Alexander Meinertz
Ballet reviews, essays & interviews
Conversations on Bournonville: Lauritz-Carl Rendbæk
Lauritz-Carl-Rendbaek
Photos: Adam Amsinck
August 18, 2025
It is deliberately “handheld,” a grassroots effort that places him at eye level with his own generation of dancers and their use of platforms like TikTok and Instagram. The goal is to share knowledge of Bournonville, but also to point out some of the problems he sees in the ballet world: “When I look at the younger generation today, I mostly see a long preparation for the next pirouette or the next climax. And that’s exactly why I feel Bournonville is as important as he is. There is rarely one specific high point in his dance. It’s a long, flowing journey from A to B. And you can hear that Bournonville studied both piano and violin. It’s extremely musical ballet. In Bournonville, as a dancer, you are forced to understand dance in context and as more than just highlights. The perspective is turned inward, and the choreography becomes a complete story. I think we need Bournonville in ballet more than ever. Not only because of all the beauty it brings; it must save us from a ballet world that, in my opinion, is increasingly losing its grip on what ballet art is. In the conversation, he talks about his personal journey and his life as an artist. It is also about faith, Danishness, style and the musicality that “sings” in Bournonville’s choreography. For him, the values embedded in the style – joy, charity, respect for craftsmanship – are both timeless and, not least, relevant. LAURITZ-CARL RENDBÄK – CONVERSATIONS ON BOURNONVILLE #7 My name is Lauritz-Carl Rendbæk, I am 22 years old and started ballet late. The story goes back to when I was 7-8 years old. On my mother's side, we have Russian roots, and many in the family have danced ballet. My mother also dreamed of dancing, but grew up in Silkeborg, where there was no ballet. Instead, she was sent to taekwondo. It wasn't until she was in her 30s that she started dancing with Jørgen Krogh in Odense, who had also trained Johan Kobborg, where we lived at the time. Because the classes were late in the day, she took me with her to the training sessions. So, I sat and watched, and sometimes I watched a film. But I also looked into the training room a little. It was the music that I remember. That meant a lot to me back then. My mother wanted me to go to ballet, and Jørgen Krogh quickly said: “That boy should be a ballet dancer.” He saw something in me – including my naturally flexible feet – even though much else didn’t come naturally to me. But my father didn't want me to become a ballet dancer. I was a gymnast and a soccer player and have always moved a lot, but he said no. And then I didn't think much more about it. Later in my childhood, there came a time when I severed my connection with my father after a long and very complicated process, and then I just quietly began to feel that I wanted something more than gymnastics. It went well. I thought that was what I was supposed to do for a long time. But I had an indescribable longing for something bigger. And I also had an urge to get away from the city where I had experienced many hard and harsh things. I had a lot of bad memories from that city. So, it was also an escape at the same time as it was a longing for something bigger. Maybe it goes hand in hand. Meeting the world of ballet And then I started toying with the idea a bit. I had seen the elite school in Odense. Then my mother took me by the hand, and we just trooped up to the ballet school and entered a ballet class. I stood in a tank top and gymnastics clothes. And all the fine ballerinas and ballet dancers, who were so tall, thin, and slender, stood and watched. I felt a bit like a bull in a glass shop, as they say. I belonged in the soul, I felt, but physically and with my background, I felt very much on the outside. I was very captivated by the whole silence in there and the communication with the body, and how it all worked. It was a new world that opened up to me. It was the middle of a school year, so I first went to Bogusia Gauda's Dance Academy City Ballet. When I was 12, I got into the Royal Danish Theatre's elite school. It was Thomas Lund who took me in. I spent a year there with, among others, Charlotte Khader Aamand, who helped me a lot. The first thing I learned was a piece from Napoli. I remember it affected me even then. Charlotte placed an incredible amount of emphasis on the joy of dancing, that you should be happy when you dance. That it shouldn't be a depressive battle with yourself all the time, that you don't get better by putting yourself down, but that you should find an inner joy in the ballet itself. Then I came to Copenhagen, where I had my three years at the Royal Danish Theatre's Ballet School, and then I decided to go to Oslo, where I did my “Upper School,” if you can call it that, at the Oslo National Academy of the Arts. The equivalent of the aspirants at the Royal Danish Theatre. There I met some ballet masters and directors who saw me for who I felt I was and saw the flame I had always felt in me. I developed a lot. We changed coaches every year, and it was hard because I started late and had a lot of confusion about what my classical school should be like. But we also had a lot of Bournonville in Oslo because Dinna (Bjørn, ed.) was often there. Monday Class No. 20a ( Boys Version ) - Video Graduation at the Oslo National Academy of the Arts, 2022. A versioned version of the pas de trois from “The Hunters from Amager,” which Lauritz-Carl dances with Emilie Jørgensen. Bournonville was a holding point As a professional dancer, I have been to many places already, even though I am young. I have really been obsessed with the idea of becoming a complete dancer and have always been hungry to learn more and explore my artistic needs, my technical needs, and my personal needs. In the end, it is very personal, and I think it should be. I think it is important to look inward as à ballet dancer. I have danced in both recognized companies, but also in smaller places. I don't see a hierarchy where I am in my life right now. It's not about prestige. I focus on my own ballet. That everyone has something to give from which you can learn. And it doesn't matter who it is – even if it's the street vendor down the corner, I still feel that there is something to learn from it all. My classical school has changed a lot. I have gained new perspectives and learned many things. But Bournonville has kind of followed me as I have grown older, both as a person and as an artist. It has always felt like coming home. When Dinna came and taught us at Bournonville in Oslo, and I was allowed to dance, it was something very special for me. It was also in Copenhagen when Thomas Lund taught us at the Ballet School. I couldn't wait for the days of the week when I knew Thomas Lund was coming. We had a lot of Bournonville, and we worked through a lot of the steps from the Bournonville schools. So, what are you doing now? I have chosen to study – or work – for six months to a year at the Bucharest National Ballet, where I try to explore the slightly older traditions. It is a more robust way of looking at ballet. But I am more of an observer than someone who enters into a ballet or political debate about so many things. Because I still think I am a bit too young for that. But I observe à lot. There are many gold mines around the world that I never thought existed. And I see the problems that are there and how they are being solved, and maybe also think about how I would have solved them myself. In my quiet mind, of course. Because I know that I will always be in the world of ballet. I know that this is where I belong. There is a very special connection with myself in this world, and when you love it so much, you also reach a point where you start to think: What can I give back to this world? What do I want to do for others and for ballet? And for the outside world and the audience? And that is precisely why Bournonville has left such a big mark on me. I think he has something that is absolutely right in terms of how ballet should be viewed, even today. Bournonville on Instagram Let's take a leap. One of the reasons I've become aware of you – because you don't dance at the Royal Theatre – is that you've made your series of videos of exercises from the Bournonville school. How did you get the idea and what is it about? I went around thinking about what I could do to share knowledge of Bournonville, but also to point out some of the problems I see in the ballet world. It really started because I traveled so much and was introduced to so many different styles and ways of looking at ballet, and in a life where I have experienced ballet from many sides – both the beautiful, the tough, the dark and the light – I have become more and more convinced that Bournonville is something very special. It has a warmth and a love. At the same time, I have seen and been critical of how much damage social media does to the ballet world, including to people who are not dancers. I am part of the problem myself – for sure – but here I want to try to create something positive on social media. When I look at Instagram, what gets the most praise, views and likes is when people do pirouettes in a short sequence with some pop music or do some tricks. Or just stretch out on the floor. People think that's the coolest thing, and it then confirms to dancers that it's the way to brand themselves and get recognition. As a ballet dancer, of course you have to practice tricks, put on socks and spin around on the floor, and you have to fall and stretch. It's an essential part of being a ballet dancer, of course you have to practice. But like everything in life, ballet is about balance. I see a huge de-prioritization of musicality and artistic engagement. I see a de-prioritization of understanding steps and what you call in-between steps. People are completely dead in the face and sloppy with their in-between steps, but they do four perfect pirouettes in balance. Because that's what they pay attention to. When I look at the younger generation today, I mostly see a long preparation for the next pirouette or the next climax. And that's exactly why I feel Bournonville is as important as he is. There is rarely one specific climax in his dance. It's a long, flowing journey from A to B. And you can hear that Bournonville studied both piano and violin. It's extremely musical ballet. In Bournonville, as a dancer, you are forced to understand dance in context and as more than just highlights. The perspective is turned inward, and the choreography becomes a complete story. I think we need Bournonville in ballet more than ever. Not only because of all the beauty it brings; it must save us from a ballet world that, in my opinion, is increasingly losing its grip on what ballet art is. My idea of doing a combination every week is, I hope, a way to get Bournonville's ideas out into the world, out to my generation, who have a romantic notion that art lies in locking yourself in a studio and not coming out until you can do eight pirouettes. I hope Bournonville can open their eyes to this wonderland of ballet, to create a balance where there is room for how to do pirouettes, but where the value of the other aspects is not forgotten. So now I'm trying to kill two birds with one stone by opening my arms to social media – even though I had sworn I would never do it – but also doing it with my eyes open and trying to bring the two things together. I'm not in the same room as the people who watch my videos, so I also write a little description of what I experience when I work with the steps. It could be some tips or telling what I've had difficulty with. Or a funny story from Dinna Bjørn or Thomas Lund that I have from their teaching. I love to pass those things on. But I also have my personal, artistic explanation of Bournonville's steps as I dance them, so I also talk about what I feel, what the music does to me, and what the step combinations do. I'm not trying to get into Bournonville's head, but to relax into my own understanding of it. And that's what I want to say: I'm only 22, and there are some who know an incredible amount about Bournonville and about the style – my teachers… And I'm in no way trying to put myself on their level or challenge their wisdom. But I think it's important that we also bring in a younger generation who can tell us what we feel when we dance Bournonville. And how we see it. That's the inspiration. It gives a lot of perspective to try to get some love out into the world... Brand Bournonville Now I'll take you back to something completely pragmatic. Is there a structure to the way you unfold the series, or is it completely random? Because you haven't started with Monday school and exercise number one? I make the videos in the little free time I have. In the beginning, I chose steps that I could clearly remember from school, with clear guidelines and corrections. I knew that if I met Dinna Bjørn this summer, I could ask about the next steps. This gave me the certainty that the first videos were something for which I could vouch. It was also about starting my own engine by dancing Bournonville every day. I have recorded the whole school in small sequences and review them in the evening. The choice of steps depends on how I feel that day. If I have sore muscles and am tired, then maybe the La Ventana variation is not the one I should do that day. For me, Bournonville is about listening to both body and mind, and finding balance – as in life – so that the style becomes a help, not a resistance. Now it's just me, and therefore it's also about my own routine and my schedule. I would really like to have more people join the project, including women of course. And I just found a girl who has the same interest as me It shouldn't be about me. Bournonville should never be egocentric or selfish. If you go into Bournonville's choreography with an egocentric goal, a self-absorption, or a selfish feeling, then it's wrong. Then Bournonville will spit you out right away because it's made to be danced together and shared. As he himself has said, the audience should feel like running up on stage and dancing it themselves. I really like that idea. I'm also looking forward to working with my female partner, because I almost have an even greater love for some of the women's steps, because I think they're very beautiful. Bournonville was also a bit revolutionary in that he sometimes did a bigger solo for men than for women. You can see a choreographer when he has a proper and caring way of looking at ballet, both for women and men. It's about how you portray them in positions and what the mime sequences are like. I think you can see that he had a very pure and moral love for ballet and for the way he wanted to work with the dancers. And yes, I can feel him. And when I can get to it – without it sounding like I've gone completely crazy – but maybe I'm just crazy about Bournonville? Sometimes I go into Gamle B (rehearsal hall at the Royal Theatre, ed.) and just stand and look at the sculpture and his face. And I feel that I can feel him. I feel that he speaks to me through his steps and his music. Bournonville as a model The stronger you are as a person, the more vulnerable and sensitive you become. Because you let yourself feel things. You are not afraid of the dark world that can sometimes be out there. I have the best mother ever, who taught me how to live a life, how to think, and how to behave. She taught me everything. But you have two parents for a reason. I think that's where I met Bournonville in some way. He himself said that he wanted to educate his dancers, and I feel that he educated me morally, artistically. If you have had a hard life, you can quickly find yourself angry about many things. And when you are at high risk of lacking empathy and love and meaning in life, I feel that the little thing that was missing – because my mother has done a lot – Bournonville gave it to me. It is a bit strange to say, but I feel that he took me in as a role model and a huge inspiration for what I want to be, as a dancer, as an artist and as a person. The feeling that it can all be gathered in a whole person, and not half. If you have an empty place in your heart, you become more receptive to when something is real, and I could feel that when I was in contact with Bournonville's choreography, already from the first ballet I saw, Et Folkesagn. Even though it was a newer version, it made a big impression on me. I remember it was Alban Lendorf who danced as one of the red male dancers in Pas de sept, and I remember that the way he entered triggered something very special in me, seeing his jump Bournonville requires a special feeling Can you tell us more about the ballets you've seen and what they've given you? What is it that you experience? Because I left so early, but also because the ballets have not been danced that much in my time, there are many things I have not seen on stage, but I remember Gudrun Bojesen's last evening with Thomas Lund, which was when I was a boy at ballet school. I remember watching the rehearsals for Sylfiden and I just thought it was cool because Thomas Lund was one of our coaches back then… I can imagine it must have really hurt the next day because he wasn't really dancing anymore but seeing him and his passion and love for his partner really stuck with me. And that thing about… not sacrificing yourself, but being there for others and helping others, I think Bournonville is a lot about. For me, when I watch Bournonville, I have found that the basic feeling when I watch Napoli, Et Folkesagn or Sylfiden means a lot. It is about a feeling – and it is precisely the feeling I mentioned before, which I had, and which I am sure others – like Dinna Bjørn for example – also feel. It's a feeling that's hard to describe, but sometimes I see Bournonville being danced technically correctly – with weight placement, port de bras and interpretation – and yet, something is missing. As if the master himself is not present in the room in some way. But when the feeling is there, there is nothing that can give me the same magical experience and understanding and enjoyment. Unfortunately, many ballet dancers get injured at work, so when you look at ballet as a ballet dancer, you look at the feet, turnout, whether he jumped in the pirouette, etc. But with Bournonville – precisely because there is no one particular highlight – there are those few times when I can still sit back in my seat and just enjoy it. But that requires the Bournonville feeling to be there. I can’t say if it’s a feeling I get from my journey as an artist, or how it feels when I dance Bournonville – or because I have a huge love for it – I don’t know. But I can just feel when something is right and when something is not. It is of course a personal opinion what you think Bournonville is. But I still think you can narrow it down a bit and say that there are some frameworks for what Bournonville should be. And one thing is for sure, if it becomes even a little selfish or egocentric, then the spark disappears for me immediately. It is about sharing with each other on stage as dancers and sharing with the audience. I think it has to do with how we educate dancers, or how young dancers get inspiration. Because when everything is about technical perfection and a way of looking, we also educate the audience to do the same. And then it's less about the love, that we are alive, that we can love, and that we can be there for each other. Bournonville's faith I very much agree that we need to evolve, that everything shouldn't just be the way it was in the old days. That's how ballet survives. But can you take Christianity out of Bournonville? I would actually like to question that. I think we need today – I say Christianity – but I think the world in general needs something bigger to unite around. It doesn’t have to be gospels, paragraphs, or the Bible as such, but charity. I also think that in my generation – and especially in the art world, which is often the first mover – I see a return to the morals of Christianity. Why can't Christianity come back to Naples, even though it's been taken out now? Bournonville's faith, his way of educating the audience and dancers? And help guide this generation anew? Can his idea and approach meet today's problems and confusion? Because there is a confusion, a great confusion in my generation. Of course, we should learn from the past and evolve, but sometimes I think we move forward so quickly that we end up missing or lacking some of the essence of life like true love and humility. Something I feel is getting lost in the attempt to improve ourselves at lightning speed and change him every month. Art should be able to assist, not just affect the audience emotionally, but so that they leave the theater with an experience that something has been brought to life in them that hasn't been for a long time. People go to the theater precisely to experience something that is not on a screen, because no matter how wild technology gets today, we humans can do something that nothing else can, I think. It's people we fall in love with. It's people who hurt us. It's people it hurts to lose. And it's people who create other people. Of course, it's going very deep, but we have to go deep. What I want to show, achieve, and see in the ballet world is something where I have to go in with my whole soul – and then hope that half of it rubs off. I feel that love is endless. And I don't think you feel the same stop if you look yourself in the eye all the time. Just like Christianity says: You should help others as long as it doesn't corrupt you yourself. I am a person who really wants to give and share with everyone. I always try to get tickets for the two computer gamers who lived below me or the man on the corner or someone who has never been to the theater. Just to show that it is something for everyone, and not just something for “fine feelings.” Bournonville’s ballets are so human, so why not try to include all the human people? And that's exactly it: Bournonville cannot succeed if it's about politics, money, and power. As long as it does that, it will also give the impression that it's those with politics, money and power who go to the theater. I think there are some of them who also fight for some of the things that I love, who see it more negatively, but I see a lot of light. I see a lot of light when I go around the ballet world. I see a lot of other things too, but I see hope. And I spread hope as much as I can. And so it may be that little Lauritz-Carl from Odense seems like someone who takes on a big task. But I have heard a statement that goes: “If you feel like you are small and can’t make a difference, try locking yourself in a room with a mosquito for 24 hours.” And I feel that it is so true. Because I have never been afraid to have big dreams and visions and ambitions for myself. Bournonville and the Danishness Danishness, I have to ask. Can you see a Danishness in that, or is it not important? A definite yes. It is of enormous importance. When I have danced Bournonville and shown Bournonville – I do that a lot when I am around the world to sow some seeds – the ballet masters and dancers I meet say that that is where they can see that I am Danish. Sometimes they say: “You look very, very Danish when you dance Bournonville.” It's my Danish home abroad. And I also feel very Danish when I dance Bournonville. I feel it's in my blood, including the musicality which can be very difficult. I've always said that when I dance Bournonville, it feels like going for a walk, it's so free and natural. It's even something I've written about but not really talked about before: This Bournonville feeling – sometimes I can feel it when I talk to Danes who don't dance ballet at all. It's not the Jante law, but more of a... When I've traveled around, I see a special unity in Denmark. I see a social feeling. I see great openness. And I see a lot of smiles. Bournonville's steps I also see melancholy in his steps and music. It's not like he's at war with himself; it's more about trying to find some kind of understanding, almost sometimes a reconciliation. I personally think – and that's why it's so interesting to me – to find out more about what he was like, to see if I can find the sides of him that I read in the choreography elsewhere. I see a man who has made a choice to become better. I think he saw ballet, ideals, and people as one thing. I think he maybe sometimes fell in love with ballet and ideals before he fell in love with the person. Because it all merged together for him. And I can certainly recognize that. You say that you can feel a melancholy in the steps. You also wrote that about one of the exercises you filmed. You don't hear that anywhere else. Can you put a few more words on that? You could also call it modesty maybe. It's something with a head that sometimes looks down or is more friendly and inviting and not as grandiose as in Russian ballet. There's also sometimes a certain sadness to it. It's not about hiding away, it's not dramatic, and something about shouting and screaming about your feelings. The way, the heads and the movements are on I feel when I dance them that stories are being told about Bournonville's inner feelings or ideals, and perhaps about what he went through as a human being. The modesty that is so characteristic perhaps contains a little moonlight of sadness. He incorporated it into a very happy choreography, one that celebrates life and love. I would like to believe that: That he, as the genius that he was, managed to show – for those who look deeply enough – an essence of life that is both vulnerable and painful. If you dare to let it happen. The music is very clean and schooled, and he was very specific about how to mime and how the weight distribution should be. I remember when I started ballet, I was told that my arms had to be shaped so that a drop of water could run down them, all the way to the fingertips. And when I do some of his combinations, I feel that there is a very vulnerable and shy emotional person behind it. And what comes first – that I am a vulnerable and shy person, or that I see it in him – I can’t say. But I feel that it is a gift that many of the movements come naturally to me. It is as if I have a little telescope where I can look into something very beautiful, but also something that hurts. I think it's his deep understanding of life and his ability to express it. That's my own personal philosophy, but I believe in what I feel. And I think that's what we should do as people. We should dare to feel and look from the outside at what we feel and why. It's very exciting, because it's not something that's talked about that often in connection with Bournonville. It's always the embrace and the joy of life, and not so much the other things. Some of the things you point out are clearly also some sides of Bournonville that he himself didn't want to show much. It was too private. Even when you read his diaries and his letters, there are things he doesn't write, and that's very vulnerable. Bournonville's Song Bournonville is the only style where I discovered more things unfolding as a result of my dyslexia. It was the way the musicality was presented to me. Thomas Lund could do something very special there. He sang the steps for us in a way that was very magical. There's something about Bournonville that goes beyond counts and measures. It's a song. A song that's sung in like a lullaby, I feel, so when it comes to Bournonville, counts actually confuse me if the song isn't there. If you just count his steps dryly, it can feel like reading 'Mon cœur ' from Samson et Dalila in a robotic staccato voice. And when the poetry in Bournonville lies so deeply in the musicality, if you ask me, I have discovered a deeper level in being able to sing the steps like the missing piece in the puzzle, you could say. It's a hum with the voice, being able to emphasize when to go up in the air and when to go down to time it. The more you understand the musicality, the more you see how much space he has actually given the dancers. You can step off and then come back into the music – as a follow-up. Sometimes you have to step out of the music and then come back in. It's a musical puzzle that I'm very fascinated by. It also relates to my life - using a need as a driving force. I've often been in situations where I had to find my way back to my core values and my culture because my surroundings changed so much. Anyone who tries Bournonville – and I urge them to do so – will find that one does not exclude the other. Bournonville can give us something we need right now. I believe in a comeback for Bournonville, without a doubt, and I feel that the response and the window my videos have already opened has given me more hope. I see that the people where I experience a heartfelt, genuine humility, modesty and love are also the ones who enjoy dancing Bournonville the most. I think it's time for us all to look inside ourselves a little. Because there are many beautiful things to be found. I can't tell anyone how to look at Bournonville, but I can try to open a page in them. That's my goal, at least, to open something up.
LAURITZ-CARL RENDBÄK – CONVERSATIONS ON BOURNONVILLE #7
Meeting the world of ballet
Monday Class No. 20a ( Boys Version ) - Video
Bournonville was a holding point
So, what are you doing now?
Bournonville on Instagram
Let's take a leap. One of the reasons I've become aware of you – because you don't dance at the Royal Theatre – is that you've made your series of videos of exercises from the Bournonville school. How did you get the idea and what is it about?
Brand Bournonville
Now I'll take you back to something completely pragmatic. Is there a structure to the way you unfold the series, or is it completely random? Because you haven't started with Monday school and exercise number one?
Bournonville as a model
Bournonville requires a special feeling
Can you tell us more about the ballets you've seen and what they've given you? What is it that you experience?
Bournonville's faith
Bournonville and the Danishness
Danishness, I have to ask. Can you see a Danishness in that, or is it not important?
Bournonville's steps
You say that you can feel a melancholy in the steps. You also wrote that about one of the exercises you filmed. You don't hear that anywhere else. Can you put a few more words on that?
Bournonville's Song
On the Other Side of the Curtain
By James Weis
Where Great Ballet Begins My entry into the world of ballet didn’t begin with Swan Lake or The Nutcracker—it began with a question. In 2005, I experienced an Atlanta Ballet performance under Artistic Director, John McFall, and walked out transfixed. The movement was fluid, modern, alive. I began following neoclassical and contemporary work across the U.S., and eventually Europe, chasing performances—but also searching for something deeper: Where does this kind of artistry begin? In 2019 that search led me past the stage and into the studio, specifically, to independent ballet schools shaping dancers outside the traditional company pipeline. One name kept surfacing: the European School of Ballet in Amsterdam. Founded by Jean-Yves Esquerre—a former dancer with Béjart’s Les Ballets du XXème Siècle, Neumeier’s Hamburg Ballet, and Kylián’s Nederlands Dans Theater—ESB bridges classical rigor with contemporary versatility. More than a school; it's a launchpad for a new generation of globally minded artists. What makes the school standout isn’t just its roster of alumni. It’s the philosophy behind the training.
Jean-YvesEesquerre
The focus isn’t only on form and artistry—it’s also on something deeply human: injury prevention and dancer well-being. In a field where injury can end a career in a split second, that kind of care isn’t just admirable. It’s essential. Under the guidance of Esquerre and artistic director Olivier Wecxsteen, ESB was quietly but powerfully shaping the next generation of ballet dancers—many of whom now perform with top-tier companies across the globe. In spring 2024, I traveled to Amsterdam to see it for myself. I wanted to step into the studios, watch the dancers, and talk to the people behind the vision. What I found was a school with an international heartbeat—intense, rigorous, and inspiring. Injury prevention, expressive depth, and technical mastery are treated as inseparable.
It’s not every day you meet someone whose career touches nearly every facet of the ballet world. Jean-Yves Esquerre has done just that. At ESB, dancers aren’t just trained—they’re transformed. Jean-Yves and Olivier have created a bridge between rigorous classical technique and the demands of today’s evolving dance landscape. ESB is known not just for training technically gifted dancers, but for nurturing thoughtful, expressive artists ready to meet the stage—and the world—with clarity and conviction. For more information, please see https://schoolofballet.eu/ Recently I had the pleasure to sit for an in-depth chat with the master. JW: It’s such a pleasure to be back in Amsterdam to visit European School of Ballet. When I visited in May, I had no idea I’d stumble upon a school so full of life, discipline, and unexpected charm—and at the heart of it all, you: equal parts visionary and delightful troublemaker. JYE: (Smiles warmly, eyes bright.) I'm very happy to see you, and very rarely, if ever, give interviews, because I need to have a connection with the person who's interviewing. I think it's very important for the sake of our school as well. And when you did come to Amsterdam for the first time, we instantly connected. And I would say it's a mix of artistic level and also spiritual and philosophical, and it's important, because this is what the school is about. JW: Many ballet companies cultivate their own talent through affiliated schools, shaping dancers from an early age to transition into the company. When I first discovered your work in 2019, I saw your company as a kind of graduate school—bridging the gap for dancers who were technically ready for a company but not yet fully prepared for professional life. JYE: I don't copy and paste from any institution that we know, and they're all great. I find standard schools template of education is dated to the19th century but it didn't match exactly what I had in mind. I think dancers need to become artists, but also citizens that will make a difference, which will impact their community. I find it important that we all actually participate.
JW: Do most of your students go on to join ballet companies, or do they take different paths after graduating? JYE: Some of them will become artists and join great companies like three quarters or more of the kids who come to our school. But if they do stop and become lawyers, doctors, gardeners, seamstress, it's all fine by me. The important thing is that we participate in the construction of their mind, their mindset, their artistry, brought into their lives, and that they then can join the community and spread their spirit. This is where I feel ESB is important. JW: You mentioned experimentation when we last spoke. JYE: I have always been free with experimenting in education, always posing questions and never taking anything for granted. We follow great institutions in the sense that historically, we have inherited a past. But I think the mindset of this 21st century, and what this century is already bringing to us is something we have never known before. How would we have the audacity to say that what we offer our students is actually something that was done in 1925? I find it obsolete in this respect. On the contrary, to integrate it and to understand better, we can't sweep away everything that's been done before. We must move on to create new soil with dance heritage that is part of the culture, the different cultures, also that that have created this particular world of ballet. JW: I've seen the joy and discipline in your students, their strong work ethic, and the way they support one another. When they join professional companies, they will bring a unique sense of unity and purpose. How do you instill those values in your dancers, and how do you think that influences the culture of the companies they go on to join? JYE: So, it's so interesting you're saying this because an artistic director of a major company in Europe called me last week and said he had five, six of our kids and they're always the ones that are working hard together, helping each other, helping the others. One of them is already teaching because they taught in our school. Another one is rehearsing. And one is so good at fixing hair and doing tiaras, God knows what. He asked if I had more like them? We work so our students become the cement of the companies they join. That's the best compliment I could take. JW: In building a program where companies actively seek out your students, how do you approach selecting faculty? What qualities or values are non-negotiable when assembling a team that shapes the next generation of professional dancers? JYE: First of all, the pillar of the school is Oliver Wecxsteen, who is the artistic director of ESB. We have known each other for 36 years and he has greatly impacted my vision. I have led a very rich life, translating spiritual books, teaching meditation, and writing, teaching people in different communities in the world, and I realized that ESB is the result of my wanderings and my questions, existential or not, and philosophical or not, more holistic.
Olivier Wecxsteen Most schools have the same bar, you know, traditional routine for six weeks a year. I find that unbelievable because life is not this way. Your breakfast is never the same. The weather is never the same. Everything is impermanent. I need to have teachers, people around me that also matched this, this vision, and this desire to be free, to also set ourselves free of what we knew before, and to not be afraid to invent every day. Pedagogues who are open, confident, and strong who can go with the impermanence and surf on that wave of educating students in this very atypical way. I totally trust that process. I've got a great team of teachers from very different horizons from the Marinsky, the Paris Opera Ballet, the Royal Ballet, America – they come from different places. We honor the different offshoots of academic ballet, people who congregate here and bring about their style or vision and participate in this whole melting pot that is our school. JW: Some of your teachers have been here for a long time. Some are here for a short period of time, and I really love the uniqueness of what it is. And of course, without the teachers, you don't have education, and without education, the dancers don't go to these companies. So, the core to me is the people you choose to bring in. How do the guest artists and choreographers contribute to this experience? JYE: You have to welcome other people's knowledge. I revere this. I acknowledge it. I want it. I want it to be shared for the sake of what the kids want to learn. So of course, I will invite the best. I mean, look at our website. Sometimes I look at it like a stranger, and say to myself, "My God, all those people, all those talents, all these personalities who have done so much, contributed so much to an art, and they are all rallying. They are all congregating here." And when they come it's like they come back to their second home. And this is why we have a sort of rotation of phenomenal teachers and ballet masters. It's their playground. I tell them to play. Do whatever you want—prepare the students to be open to any kind of process to any kind of personality. We had the privilege of having David Dawson, one of the best ever choreographers. And when I saw him, you know, come in and be with the dancers for a few hours. It's such a blessing, such a blessing. JW: When selecting students for your school, what qualities are you looking for beyond technique? What do aspiring dancers need to demonstrate—either in the studio or in spirit—to be part of your training program? JYE: They audition. Now, of course, since the pandemic, people have been auditioning online a lot. The process of auditioning is complex, especially nowadays, knowing also from American standards in terms of ballet, are different from some European standards. So, we try to have the people ready for all kinds of options. We avoid the cattle call auditions where we can miss people. Company directors will tell you that they've missed great talents by having 300 kids at the same time. JW: I understand you've accepted students, those you call improbables who may not have the ideal facility—say, not the 'perfect' feet—but who show extraordinary passion and determination. What happens to those dancers in your program? Do they find their place in the corps, grow into standout artists, or even surprise you by defying expectations? I’d love to hear about your relationship with those kinds of students and how their journey unfolds. JYE: (Smiles broadly.) Yes, I love my improbables, bad feet, bad legs, bad this, bad height, bad, bad. We only learn to prepare our bodies and so I always thought we should have mindful techniques. Don't concentrate on feet and pirouettes; this will come later. After all, the greatest dancers of the centuries have never been the most beautiful ones. They were always the improbable ones, and that's what I loved about them. I think about Marcia Haydée one of the greatest ballerinas of the century who was everything but the stereotype who changed the face of ballet. There will always be an improbable in the room. My improbables are very important because of their passion and drive. And their tenacity, their resilience, some of them make it better than the evident one, the obvious ones, you know, the beautiful legs and feet, the Greek goddesses, and gods. That's not the way it goes. Life doesn't go even this way. So yes, we like this in ballet, but we like talent first, and so this is why we always keep a space for that person that comes in that really has something bad, but that shows all the signs of greatness. This, for me, is important. Through the years, indeed, I've seen the most improbable dancers, who no one wanted, no school wanted and became principals in great companies. And I find that beautiful. So, by not discriminating on the basis of a physical feature. That opens the door to great talent. And what does it say? It says that you need to give space time trust and see how far passion leads you. Sometimes fashion erodes in the most beautiful person, and it stops at 19. Let's accompany that person to their new path in life, the ones that really wanted, the ones that are so passionate, nothing will stop them. I love those ones. JW: Kind of the 'ugly duckling' syndrome, yes? JYE: Yeah, you take the ugly duckling and remarkable things can happen. You help him or her grow into this beautiful swan. JW: Maybe somebody else wouldn't give them the opportunity. JYE: Yeah, those are the underdogs. I won't take all of them because it's not a rule, right? And it should not be a rule in art, because all the great creators were the underdogs, I mean, look, we're in Amsterdam. Van Gogh. He didn't even get a painting sold while he was alive. I look at them, and I'm very moved by this when they dance, because I see them dance, but I see also the people who they are and their little idiosyncrasies, their specialties, their sort of characteristics that make them quirky, funny, special. I love it. I love my job. JW: Tell me about audition days. JYE: It's important to give this opportunity to dancers who come and audition. Sometimes we invite potential students for several days a week. And we invite the parents, because that's something we forget very often, most institutions close their doors to parents. In ours, it's open door, open door all year long. That means when they come in, they're allowed to see everything, not for three months in a row, but they're never left at the door, never because I want them to see also how we joke with the kids, what we say, how we touch, how we go. Communicate and how healthy it is, and if they do have a problem with this, well that means it's not their school. It should not be with us. And it's absolutely funny. JW: Do your students compete? JYE: We participate in a few competitions. I think it is a good and a bad way to connect. I have my set of reservations and criticism, but I think it's healthy to have a critical mind nowadays. It's a great platform, but it's not education. Education is not competing. Competing is when you buy your competition, your registration, you get in, you do your solo, and then indeed, you do meet personalities and different schools and company directors and so on and so forth. So, yes, it's a great opportunity, but education is way humbler, is way more in the dark, is way more in the piece of your own studios. JW: And do you have to turn away very many people each year? I think you have 120 students? JYE: No, no, no. We have just enough space for so many people and we do have hundreds of applications. And among the kids who are in the school right now we have about 27 different nationalities and have about 20% of Americans. We wanted the school to be an American, European School. And we have managed this. And I must say, every day there are applications from the States. It's very beautiful. JW: Does ESB offer performances? JYE: Every three months we have performances in a theater in the heart of Amsterdam. We have what we call a demo. I don't like to call it performance zone because performing is every day. Performing is not when you go to the theater. The theater is the sacred space in which you definitely congregate to perform for other people. And this is what we do every day, in class, in rehearsal, to let them know we are performing— this is performing arts.
JW: Do you consider the kids as students, pre-professional? JYE: (Gestures with his hands.) I don't like to call them students. I call them dancers, and I never think of myself as a director. I think of myself as a teacher because that's what I do. You know, the rest is social positions. I'm not really interested in social positions. I'm only interested in the work, the inner work, and the work that will make us be better human beings, and therefore, how can they not be positive at the end of the day? JW: Do you have a system in place to help students transition into professional companies? For instance, if you recognize that a dancer who’s been with you for one to three years has the qualities suited for a place like The Royal Ballet or a company in Poland, how do you advocate for them? Do you actively help them secure auditions or make those connections? JYE: This is probably one of the niches that ESB is known for. I don't want to brag, but we are the leaders in getting the jobs at the end of their graduate year, around 30 jobs every year. We dedicate the last year to performing, being in the studio, preparing. We have a three months ruling, three months of preparation, in which they have to be in tip top shape, be mindful of their health, who they are, where they want to go. We film them, take pictures of them. We produce them. We make their resumes, and teach them how to present themselves, and so on and so forth. And then, if possible, we try to avoid the cattle call auditions, if possible, because they can get missed in the process of the audition. We help them develop a clear sense of who they are in their applications. Super important, so when a director clicks on their application, they get the info they need. Secondly, we create batches of applications that I personally send to company directors. Kevin O'Hare, director of the London Royal Ballet, who's one of the most gracious directors right now, is always willing to look at our dancers. He's always Open. I have personal connections with directors who call in the middle of the season saying they have a problem. "One of my dancers broke her foot. One of my dancers is pregnant. I need a girl. I need a boy. Can you send them?" Our dancers have to be ready. Every day is the best day of their lives. This is the day to create opportunities. So, everybody at ESB works in the same direction, and this is why our results are so phenomenal. It's always a ride. There's always a lot of anxiety, but I trust that at the end of the season, most of them will have found good jobs. JW: As a French-American, what led you to establish this remarkable school in Amsterdam, rather than in France or the U.S.? What was it about this city—or this moment—that made it the right place for your vision? JYE: I came to Amsterdam to help my family who were still in France at the moment. So, I took a job before I connected with Dutch National Ballet Academy, but after four years it created a huge conflict when I wanted to make a school. But who knew that the conflict was going to give birth to ESB? So, I have to thank my detractors. I have to thank all the people that disabled me here because my vision was too big. It didn't meet the sort of civil servant mentality of the school at the time, I thought I wanted to do what I'm doing now, and I realized with horror that not at all this is not what they had in mind. And so, we got into a conflict, and then one more time, I was down and out, and no one in the community that would even pick up the phone, except a couple of friends. And so, then I thought, What am I going to do? JW: I have to admit, I had no idea—just looking at this beautiful school, I would’ve assumed everything was going smoothly. What’s something that might surprise people about what it took to get a school like this going? JYE: At first, I thought I would travel the world to teach meditation. Maybe working in hospitals again, to be with people who are dying, because that experience is meaningful to me. One day, after three days of depression, I thought, hell no. I'm going to create the school that I've always been thinking about. If I went bankrupt, I'd be down with nothing left. But at least I will have tried. So, when we talk about failures and successes, I don't get fooled by this, no, and I don't get fooled by success. I'm too old and also too realistic. So, when people ask if I am proud of ESB, I say, no, I'm not proud. I'm proud of them. I'm proud of the kids. I'm proud of what happens in the studios, in our school, but now I'm not proud of myself. I'm just doing what I've always done. I work hard. That's what I do. I work hard. I work hard with passion that I cannot hide, and passion means I'm emotionally involved. I cry, I show it, but I still remain who I am. And the older I get, actually, the more vulnerable I show myself because I own it. JW: When I visited last summer, you were preparing to head to Las Vegas for a summer intensive, and I followed the program closely, it was clearly a great success. Are you planning to have one again this summer? JYE: No and it has been a tough decision. I love Las Vegas because where there was nothing, there's a lot now. I love it when people work to make something happen. I find that miraculous. In places like Paris and London, it's centuries of work and you see how beautiful these cities are. But in Vegas, where there was nothing beautiful, they created this sort of artificial beauty. And in there, there's great things that are happening. So, I called the university to see if they wanted my program. And it happened. And you're right, it was very successful. I was so happy for American dancers to become acquainted with William Forsythe, Balanchine, and French 19th century ballet. I wanted to make this a steady thing for the school. JW: When I followed the summer program in Las Vegas, it looked truly idyllic—everything seemed to be going so well. What led you to change your mind about continuing to teach there? JYE: It took me weeks to come to terms with it. In these last weeks, the world has changed dramatically, literally, dramatically. People in power in the world have acted in such a way that there's a climate of fear, of anxiety. We're close to a hypothetical Third World War. In the 30s in Europe, we saw devastation, horror, things that we don't want to see anymore. And yet, in a few weeks, because of a few people in the world and a few billionaires, we're on the brink of horror again. Educated people voted in the new regime in America and you have to respect this, but I still have one thing left—be an activist, to say, no, that's the only thing that's left when we are disempowered. The world is bringing us into chaos, bringing them, the young generation, to a chaos that might be the worst the world has ever seen. I think life dictates what I tried to process and then decide. For this reason, we had to say no. JW: That must have taken a great deal of thought and, I imagine, some worry. What ultimately led you to take that leap? JYE: I made a promise to myself years ago, to learn how to say yes, but also to say no. It makes me a pain in the butt sometimes. I am not a very difficult person to deal with, but when it's no, it's no. I could not just take the money and go. I couldn't invest again 50,000 bucks and say, Oh, come, come to us. Because, you know, when we dance, we forget everything. It's not true. We're not forgetting things are happening right now that are major. And when I was about to go back to Vegas, and saw the turmoil in America, my country, my second country that I'm so proud of, I said no. The principles that are being destroyed right now are a catastrophe for art also. So, what can I do at my level as a citizen? I voted, and boy, did I vote. I might have been the first one on the other side of the ocean to vote for the US elections. But more important is to say, "No, we cannot accept this." So, I needed to say no for those reasons. JW: Was it a difficult decision? Had dancers already prepared to attend the second summer intensive? JYE: Yes, and I needed people to help confirm my decision, which was such a tough one. Actually, the parents of the kids who registered told me they understood. "We're not proud of what's happening. This is not America." And indeed, this is not the America I love so much, and I'm so proud as an immigrant to be part of. JW: It's a strong stance you're taking. Are you planning to launch a summer intensive in a new location, or perhaps take a pause this year? I know many are eager to see what you’ll do next—any hints at what’s on the horizon? JYE: Yes, we have one in Marseille. I was planning to have one in Marseille and one in Vegas, because I wanted to offer that platform to the US again. It's in July and what I see is so many Americans that are now coming to Marseille, and the course is full now. I'm looking for hotels. I'm looking for studios to host the American dancers who don't want to go Vegas and want to come to Europe. But yeah, Vegas is not happening. But I'm very positive. Everything changes in life, the good things change, but the bad things change as well, and we will recover. It will happen again. We will prevail. Good will prevail, and we'll absolutely be back whenever America is America again. JW: When dancers are trained as beautifully as they are here at ESB, it’s no surprise they go on to join exceptional companies. For those of us in the audience, watching the curtain rise never stops being thrilling. You make it possible for ballet lovers like me keep watching the Cormac McDonald's performing Don Quixote in beautiful costumes, his hands up in the air, very proud of himself what he's doing. If you keep doing that, the world's going to become better. Thank you. JW: What is your most valued trait in a dancer? JYE: Heart. Heart is the spirit that moves the body, probable or improbable, beautiful, or not as stereotypically beautiful. This is what moves me. It's the spirit in people. We have a young girl. Now, she's 13. She is like indomitable. Nothing will stop her. She has diabetes and several other illnesses. Her parents, you know, were afraid for her. She is an example. And so, for me, it is heart. JW: And what is your least favorite trait in a dancer? JYE: Complacency. JW: This has been really wonderful and thank you for welcoming me back to Amsterdam on its most beautiful day in years. JYE: You are welcome anytime, thank you. You are our guest of honor. Thank you so much, James.
Vaganova’s Illustrations and Graphics
By Alan Jones
Agrippina Vaganova (1879–1951) with students in ballet class.
Most great classics tend to be both innovative and derivative to some degree, and Vaganova’s Basic Principles of Classical Ballet is no exception. The familiar graphic images of a senior female pupil demonstrating nearly the entire syllabus of early Soviet ballet were highly original in their time, and yet they owed something to the past. In 1895, when Vaganova was still a pupil at the Imperial Theater School, the French academic Maurice Emmanuel published his Essai sur l’orchestique grecque. He examined the technique of classical dance simply as a means to an end—to better equip himself to revive lost dances of ancient Greece. Emmanuel exploited the modern technique of “Chronophotography,” filming dancers in motion and sometimes redrawing the images, as he did here with his illustration of a pas de chat. This reproduction comes from the dance writings of Lioubov Blok, who would not have failed to bring it to the attention of Vaganova, her longtime friend. It was out of the question for Vaganova to incorporate such detailed sequences in her book, which was intended to be concise, economical, and accessible to everyone. She opted to have a graphic artist present as few as three key moments to clarify the execution of any given step. As a result, the images do not always speak for themselves, as was the case for Emmanuel. The reader needs to read Vaganova’s text attentively to understand the mechanics. Vaganova’s pas de chat turns out to be an entirely different step, part of the family of temps de flèche, not unrelated to steps known in other traditions as pas (or temps) de poisson or pas de papillon: the dancer flings the right leg behind, pushes off the floor with the left foot and lands on the right foot, immediately bringing the left foot forward into fourth. This is the only step to which Vaganova gives the name pas de chat, and she does not deal with the jumps known as saut de chat or grand pas de chat. Vaganova expressed no interest in dance notation, and yet in the specific instance of explaining batterie, she found it useful to borrow from Bernhard Klemm’s Katechismus der Tanzkunst, a bestseller from the 1850s into the early twentieth century. Vaganova’s graphic representation of beaten steps was unquestionably based on Klemm’s, and it would have fair for her to acknowledge her debt. She no doubt declined to do so because his pedagogy on the whole embodied the worst of what she regarded as the old “French” school. Klemm’s method of writing down steps went further, exploiting music symbols, as had Arthur Saint-Léon’s Sténochorégraphie, and in this respect, both works fed into Vladimir Stepanov’s notation system, which has recently allowed for the re-creation of so many nineteenth-century ballets. As Stepanov had been one of her former teachers, Vaganova duly mentions him, though only for his innovation of introducing numbers to orient the dancer in space. She nevertheless chose to create her own system of numbering the walls and corners of the studio. Vaganova states that was in possession of The Cecchetti Method of Classical Ballet by Stanislas Idzikowski and Cyril W. Beaumont , published in London in 1922. Having taken classes with Cecchetti himself, she bases her judgments of the “Italian” school on that personal experience and does not dwell at any length on the book’s contents. Vaganova nevertheless gave serious thought to its strong and weak points, including its graphic element. In the example seen here, a male dancer in écarté, she must have found the turnout of the standing leg unnecessarily exaggerated, and the raised leg distorted. She preferred simpler, more dynamic representations of the body, avoiding all distracting effects of shading and details of musculature. The artist engaged by Beaumont and Idzikowski was Randolph Schwabe, a military draftsman who went on from this early project to enjoy a successful career as a graphic artist. Vaganova’s artist, identified only as “P. Goncharov,” was Pavel Goncharov, a fellow former graduate of the Imperial Theater School and dancer of the Mariinsky Theater. He later turned to graphic arts, creating costume designs and illustrations for other books. Goncharov he clearly did not draw from imagination or memory. His work must have entailed many hours of observation in the studio under Vaganova’s immediate supervision, with any number of pupils demonstrating the steps over and over. It may be that filming was involved in the process to some degree, and it is certain that still photographs played a role, as a select number of photographs figure in the finished volume, to illustrate the arabesques and attitudes, as well as one example of the écarté seen here, by Natalia Dudinskaya. It may even be that Dudinskaya served as Goncharov’s principal model, as there is a certain resemblance between her, when she would have been about twenty or twenty-one when the project was undertaken, and the universally familiar dark-haired dancer seen throughout Vaganova’s book. ©2024 by Alan Jones early.ballet.usa@gmail.com
Agrippina Vaganova in pas de trois from Paquita.
Andre Glegolski
A great teacher - 1943 - 2024
Andrzej Glegolski
It is with great regret that we inform you that that on February 3, 2024 he died in Paris and will be buried there
A renowned classical dance teacher in France. A Varsovian by birth and education, years ago an artist of our ballet company, and finally, for 50 long years, a Parisian by choice. He performed in Warsaw, Marseille and Stockholm, and then he settled in Paris, where he ran his own dance studio gaining a reputation as an outstanding ballet teacher. In the hearts of Polish artists who knew him and visited him, he left an additional memory of Man with a big heart and full of personal charm, cheerful, cordial, hospitable and caring, who generously shared all good things. Sharing the pain of many
Friends of the Artist
We will remember Him with gratitude for many years to come. Goodbye Andrzej Waldemar Dabrowski and Krzysztof Pastor with the Ensemble of the Grand Theatre of the National Opera
Balanchine
by John Clifford
Balanchine teaching at the School of American Ballet
BALANCHINE AS TEACHER
Without question George Balanchine was the greatest teacher I’ve ever known. This rather grand statement is because he was a teacher of how to live life, as well as how to dance classical ballet as he knew it. No need here to go into his background or training methodology, or even his technical innovations, because those have been very well covered in Suki Schorer’s book, Suki Schorer on BALANCHINE TECHNIQUE, and her video series, The Balanchine Essays. I will however try and cover things left out of those two sources. When I first took Balanchine’s class, I was 19, and had just joined the New York City Ballet. Balanchine had seen my choreography in Los Angeles, (all in my autobiography, BALANCHINE’S APPRENTICE: From Hollywood to New York and Back) and he then invited me to choreograph at his School of American Ballet (SAB). Within six-weeks he invited me to join the company. Even though I was already a professional dancer appearing regularly on TV, ( The Danny Kaye Show and other TV shows) and had worked with some of the era’s major dance-makers and teachers, including Eugene Loring, Hermes Pan(Fred Astaire's choreographer), Willie Covan (Eleanor Powell's tap teacher), Tony Charmoli (the foremost choreographer for television of his day, 1960’s-1980’s) Asaf Messerer, Maya Plisetskaya, Stanley Williams, André Eglevsky, Pierre Vladimiroff, George Zoritch, Irina Kosmovska (Balanchine’s favorite Los Angeles teacher), Natalia Clare, and more… nothing prepared me for the rigors of Balanchine’s company class.
After that first class my muscles were burning so much, I thought I’d never walk again. Needless to say, it got much easier after I was used to it…but that first day? Wow! It was a combination of the speed, faster than Messerer’s class, or Piere Vladimiroff’s, (both gave barres no longer than 15-20 mins) and the repetition. Balanchine gave tons of tendues, but only one grand plie in first, second, and fifth, at the start of his barre. It wasn’t so much that everything was fast, but everything he wanted had to be done absolutely perfectly. This quest for perfection was a constant in all of his classes. He did not “invent” in his classes as some have recently stated, (so much bad information out there) but he did push limits. He would often give us brain-teaser combinations with simple steps like jetes and pas de bourrees, but put together in unexpected ways, because he’d say, “The brain is a muscle too.” In other words, he wanted us to wake-up. He never “choreographed” in class, nor asked us to do anything outside of the normal ballet vocabulary. Also, on some days he’d spend the majority of the center working on one particular step…or steps, like pirouettes, port de bras, or even just glissades. (His glissades were very similar to the Bournonville stye, as were much of his petit allegro combinations). He’d stand in the wings for every single performance…in those years 250 a year… and the next day give us combinations to clean up what he didn’t like he saw the night before. His eye missed nothing, and his attention to detail was supernatural. Lastly, it was his kindness, sense of humor, and respect for us as dancers, and as people, that really impressed me the most. He had a stern face, but he was anything but. Daily he showed how much he cared for us. He always sensed when we were tired and would tell a joke (sometimes pretty long ones), to lighten the mood. I asked him about this, and he said he just knew when we needed a rest. His famous quote of “Now is all there is,”is what he meant. He wanted us to live in the moment, and not miss a thing. It was/is a great way to approach life!
John Clifford rehearsing dancers in SERENADE
Teaching Balanchine ballets to students brings a special joy. Unlike some professional companies that are steeped in their own styles and traditions, students are generally more open…and hungry for the challenges of Balanchine’s choreography. Here I am teaching SERENADE to the students of the Kirov Academy in Washington DC. It was their first attempt at Balanchine, and I taught some classes there too, and much of it was filmed for IN BALANCHINE’S CLASSROOM, but was cut from the film, as was my teaching at MMAC and interview. I found this strange as more than most I had been teaching and staging Balanchine for years. Oh well…In that film I found some odd statements from some that barely took his class, and was sorry not to hear from others like Verdy, Farrell, Kent, McBride, and men like Ib Andersen.
John Clifford in rehearsal with Balanchine
John Clifford giving class