Associate editor Rachel Rizzuto is originally from Chalmette, Louisiana. She dances for MMDC and heads her own project-based company, touche pas. A graduate of the University of Southern Mississippi with degrees in dance and English, she edits the Face to Face, Higher Ed, Technique, Theory & Practice and Business columns. Contact her at email@example.com.
Here The Ailey School's Peter Brandenhoff teaches Bournonville style, marked by its use of épaulement and quick footwork. Brandenhoff explains that at the peak of the grand jeté, it should look as if the torso is sitting atop the legs, unaffected, and the narrow second position of the arms should be presentational—like you're "giving a little tray of petit fours to the teacher," he says.
Here's the grand jeté:
Susan Hebach and Margaret Morrison believe it's important to get your beginning tappers moving through space with their flaps. An easy way to do this is with a traveling flap-heel. Remember to lift the knee and bring the leg with you as you travel forward.
The next phase? Take away the heel and replace it with a clap—this helps students develop enough foot strength and control to balance on the ball of the foot.
Margaret Morrison and Susan Hebach understand the value of a good teacher. As longtime faculty members at the American Tap Dance Foundation, they've spent their careers adhering to ATDF's noble mission to give tap a permanent and well-deserved place in concert dance, via education, preservation, new developments and presentation. In 2014, Morrison and Hebach capitalized on their joint (and rare) strength—teaching others how to teach tap—by founding ATDF's Tap Teacher Training Program. It's based on the work of the Copasetics, an ensemble of tap soloists from the mid-20th-century golden age of tap.
Unsurprisingly, their teacher training is intensive. For one week, teachers from all over the world spend all day in New York City at the ATDF studios, learning five classic dances from the Copasetic repertory with an eye to technique, musicality and style, and focusing on specific teaching goals. The week wraps with an informal showing, in which each participant presents the five dances they've learned. DT spoke with Morrison and Hebach about what makes their teacher training unique and how they keep the vibrant history of tap alive in it.
Good news: Most expenses you pay for your business are deductible (though limits and/or timing rules may come into play). Common business-owner costs that can be deducted include: advertising, studio rent, office supplies, bank fees, postage, accounting fees, liability insurance and internet access. Other deductible costs to consider:
You've seen the popular internet memes for life hacks—tricks, shortcuts and novelties to increase your productivity and efficiency—so why not try out a few for your studio? With some simple tweaks, you can follow in the footsteps of these savvy owners and save time, money and your sanity.
As a teaching artist for New York City Ballet's The Nutcracker Project, Mari Meade has six 50-minute workshops to introduce third- and fourth-graders of PS 199 Maurice A. Fitzgerald in Queens to the magic of George Balanchine's Nutcracker ballet. By the program's end, these students—most of whom have little to no experience with ballet—will have seen an NYCB performance of the ballet, written a poem and choreographed a dance they'll perform for their fellow schoolmates. Meade kept a journal of her time last winter with the students of PS 199, charting their course from ballet novices to burgeoning dancemakers.
Establishing the Rules
Photo by Rosalie O'Connor
Lesson 1: First things first—I go over the rules. Number one: Have lots and lots of fun. Two: Stay out of bubble trouble. (I explain that we each have our own bubble, and if you get too close to someone else, your bubble "pops.") We want to respect our neighbors, our teachers and our space. Three: Obey the silent fox symbol. If they see me make what looks like a hang 10 hand motion above my head, they must copy the movement silently to show me they're ready to learn. Four: Always raise your hand to speak, and listen to the person who's talking. Five: Sit criss-cross-applesauce.
Then I ask what they know about The Nutcracker. (Not much.) I play parts of Tchaikovsky's score and show them pictures of Balanchine, Lincoln Center and King Louis XIV. (I may have made up that King Louis XIV's favorite color was gold. But the kids love that fact, so...creative liberties? He did put gold everywhere.)
I try to add laughs anytime I can. When I ask them to stand like a soldier, I prompt them by asking, "Does a soldier stand like this?" and slump down. They yell, "Noooo!" Then I ask if a soldier stands like this—slumping further and adding a yawn. They yell "Noooo!" again and crack up. Finally, I show a straight-backed, feet-together soldier, and they follow suit. It's all part of something new I'm trying this year: Instead of correcting them by saying, "Don't stand like _______," I've started saying, "Make your feet like my feet," so that I'm giving a positive directive.
Martha Nichols' The Wider Sun burst onto the stage of the Beverly O'Neill Theater last August in Long Beach, California, with a sense of urgency and impact. Many in the house had been wowed a year earlier when Nichols won the Capezio A.C.E. Awards competition, but The Wider Sun was her first public showing of original choreography. Would she be able to parlay a great five-minute dance into a successful full-evening show? When the audience leaped to their feet at the end, their response was as much out of happy surprise at Nichols' sure-handed choreographic debut as it was at her quicksilver movement and the palpable elation of the performers. Nichols had captured a joyful celebration of life and relationships in a uniquely satisfying evening of dance.
For those who know her, the success of The Wider Sun was not really a surprise at all. Nichols' unconventional path from North Carolina comp kid to confident choreographer is characterized by strong intention and insane work ethic. She was an early contestant on "So You Think You Can Dance," was an assistant choreographer for Madonna and maintained a nonstop schedule of side gigs in the commercial dance scene and convention circuit. She has quietly developed a choreographic focus entirely her own, along with a reputation for doing things her own way. "So many people use her name as a verb," says Liana Blackburn, a dancer and choreographer who first worked with Nichols on the Cirque du Soleil 2010 show Believe in Las Vegas. "Her name describes so many things without having to say more." To "Martha," it seems, is to break the mold of how to succeed in the dance world—without sacrificing who you are. Here are five times she did what she knew was best for her and her career, no matter what other people thought.
#1: When she insisted on auditioning for "So You Think You Can Dance" in NYC
Photo by Jim Lafferty
"I was teaching for Christy [Curtis] after school," she says, "but I wasn't dancing for myself, yet." With Curtis as her chaperone, she insisted on auditioning in New York, not in South Carolina, which was the closest audition to her home. "I thought, 'If I do this, I want to be chosen because they really want me—not because I'm the best out of the worst,'" she says.
She breezed through the audition and the Las Vegas–based preliminary, earning a coveted spot in the top 20 dancers. Travis Wall was her frequent partner on the show, and she finished in the top 10.
#2: When she turned down Cirque du Soleil
Photo by Jim Lafferty
The summer after wrapping the "SYTYCD" tour, Nichols received a phone call from Cirque du Soleil: The choreographer for its next show had specifically requested her as a dancer. But because they wouldn't reveal who the choreographer was, Nichols turned the offer down. She knew how physically grueling Cirque shows could be. "I wasn't signing up for something blind," she says. "If I'm going into new territory, I need way more information. I'm 19—I'm not trying to be done dancing when I'm 21." Ultimately, she learned it was Wade Robson, with whom she'd worked on "SYTYCD." She officially signed on and spent the next two years performing Believe in Las Vegas.
#3: When she set herself the goal of saving $15k before moving to LA
Photo by Jim Lafferty
During the last year of her Cirque show in Vegas, Nichols decided she would move to Los Angeles at the show's end. She set herself the goal of arriving with $15,000 in her pocket. "I wanted at least six months to live comfortably in L.A., even if I wasn't making one cent," she says. To do this, she flew to a different studio nearly every weekend to teach and choreograph. "My bag would be packed in my car, and I'd take the 12:40 am flight on American Airlines—I became friends with the people who worked at the airport," she says. She'd teach on Sunday and Monday and be back in Vegas by Tuesday morning. By the close of Believe, she'd reached her financial goal.
#4: When she left Madonna's tour
Photo by Jim Lafferty
Madonna's Rebel Heart tour was a demanding experience: The tour cast would rehearse 12 hours a day, six days a week, and as assistant choreographer, Nichols was tasked with cleaning numbers, taking notes, running music and even coming up with choreography. When a dancer broke her wrist, Nichols ended up going on for her for six weeks, executing a particularly tricky bit of choreography. "There was a moment in Madonna's song 'Holy Water,' where Madonna would climb to the top of a pole and stand on my stomach to sing the song," says Nichols. "She didn't trust the other girls to do it."
Shortly after getting the chance to perform at Madison Square Garden—a bucket-list dream for Nichols—she left the tour. "They all looked at me like I was crazy," she says. But Nichols knew it was time to challenge herself again—this time, by moving to New York. "By that time, I was comfortable in L.A.," she says, "and I learn better when I have to fend for myself and figure stuff out."
#5: When she turned down a famous Broadway show
Photo by Jim Lafferty
No matter what's happened, she hasn't lost her trademark I-know-what's-best-for-Martha spunk. "I've been offered Hamilton for two years," she says. "I don't want to do Hamilton. People say, 'You'd be so good!' Just because you can doesn't mean you should. I wouldn't be happy doing Hamilton—I'm not ready to do an eight-show week again."