Dancer's DNA

My DNA dictates that I do not have a beautiful body for ballet. My hips are too wide, my popo too square, my thighs too round, my arms and hands not graceful enough. My DNA dictates that I lack turn-out, hyper-mobility, and that my arabesques will always be low. My DNA dictates that I will never look like a ballerina. Well, to hell with those dictators!

My DNA has given me a strong body. It has muscles, legs that jump and stretch and toes that point. It has arms for port de bras, and fingers that can flutter like leaves in the wind. It has a rhythm and a heartbeat and lungs that breath. I can dance with this body.

My DNA dictates that I have a brain, and it has made up my mind a long time ago: my heart is in ballet.

So what if you and I lack the facilities and looks of a professional ballerina? It is not relevant when you dance for yourself. Our DNAs are unique, and if it makes us stands out in a crowd, let's carry it with pride and joy!

If you have a dream that dictates you must dance, then that is the only dictator you should follow.

xoxo - Johanna


This short post was inspired by Misa Kuranaga in SK-II's new ad campaign #changedestiny.

From Beach to Barre

Another summer coming to an end... My dance studio's fall/winter semester begins today, and I have my first morning class already tomorrow. I'm happy, because I've missed those classes, but I'm also feeling a bit of fall melancholy... Not quite ready to make the transition from life at the beach to schedules, adult responsibilities and outerwear. Thankfully, there is dance. What would life be without a passion to sustain us?

I continue to be passionate about ballet, even though I spent more time at the beach than in a dance studio this past summer. Two classes per week, that's all. Can't even remember the last time I've danced as little. I can feel the difference, and I can see it. My leos have shrunk, and there's a new heavyness. But I've never taken class to maintain a certain weight, not even to stay fit... Those have just been bonuses. I dance for the pleasure of it.

This summer, there has been little feedback and even less personal corrections, but I've still had some big relevations. I discovered that working with gravity, really going down into the floor, makes my dancing look and feel more effortless. If you focus only on pulling up, you loose a dimension. One has to go down to come up again. Rebound, in dance and in life. I've also rediscovered my back leg. Previously, when we've been doing chassés/glissés, I've had my weight on the front leg - when I should have pushed more with the back leg. A small adjustment, but a big difference.

My happiest class was when we repeated one of our beautiful adagios. I knew the steps, directions and counts - and then I let go. No more thinking about technique, just flowing with the music. It was a really intense feeling. Made me fall in love with ballet all over again.

Last day at the beach, getting back into the spirit of dance. 

She's Got Legs

I got some very interesting feedback today. We were in the midst of a fondue exercise facing the barre, when my teacher came over. She told me that the shape of my legs has changed... From the tone of her voice (pleased) and the smile on her face, I figured that this was a good thing. She said that it was because of the work I've been doing. I know that my technique has improved in the past year, and I can feel a difference - but I can't really see it. I mean, I see that my feet are more stretched and pointed and my heels more often forwarded than not... But this is action, not appearance.

I've always had very muscular legs, more sporty than ballerina. And I have to admit that I've looked at some of my fellow dancers' slim and long legs with a bit of envy. When I do, I try to remember that mine work pretty well. I would not want to give up my bounce in exchange for mere ballerina looks. Anyway, my legs match the rest of my body. Still... I did not think it possible that they could look any different, not after dancing for twenty years. And guys, I'm not talking diets. Sure, I could skip my treats (chocolate + cookies), and loose a few pounds - but my face gets too skinny before my body gets just "right".  So I rather have a little extra padding. That's all on that topic.

When I got home today and changed into my comfortable sweats, I could not help but check myself out in the mirror. I still see the same: strong legs and slightly out-of-shape thighs. However, when I stretch, turn out and point, they do look like dancer legs. Not ballerina-slim and hyper-extended, but athletic and shaped by ballet. And that's pretty damn awesome.

Summer 2012, which would make this photo the "before-picture". I really should take some new.. ;)

Pink Tights - Yikes!

Never say never - but when I posted You Will Never See Me In Pink Tights, I meant it. For real. Because when I'm in ballet class I always wear black leggings. Only when I'm feeling particularily bold, I might pull on midnight blue or some brazen dark aubergine colours. Pale ballet-pinks or white? Never.

My favorite look is a capri-length semi-sheer black legging combined with a skin-colored ballet slipper for a nice calf-ankle-toe line. Hey, you see pros wear the same all the time - so it's cool enough for me. And you know what? Even real ballerinas are not all crazy about the pale ballet-pink leg look, despite their slim and gorgeously muscled pins! My own teachers told me the same. Maybe it's just that after years of enforced dress-codes black equals freedom?

My aversion to pale-pink tights has two reasons: despite studying ballet in earnest, I don't want to look like I want to look the part. I'm not pretending to be a ballet student, I just take class. Does that make any sense at all? Reason number two is vanity. I have always been very self-conscious about the size and shape of my thighs. On a plus side, my quads and hams are definitely shaped by years of ballet. But there's too much bulk and soft padding on top of the muscles, which makes them look plus-sized in proportion to the rest of me. Although it might be that my body-image is somewhat distorted; looking through a ballet-studio's looking glass can do that to you..

Black is slimming, ballet-pink is not. But I have to admit that muscle tone is better visible through pink tights. And ballet-shaped legs look good, even in bigger sizes. And I'm bored with my jambes looking always the same. It's not even yet time for a nice summer tan. Which brings me back to the Never Say Never.. I figured if I torture myself with pink for a while, going back to black will be so much sweeter. So I changed my mind about the pink tights! I have been wearing them for the past week!

I gotta tell you, that first time almost felt like going topless on a semi-nude beach in Helsinki, many summers ago. Bare. Exposed. Even though I wore my tights rolled up above the ankle, with black knee-length shorts. And a black skirt on top of it all. But it wasn't so bad. Just like at that beach! Nobody even noticed the difference (though the topless act might have been noticed by some). Next class I rolled the tights down and over my toes. It was a basic level, with most exercises facing the barre and in my case the mirror too. Could not resist taking peaks, whenever my teacher was elsewhere (otherwise it's chin up and eyes forward). I was surprised at how nice my legs looked!

Last time was yesterday's advanced class. I was not sure at first, because there were a couple of young pre-pro girls dropping in. You know, the kind that do ballet competitions. Talented and gorgeous. But I figured, what the heck! I can't change my genetic make-up but I can strut my ballet-bod with some pride, big thighs and all! Mind you, I'm still sticking to the black shorts, but they have been rolled above knee-length already. It's like a really slow strip-release of old insecurities. Just have to remember that the fat mirror is fun-house and not real!

After class I talked to my teacher about my dislike of pink tights and why I had decided to wear them anyway - and she told me that she understands but that she had noticed some very nice lines! It's not that I don't stretch my knees in black, however the pink might have given me an extra push to look good.. I won't stop wearing black leggings - it's my thing - but I promise to go pink once in a while. Might even ditch the long shorts!

Present Yourself!

So I finally did the near-naked thing in ballet class. Dear Reader, before you skip a beat,  let me assure you. It was not the wardrobe malfunction kind, where you forget to pull up your leo after hurrying (back) to class. And where the first one to notice you all Josephine Baker-like is the only guy in class, sweetly asking you if you did not forget something. I swear this has really happened. Fortunately not to me. Phew. Although, once I had almost too much of a reveal when I was in a very deep cambré to the back. Yay for flexibilty, not so much for too much of cleavage.

Which reminds of a story about the courtesans of old Venice, told to me by my opera-singer/dancer friend. Apparently, when business was not going so well, said ladies obtained permission to display their bounty over the window-sills - thus inspiring new fashions of deep cleavages. And apparently an image helpful to singers and dancers alike. Do not open your ribcage, but stack it over the sill. There you go.

Present yourself! This instruction is repeated to us class after class. Don´t show off your boobs (save this for later), but your jambes, pieds, talons, bras, épaulement, head and eyes. Own your dancing body, and then own the stage. Present your gorgeous arches, heels and legs and upper body. Engage with your audience, imaginary or not. It changes everything, even in class. A dancer who looks down at her feet, loses the line. A dancer who does not look beyond her elongated arm, is closed off in her own little space. It shows.

Yesterday, I started my class as usual - that is in my now-favorite warm-up romper. Comfortable, warm, cozy, hide-it-all. Usually I discard any extra wear after our plié exercise, but I had figured out that you can roll the legs up and and the top down. It´s a very pro-dancer-y look. Really flattering only on a skinny ballet bod, but I like to use my imagination. Anyway, I had planned to toss the thing in my bag right after barre. Which was really no option, as we were all hot and red-faced and sweaty by the time we did our frappés(how´s that for a lovely ballerina image?). But, after I had stripped down and was reaching into my bag for my ballet skirt - there was none! I must have left it in the locker! Our teacher gives us no break between barre and center, so I could not go to look. No choice but to suck it up. Literally.

So, there I stood with nothing between me and the mirror except for one black leotard and black leggings. I did also wear a long-sleeve, cut-off top made out of old black tights, which made my upper half all modest and covered. But. My butt, that is. All exposed to the world. I was admittedly unnerved. In ballet class you spend substantial time to keep that popo in a plum line, with your tail-bone pointed down. Which suits me just fine, I´ve never been one to flaunt my derrière. Not that anyone in class was looking or could have cared any less.

I decided to go for it. Present myself. It´s a bit like jumping off from a high spot into deep water. Either you dive in or you butt out. And I gotta tell you.. Although I was acutely aware of my every little line and curve, it was not so bad. In fact, it made me work harder. Dance better. This time, less was like totally more. But(t) enough is enough. By the time we were doing our pirouette exercises across the floor, I was mentally exhausted and changed back into my trusted romper. Baby steps, darlings. Baby steps..

Photo above post: Lana Jones of Australian Ballet. Photographer: Justin Smith.

Princess Diary, Part 1.

It was towards the end of our pointe class. We stood in center, our teacher smiled and gave us The Talk about repertory and dancing variations. On pointe. The been-there-done-that-crowd did not flinch, but my heart stopped. I knew this was coming, there had been hints, but my teacher had spoken of later next year. Not of the here and now! I half figured that because of our mixed-level class she was talking to the advanced girls who were probably itching to do more than echappés and piqués in center. But no, there was no sorting into groups, no directions for me (or anyone else) to sit in the corner and observe. My teacher pressed play, said something about Sleeping Beauty and took the beginning pose of B-plus, arms crossed delicately in front. My barely recovered heart sank, further down still.

I felt like I had taken an odd turn, missed the sign "Mom of Aurora" and entered the wrong casting. Because no way is this adult dancer a bluebird-wooing, sprightly, pretty, petite, ballet-y princess. You want to scare me away? Flaunt a tutu into my face and I´ll jeté into the opposite direction. Of course, our teacher did not throw the entire variation before us, just the beginning piqués and grand ronde jambes and bourrés. So, really nothing we haven´t done before, except for the piqués followed by the sweeping leg to the side (well, it was new to me anyway). And those arms. I have never felt such a strong urge to call it quits. And quit I did, right there and then.

I could put part of the blame on my big toe, which was crying for release and ice (too much pressure and not enough padding underneath), but that would not even be half of the truth. The ugly truth, Dear Reader,  is that I fear repertory. I fear looking like I´ve come without an invite, crashed the party, trespassed from my seat in the audience right onto the stage. When that Bluebird music started to play, I could not get the image of a real ballerina out of my head - and me making mockery of her!

Deep down I know my logic is lacking, as really all of our exercises and enchaînements are bits and pieces of variations or preparations thereof. I have even been on stage before, in our spring shows, dancing to the music of Swan Lake and Coppelia. But back then I was part of the "corps de ballet", with my feet safely ensconed in soft slippers, not precariously footed on pointe. This repertory business however, is new and alien territory to me.

The thing is, and this might seem curious to some, I was not lured into ballet by the sight of the ballerina-in-the-music-box. As a twelve year old I thought Giselle in her floating tulle lovely, but the princess in a tutu held no appeal to me at all. In fact it took me years to appreciate her iconic status and not regard the hopping on pointe with the bopping tutu as silly. What drew me to ballet instead was (and still is) the architectural line of the arabesque, the flight of grand jetés, the music drawn into movement.

I never imagined me dancing any roles or characters and certainly nothing remotely princess-y. I figured that kind of dancing to be the exclusive domain of the "good girls" (as one of my former teachers liked to call them - compared to the adult rest of us). You know, the ballerinas in training, and those who have danced since they have walked. Dancers with ballet-class cred, the "look" and that enviable trait of je-ne-sais-quoi.. Whereby you take one pose and are instantly transformed into something out of this world, out of my world.

The Sleeping Beauty
Stephanie Williams of Australian Ballet.
Photo: Liz Ham.

Real life and fairy tales, ballet class and repertory.. I do realise that not all of ballet is princess-y. Just as I understand that portraying a majestic countenance on stage is an essential part of it all. Something to do with Catherine de Medici and that Sunny King of France. Ballet was first the spectacle of royalty, and the unwed virgin Princess among their heroines (funny how Disney held on to that). The tiara- and tutu-clad Princess on Pointe has long since become the iconic look of the female ballet dancer. And here lies my whopper of insecurity: princesses and tutus and me - we are no match made for the stage. There are, admittedly, body- and self-image issues involved.

Grown-ups who dance ballet for the joy, do not have to look the part. Professional dancers do. We may come in all sizes and shapes, but all we need is to focus on our placement and line, on the music and the corrections we get. Yet we are drawn to the image of the ballet-body beautiful - and most of us are not so wise and mature as to never compare ourselves. And yes, in comparison I do find my instrument sadly lacking! When thoses Fairy Godmothers dealt out their favors, they threw some bounce at me and then skipped and hopped away.  Ballon, yes. Talent for ballet, no. I´m not talking about musicality or eye for movement, or intellect and perseverance. What I lack is balletic talent; physical suitability such as good turn-out and natural flexibility, and that look of long and lean legs, a small butt and slim hips. One nice left foot does not yet a ballerina make.

So, I´m short and squat, broad-shouldered, curvy and compact. So what? What I and every other sometime insecure adult-not-quite-a-ballerina needs to understand, is that it does not matter. Not as much as we like to think. In ballet you essentially aim to create an illusion - that of infinite lines and flight. You achieve this by work, not talent alone. Every able-bodied can strengthen their core, lengthen the back, stretch those knees, pointe them feet. You breathe, you elongate, you live, you love to dance. The bottom line is that the shape(liness) of your derrière does not stand in the way of the loveliness of your ligne!

The princess is just another illusion. She is created by the lines you draw onto the music, by épaulement, port de bras, a pas here, another enchaînement there. Dancing her should not be mission impossible. Granted, a grown-up ballet dancer would be an odd casting for the part of virgin bride-to-be Aurora. But it does not have to be a choice between the teenage princess and the walk-on part of mothers or queens. Though in real life.. I´d rather be the Empress residing over her court than the talent called to entertain at her daughters pre-nuptials.

As for myself, I´m still finding my voice as a dancer. Anything that goes beyond the purely technical is still fairly new to me. Only in the past year have I thought about "presenting myself" in ballet, whether it´s a forwarded ankle or an attempt at elegance. Princess Florestine? Not quite there yet. Although, after the initial shock faded and I later confided in my teacher - about my fears, insecurities and bad memories - something changed. I looked at that particular variation (and others) with a fresh perspective and new attention to detail. In our next class, our teacher broke the steps down and - lo and behold - I could actually pull it off!

Now, let me just unearth and rediscover my latent inner princess. A modern single gal wooing her Prince. Somewhere between Princess Florestine and Charlotte of Sex and the City. The tutus you do not have to bother with, but darlings - I´ll wear the tiara. Those are real diamonds, right?