DT caught Xiomara Reyes in early October, just a few weeks into her new job as head of The Washington School of Ballet in Washington, DC. The former American Ballet Theatre principal dancer had recently relocated from New York City with her husband Rinat Imaev, and immediately begun working long days and nights in an effort to get to know the institution better.
Asked about her future plans, she graciously admitted that she had yet to see how the budget might allow for certain changes and was still a few days away from the first meeting of the board. She was already formulating plans, though, likening the experience of learning on the job to getting comfortable with a new ballet. "Right now, I see a problem, and I just try to solve it," she says. "But I look forward to the moment when I can begin to walk through it, and maybe a year from now, when I have learned more, I will eventually have more control over all of the steps."
On a Wednesday afternoon in December, the Cary Ballet Conservatory's students are onstage for a run-through of their Youth America Grand Prix solos and ensemble dances. Newly appointed director Mariaelena Ruiz sits in the audience, announcing the name, age and hometown for each competitor on the microphone, mimicking the tone and setting of the real competition. The fifth positions and use of épaulement are as impressive as the multiple pirouettes and grand fouettés. There is also a surprising maturity on display, evident in how the students maintain their stage presence and stay musical even with a stumble here or hiccup there, without any feedback or encouragement from Ruiz. This is clearly a practice performance that they are prepared for, a luxury and an experience pre-professional students rarely get. Any notes will be given at the end, just as in a professional company.
As the sun sets over Lake Tahoe, a group of young sylphs emerges from a copse of towering fir trees to make a magical entrance onto an outdoor stage. Between the naturally theatrical lighting design and the equally dramatic backdrop of greenery, blue water and the Sierra Nevada mountains, the scene for an homage to Michel Fokine's classic ballet could not be more perfect. The audience watches from lawn chairs and picnic blankets, sipping wine, as the evening's program drifts casually back and forth between student presentations and professional guest artists performing works classical and contemporary, from the repertory of modern dance pioneer Erick Hawkins to the White Swan pas de deux to choreographed improvisations by Christian Burns and Lake Tahoe Dance Festival co-director Constantine Baecher.
When Damian Woetzel came to Vail a decade ago as artistic director, he brought the vision of creating an open artistic community.
"Dancers often go to festival gigs, arrive with their music and costumes, perform, get the check and go," says Woetzel. "It's very normal and efficient. But I was always more interested in collaborations, artistic development, working with new artists, so I tried from the beginning to create an atmosphere in which to experiment and try something new."
This month, the festival celebrates Woetzel's collaborative mission and its expansion during his time there.
Walking into Rhythm Dance Center, the eye is instantly captivated with color and whimsy. Each wall has a different graphic wallpaper adorned with photo collages from the latest recitals; every chair is upholstered in yet another fun pattern; chandeliers hang in neon colors; and in the homework lounge, the mantra “Be Amazing" beckons in large glittered print. But there is one thing noticeably absent from all the eye candy: trophies.
“We have never been caught up in winning," explains Becca Moore, owner and one half of the force behind the popular studio just outside Atlanta, where fun and creativity reign, and there is a class for everyone, from recreational dancer to pre-professional. “It is more about process and growing. We set goals, of course, but not necessarily to win first place. Besides, we don't have room for trophies to collect dust here, so we donate them and talk to the kids about that."
Moore and her partner Dani Rosenberg decided to open a studio together when they were barely out of their teens. Now in its 23rd year, Rhythm Dance Center has grown from 100 students to more than 1,000, with professional graduates such as “So You Think You Can Dance" winner Melanie Moore and students who go on to Ivy League educations. Bursting at the seams with dance bags piling up everywhere on any given afternoon, the large five-studio home they built 15 years ago is barely large enough to contain them.
Photo by Laurie Sermos
The two were only 19 and 22 when they signed their first lease. They had gained valuable experience at the studio where they danced in high school, eventually teaching and helping with scheduling and costume ordering. And they did have the guidance of business-minded parents who taught them about customer service. But they credit their success in large part to learning from their mistakes and following their passions. After more than two decades in business, doing nearly every aspect of it together, the pair is so in sync they not only finish each other's sentences, they often speak whole sentences for one another. “We have very few disagreements," says Moore. “We see eye to eye on almost everything, so we are rarely in conflict."
Some of their mistakes have been more expensive than others. “The vending machine," groans Moore. Early on, they took out a lease on a vending machine, seeing it as a good way to make a little extra cash. Unfortunately, it never worked, and the fine print was not in their favor. “We had to pay to get out of that situation," says Rosenberg.
“Or remember when we tried to be too cool?" They laugh trying to explain a period when they had put pressure on themselves to teach the trendiest jazz moves. That didn't last long. Moore elaborates, “Our faculty keeps current and is amazing at it. We stick to teaching the more classic jazz technique we are good at."
Though they may joke about their trial-and-error business approach, the truth is that it takes a great deal of foresight and planning to run a studio of this size. These women clearly have that down. They hold partial staff meetings every Monday to make sure everyone is on the same page, and they have informational meetings in advance of recitals for parents of the six casts, plus auditions for the performing company to clearly lay out expectations and head off misunderstandings.
Photo by Laurie Sermos
But perhaps the biggest challenge at this stage of Rhythm's existence is having enough space to accommodate growing enrollment. They have begun renting a separate office space—which both claim enthusiastically was the best decision they ever made; now they can get work done without constant interruption—and a sixth studio nearby to give them time to mull over expansion plans. There is talk of adding on to their current building, but that would require permits and major planning within the community. “There's no question we have to expand," says Moore. “It's just a question of how."
They take two yearly retreats with members of their faculty, many of whom are homegrown, to plan and prepare for recitals. And they have made friends with other studio owners in their area and around the country. They enjoy grabbing a drink with others from the greater Atlanta area when they end up taking their schools to the same conventions. And they've developed close friendships with studio owners farther afield, such as Christy Curtis of CC & Co. Dance Complex in Raleigh, North Carolina, whom they met at an event in Hawaii seven years ago. “We probably exchange a text with Christy once a week," says Moore.
“We started talking by the pool and found our studios are similar in size and thought process," says Rosenberg. “It is nice to hear how another studio deals with the same issues. Christy once shared a spreadsheet she uses for her recital tech week, and we adopted that immediately. We have even taken social trips together—it's like therapy."
Indeed, running a studio the size of Rhythm affords very little time off. “We are willing to stay at work until 2 am because we are not committed to other things," says Moore. “This has always come first."
Rosenberg nods, acknowledging the sacrifices and admitting it would be an impossible endeavor without the support of each other. “This is our family. It may be an unconventional lifestyle, but it suits me. I'm very independent, and I got this insane work ethic from my mom."
“Take the right foot to coupé; now rise,” says Sara Knight, in her heavy British accent. As her students struggle to keep their torsos from twisting as they relevé, she laughs good-naturedly, knowing the difficulty of her request. “Ah, it’s looking a bit windy in here!” she says.
Peek into her classroom—located at the Battery Dance Company studios in downtown New York, five stories above the Canal Street din—on any given afternoon, and you are likely to find her students levitating. Knight raises their chins, lifts their quadriceps and pulls them up by their waists, sometimes so skyward that the dancers’ feet begin to slip from their pointe shoes. But though her hands-on approach could be called gravity-defying, she’s quick to bring her students back to planet Earth when she senses a stilted pose or affectation.
“Turn your head and just talk to me,” she asks of a student with a stiff head tilt that strains her épaulement. “It’s a normal occurrence to turn the head. As much of ballet that’s not normal, using the head is.” The conversation relaxes the student, and as the tension drains out of her neck, she is able to complete her line more gracefully. It’s this balance Knight finds between the practical and astral demands of ballet that marks her teaching style, as she prepares her students for the professional world ahead.
Though she never set out to start a ballet school, Knight has found that her training—Russian-based, but spiced with French, English and Danish styles—fills a pre-professional niche, even in the crowded New York City market. Now in its sixth year, the SLK Ballet School enrolls a small group of teenage girls from 1 to 6 pm every weekday. Once a year, the students have an opportunity to take a ballet exam (based on the Vaganova Ballet Academy’s exams), attended by a professional panel. “It gives me a chance to sit back and assess where the students are in their training,” she says, which is a common process in most full-time European ballet schools. “There is a sense of nervousness just like in auditions or performances, so the exam helps the dancer practice how they have to push past their fears.” Knight and her panel employ a mark system of one through five, five being the best. Knight schedules meetings with each student afterward to discuss their marks.
The preparation for such a test is grueling. Knight is detail-oriented, worrying as much about the musicality of a waltz as the placement of the little toe or perfectly square hips. Almost every combination at the barre is repeated on relevé. During a difficult adagio, she is relentless in her pursuit of the perfect attitude promenade, reminding her students it will affect their grandes pirouettes later. “Don’t give up, don’t pull back,” she calls from the ground, where she is crouched near a student’s supporting leg, sculpting her dancers’ bodies with her physical adjustments. “You’ve got to educate your inside thigh, and move just your heel. That’s it; you’ve got the stuff. Now put it together!” DT
Atlanta-based writer Candice Thompson danced with the Milwaukee Ballet Company and is a writing fellow at Columbia University.
Sara Knight graduated from both The Royal Ballet School and the Vaganova Ballet Academy (as its first British graduate). She also completed The Royal Ballet School Teacher Training Course, where she worked under the tutelage of master teacher Valerie Adams. Knight danced professionally with the Russian Ballet and Choreographic Miniatures. She co-founded the Greenwich Ballet Academy in Westchester County, New York, and was ballet mistress for Central School of Ballet in London and NYC’s Ellison Ballet before founding SLK Ballet School in 2009.
Erina Tanaka, 18, has been a student at SLK Ballet for three years.
Photography by Kyle Froman
“Let's build our houses together, gentlemen. Shall we?" Tammi Shamblin asks 20 fifth-grade boys at the top of ballet class, during the final week of Ballet Tech's summer program in New York City. “Is your body square, dragon tails down? Are your eyes looking out your vacation windows? Where do you want to go today?" Every boy stands at attention, ready to begin a series of pliés facing the barre. As they lift their heels and stretch their knees, Shamblin offers corrections like a modern-day Mary Poppins, brightly singing out images like “Sip your slurpee legs up!" and “Squish marshmallows under your heels!" to the rhythm of the accompanist.
Wes Veldink draws the shades and switches off the fluorescent lights to create a mood of contemplation during the warm-up of his intermediate/advanced contemporary class at Broadway Dance Center in Manhattan. As the teens and young adults flow through his dance-y version of a yoga sun salutation in the near dark, he encourages them to breathe, to find energy radiating from their tails through their heads and to explore a small spiral of the spine during a deep lunge where the arm traces an arc back, out, up and forward. “Find the corner with energy in your fingers and reach to get over the hump,” says Veldink. As for the spiral, “It’s a small movement, but it is still work.”
Using quirky musicality and shapes that alternately swoop and thrash, Veldink is known for his off-kilter movement quality. It has earned him the devotion of his dancers. But his goal for students goes beyond mastering cool choreography. He wants them to dance with specificity, not to move out of habit. “For a lot of the younger generation, the contemporary style has become a free-for-all,” he says. His minutely detailed directions and attention to the initiation and intention of each movement are designed to shape versatile dancers. Students may come to his class for the cutting-edge combinations, but they return for the precision training.
The lights come on briefly after warm-up, then Veldink switches them off again to create ambience during the center combination. The room regains the feeling of a sacred space. Because he doesn’t count music, he lays out a phrase to the first eight words of the song. The sharp punctuations and quick transitions of Veldink’s vocabulary—set to a melancholic cover of Beyoncé’s “Crazy In Love” by Antony and The Johnsons—produce a gritty take on contemporary or lyrical. Veldink’s movement is based in jazz and modern technique. He describes it as a hybrid that “involves human posture and gesture with special attention to musicality and detail.” Indeed, movements of the hands and arms are particular and deliberate.
As soon as he gets the names of the steps out of his mouth, he details, almost reverently, the how and why of each movement. “Instead of throwing the arms out, try to press down on your lats as you stretch your arms up in the air,” he says. He coaches each nanosecond of port de bras to tame overly decorative arms that veer away from authenticity and a gesture’s necessary mechanics. “We are turning very geriatric in the roll back to the floor,” he says with sly, understated humor. “Don’t hold your breath and fight the ground; exhale into it.” As the students struggle to marry the demands of the breath with the lightning speed of the floor work, it is clear that the lessons of his holistic teaching style will continue to resonate beyond this room and this phrase. DT
Candice Thompson danced with the Milwaukee Ballet Company and is a writing fellow at Columbia University.
Wes Veldink grew up in Los Angeles and developed his technique, passion and work ethic under jazz choreographers Jackie Sleight and Cindy Montoya. He also studied butoh, the Japanese theater artform characterized by painted white faces, dark stages and dark subject matter. He was featured as a dancer in the film Newsies (1992) and taught at EDGE Performing Arts Center in Los Angeles before moving to New York City and starting his own company, The Wes Veldink Movement (2000–2005). His commercial choreography credits run the gamut from Paula Abdul to Ani DiFranco to Alicia Keys. Recently, he has set work on concert dance companies around the world, from Oslo Dance Ensemble to K-Broadway in Japan, in addition to conceiving, directing and choreographing two dance films. He teaches regularly at Broadway Dance Center.
Jess Hendricks is a choreographer and on faculty at 24 Seven Dance Convention. She was a member of Veldink’s former company for five years.
Photography by Kyle Froman