is small and you never know who knows who."

This advice is greatly true, and I fully agree with it. Yet, I disagree, as well. Before I get to my point, let me put myself on the line. Hello. My name is Barry Kerollis and I may be one of the more controversial dancers you have ever met. This statement will take some explaining. While I have always relied on the above advice, I haven't necessarily followed it, albeit unintentionally. Avoiding burning bridges is a priority and fear of mine. Yet, I have done it more than many other dancers. Each time it has happened, it was never my intention. Perhaps, a misunderstanding, hunger for maximum achievement, or out of self preservation. I want to share my honest story openly to explore this subject objectively and help others understand and learn from my experiences. And, is it even possible to never burn one bridge in this dance world?

Perhaps, the first time I ever burnt a bridge, I was a mere 18 years old. I was on the verge of graduating from the Kirov Academy of Ballet. I was kind of an underdog. Upon entering the school, I was technically behind everybody and my body lacked the beautiful classical line of every other male in the school. It came as a surprise when the director of Colorado Ballet came to watch class and offered me a full company, corps de ballet, position for the upcoming season. At the same time, I had finally made it into my dream school, the School of American Ballet, for their summer intensive. Gaining acceptance into SAB is actually what inspired me to focus on ballet at the age of 15. Three years later, it finally happened and I was set on getting the full experience.

As soon as I received my letter of acceptance, I called SAB and mentioned that I had been offered a contract with Colorado Ballet. I told the school that I had dreamed about spending the year there and would turn down the offer to become a professional to have that chance. They told me that acceptance into the summer program didn't guarantee a spot in the year-round program. They suggested I not risk losing my job offer and to sign the contract to ensure that I had something to do the following season. So, I signed my contract, sent it in, and started searching for an apartment in what I thought to be my new home, Denver.

At the end of June, I moved into my summer home in the dorms at Lincoln Center. After the first few days of the program, Jock Soto pulled me into a conference room with Michael Breeden, current Miami City Ballet dancer, and Peter Boal. They told us how much they enjoyed seeing us in class and offered both of us to stay for the year to study with them. These talks usually didn't happen for a few weeks, so the two of us were extremely excited to get "the talk" so soon. For me, I was filled with mixed feelings. Excitement that I had finally achieved a dream and goal of mine, mixed with fear and confusion that I had to choose between my dream of training at SAB or starting my career as a professional. I spent a few days mulling over this decision and determined that I couldn't turn away from what inspired me to focus on ballet in the first place. I called up the director of Colorado Ballet and, as apologetically as I could, broke my contract for the upcoming season. The director told me that he understood my decision, but was very disappointed

Puss & Boots w/ Cassia Phillips - SAB workshop 2003

that I was breaking a promise that I had put in writing. I still feel awful that it had to happen this way, but I couldn't live with the regret that I would have if I had missed this opportunity. In the end, I believe it was one of the best career decisions that I have made. Not only did I get a great school to add to my training experience, but I learned a completely different style of ballet and made new connections that wouldn't have been available to me in a classical company that was more isolated than many other companies.

The second time I burnt a bridge was less complicated than my first. After a very productive year training at the School of American Ballet and doing 14 auditions for companies, I had been offered a handful of contracts. The offer that most piqued my interest was to join Pennsylvania Ballet's 2nd company, as it was the best company I had been offered to dance with and close to home. I emailed the director of the 2nd company and stated that I accepted their offer and asked that they send a contract to me. The day that my contract arrived, I received a call from Stanton Welch offering me an apprenticeship with Houston Ballet. Not only was this a more substantial company, but the position they offered was with the company and not a smaller training arm of a company. I promptly called Pennsylvania Ballet and told them that I was going to accept the offer with Houston Ballet because I had not yet signed the contract to dance with their 2nd company. The response was not the understanding that I expected. I expected there to be disappointment when I called, but I didn't expect to be told that they weren't pleased that I had made the decision and fully expected me to follow through with my word. Being a naive teenager, I thought they would understand why I would take a higher position with a better company. Alas, they didn't. While they didn't completely put me off in the years to come, after auditioning again for the company years later, they eventually stopped allowing me to take company class. Essentially, the term many of us have heard, I am blacklisted.

A few years ago, I had the unfortunate experience where I didn't realize a bridge was being burnt until it had already burnt, collapsed, and fallen into a deep lake of despair. I had experienced an injury with the company that I was dancing with in Philly. They had kept information secret from me that prevented me from getting assistance to recover from this injury. After working through a freelancing opportunity in pain with assistance from that company to get therapy, I returned for the next program still in pain. I made the mistake of remaining quiet and trying to dance through it. I knew I couldn't afford to take care of it and I had already put myself out there asking for assistance. I was put off and learned to stay quiet. At the same time, a less experienced choreographer was creating a piece on us to be performed at a major dance venue in New York City.

Throughout the process, I was having difficulty with my dance partner, my pain, and the complexities of her style of choreographing that was newer to me than the other dancers in the company. Instead of supporting me through the process, the choreographer switched back and forth between ignoring me and making less than respectful comments towards me. I did my best to deal with the stress silently, as dancers are often taught and expected to do. But after a week of this situation, the pressure came to a helm. The choreographer yelled at me, claiming that I was marking a step that I had not been. The conversation went like this. Choreographer: "What is your problem? Me: "I don't understand what you are asking me." Choreographer: "You are really starting to piss me off." Me: "I really don't understand what you are talking about." Choreographer: "Why are you marking?" At this point, I lost my cool and started fighting back. The pressure of trying to be respectful and trying to respect myself became too much and I defended myself loudly in front of everybody else. After a long private conversation following the outburst, we returned to the studio with the agreement that the choreographer would be a bit more clear in her process. My efforts to ease the situation didn't work. To prove to her that I wasn't marking, I danced beyond my threshold of pain and made my injury far worse. This sped up the process of burning one bridge that eventually burnt many.

That day will always be a big day in my life. I broke dance law. I lost my cool, I lost my submission, and I created a sour relationship with a choreographer, teacher, and repetiteur of works by the very choreographer who inspired me to consider switching my focus to ballet. Not only that, the choreographer and the director of the company were close friends. Throughout all of this, I also came to realize that I really couldn't continue to dance through my injury. It was much worse than it had been prior to this argument and I feared that if I continued to dance, I would have to pull out of the program closer to the performance dates and that I could possibly incur permanent damage. I decided to take myself out of the program, which eventually led to the company unfairly, and I believe illegally, firing me. There were many complications that came out of the burning of this one bridge. But was it right for me to defend myself as a person, not a dancer? Was I valid in defending myself, effectively burning this bridge?

Dancing my own work in the Philly Fringe exploring the situation that led to me losing my job - Gated Lies (Photo: Bill Hebert)

Posing the above question brings up many more questions. When is it appropriate to burn a bridge? If you burn a bridge, how badly will it affect you? And, most importantly, in such a short, competitive career, is it impossible not to burn a bridge or two along the way? I'm still trying to figure all of these things out. When I burnt my bridge with Colorado Ballet, I felt that the company was isolated enough to avoid too much damage to my reputation. In the end, the director was fired from the company and my options grew exponentially from my decision. When I burnt my bridge with Pennsylvania Ballet, I had the chance to dance with 2 of the greatest companies in the country for 8 years. But, at the same time, I am back in Philadelphia without a company to call home, and there is no chance they would consider me to dance with their company as long as their director remains at the helm. In the last situation, I burnt a bridge protecting and defending my integrity and body as a dancer and person. But, in the end, I injured myself further (though revealing that they had been hiding workers compensation from me, which allowed me to get better), lost a potential avenue to working on choreography that inspires me, lost my job, lost some friends who didn't want to be seen associating with me, and lost a handful of opportunities to dance in Philadelphia (since the company directors are so closely tied to a handful of dance organizations in the city).

So with all of this information, I ask if it is ever appropriate to burn a bridge? And returning to the original question: Is it possible to never burn one bridge in this dance world? I feel that it is impossible to give a proper answer. If you burn a bridge for a dream opportunity, is it worth it? If you burn a bridge to protect yourself from somebody that is treating you poorly, should you defend yourself? These are more questions of character than they are definitively yes or no answers. Are we dancers or are we human? When is it right to defend yourself as a human in a dance studio? If you are offered the opportunity of a lifetime, do you let it pass you up to honor a contract that can be filled by another dancer that will value the opportunity more?

What it comes down to is that these decisions are not about a right or wrong answer. Instead, the act of burning a bridge is very personal. And it is unfortunate, that in certain circumstances, one may not be aware that they are burning a bridge until after the moment happens. I will leave my readers with this. While these unfortunate happenings are to be handled at the discretion of each individual dancer, one should not fear burning a bridge if an action is damaging to oneself physically or emotionally. We can only hope that instead of burning a bridge, it can be left damaged and open to repair. For we are only human. Tread lightly.