Beyond the Dance

by Chan Hon Goh

  The filming of Four Seasons with James Kudelka (between me and the camera) and Rex Harrington.

  But he listened to my concerns and cast me as Kate opposite Johan Persson. During the first few rehearsals I had trouble convincing even myself that I was making a good Kate. Every time I looked in the mirror, the image I saw was not the cunning, rude, unladylike Kate, but instead a delicate ballerina. I had to let go of everything I had worked so hard to learn and stop being afraid of looking ugly and heavy on my feet. Meanwhile, I had to find a way into the mind of the character. Thinking about her, I felt that I could relate to the fact that, despite her hard exterior, she was very much a woman inside and in need of love.

  Throwing myself into the role of this angry, fierce, even bullying woman seemed to affect me in regular life. One day Che told me that I was snapping at him and seemed discontent with everything. Meanwhile, with the help of Reid Anderson, who had returned to coach the ballet, I was finding Kate. Fortunately, Johan Persson was a brilliant Petruchio. Even when he was making fun of Kate, he did it in such a gentle and affectionate way that I could always believe that there was good in this man.

  Some people came to the theater just to see whether or not I could really pull off the role. In the end, I did find my own version of Kate, and my shows went very well. Being so real while on stage demanded a tremendous amount of energy; anger is an exhausting emotion. But I felt that, in playing a role so far from my own natural character, I had proven something important to our audience, and to myself.

  I certainly thank James Kudelka for casting me in the kinds of substantial roles that I longed to play. As a choreographer, he created ballets that were very technically and physically challenging, “raising the bar,” as he liked to put it. A man with a high sense of artistic integrity, he asked that we dance his works with absolute precision right down to our fingertips. However, his own artistic integrity was always placed first and foremost.

  It seems to me that dancing, despite its pressures and difficulties, ought to be a joyful experience. I was lucky to get so much positive feedback and support from Che, my parents, and other members of the dance community. Sometimes, when I went to dance as a guest with another company – always with James’ encouragement, for which I was grateful – I would find my enthusiasm and energy rising. Of course I was glad and also proud to be representing the National Ballet of Canada.

  The opening night of Mozartiana, fourteen years after seeing Suzanne Farrell dance the same ballet.

  CHAPTER 12

  REACHING FOR NEW HEIGHTS

  In October 2001, I flew from Calgary, where I had just performed with the National Ballet, to Washington Dulles Airport. As soon as I was off the plane, I took a cab to the Kennedy Center to jump into a rehearsal with the Suzanne Farrell Ballet, with whom I was engaged as principal dancer. Our opening was in three days.

  After the Kennedy Center season, we began a two-week tour, with perhaps the most important stop being the New Jersey Performing Arts Center. The theater was beautiful, reminiscent of an opera house. Here I was to dance in two Balanchine works, Scotch Symphony and La Sonnambula, before an audience that would include New York critics coming to see the new company founded by the most famous of Balanchine’s leading dancers and inspirations. While I had danced both works at the Kennedy Center and on tour with the company, it would be the first time I would dance both in one show, and Suzanne had asked me whether I thought I could do it. “It’ll be hard on my feet but I’ll be fine,” I said, smiling.

  Now retired from dancing, Suzanne had been a principal dancer with the New York City Ballet. It was for this company that George Balanchine, the most brilliant choreographer of the 20th century, created most of his dances. Balanchine had left his native Russia, where he began his career, and eventually settled in the United States, becoming the artistic director of the New York City Ballet on its founding in 1948. His style is called “neoclassical” – a new approach to the traditional movements of dance. Although he died in 1983, his works continue to be performed by companies around the world. Instead of telling a story, most of his ballets are inspired responses to music. The dancing is often fast and light, the steps intricate, and the dancers must have a fine mastery of technique. Instead of being about something like love or youth or loneliness, Balanchine’s ballets are about movement itself – “pure beauty,” as Balanchine once said. For a dancer they are both a challenge and a joy to perform.

  I had not expected to have the opportunity to dance such once-in-a-lifetime repertoire, which also included Jerome Robbins’ Afternoon of a Faun, a pure indulgence. Nor had I expected ever to work with a dancer I admired as much as I did Suzanne – an admiration born when I had seen her perform in Balanchine’s Mozartiana on that family trip to New York so many years ago. She had come to the National to stage Mozartiana and, although I hadn’t originally been selected to work with her, Suzanne chose me for it after watching me dance. After that, Suzanne returned to Canada to stage Jewels and asked me to dance the section called “Diamonds,” which Balanchine had originally created for her. I felt honored to dance both of these extraordinary roles, and to receive coaching from Suzanne – this was as close as a dancer could come to being directed by Balanchine himself. Her nurturing quality and motivating encouragement had infused me with a renewed sense of love for dance.

  And now, here I was in New Jersey. Just a month before, the September 11 World Trade Center tragedy had occurred, and no one had really recovered from the shock and grief of so many deaths. But at the same time, people felt that life had to go on, and that the positive values of sharing, affection, love, and creativity ought to be celebrated. I was glad to be contributing to the establishment of Suzanne’s company, and to be a part of the experience of giving pleasure to the large and appreciative audience. While I was anxious with anticipation, as I still felt at times, I was also glad to find myself feeling more confident than in the past. I had matured as a dancer and a person, and Suzanne’s continuing support also contributed to my greater sense of sureness. The next day I couldn’t help but be pleased to open the New York Times and read of “the merry, sweet-tempered performance of Chan Hon Goh … who bears a faint but potent resemblance to Margot Fonteyn.” The reviewer felt I brought “a fleeting, old-style perfume to the role of the sylph [in Scotch Symphony], and the lyrical quality of her dancing and that of the female corps was a special pleasure.”

  Suzanne Farrell coaching me in “Diamonds” from Jewels.

  And so my life as a dancer continues. In the morning when I awake, my body resists getting out of bed because of the inevitable pain. It might be a sore neck, or pain in my hips or feet, but something almost always hurts. I think of that first cup of coffee and the pleasures and challenges of the day to come, and I make myself get up. Walking down the long stairway in our house, I feel like I’m a seventy-five-year-old lady.

  Sometimes a rehearsal day can be harder than a performance day. It begins with a morning class at the Walter Carsen Centre (our present home), the waterfront building of the National Ballet. I arrive at the studio wearing a sweater and leg warmers over my tights and leotard, and wool socks and down-filled boots over my ballet slippers. By the time I’ve finished the barre work, my body has warmed up and I have stripped off the extra garments, changing my slippers for pointe shoes in preparation for center work. Even now classes are very important to me. They are a chance to improve each step, to work on my turnout and flexibility, to strive for greater precision, speed, and coordination. Although I am now a principal dancer, the instructor will still come by and correct me. And just as I did as a student, I watch the other dancers, looking for fine qualities from which I can learn.

  At the end of class, I have fifteen minutes before first rehearsal, during which I change into a fresh leotard – my first will have been soaked through. Rehearsals are usually an hour long and I may have as many as three before lunch break. In each hour I may work on a different piece – an hour spent on the full-leng
th ballet, and the other hours devoted to shorter works for a mixed program. Rehearsals can be a breeze or a struggle, depending on the ballet and my partner. Although I may feel as if I’m getting nowhere, I have to trust that it always gets better.

  Between each rehearsal there is a break of just a few minutes, and I may eat part of a protein bar to keep up my blood-sugar level. For lunch, I grab something to eat in the cafeteria, sitting down with whichever dancers happen to be around. Despite my hunger, I can’t eat too much – maybe half a sandwich and the rest of the protein bar-because it is hard to rehearse on a full stomach. Then it’s back to the studio, where we may not finish until six-thirty. I rehearse a maximum of six hours in one day. The day can feel very long, but the discoveries made along the way, even the ability to laugh at myself sometimes, make it go faster.

  Che teaching us in a class at the National Ballet’s Walter Carsen Centre.

  There are other responsibilities to be taken care of, and any hours in which I am not scheduled to rehearse get quickly filled up. I might have interviews with newspaper, magazine, or television journalists, or a photo shoot. Or I might have a costume fitting, which can take up to an hour if it’s for a new work and the designer is still working things out. For a ballet already in the repertoire, it’s a matter of altering a costume to fit me (principal dancers share costumes because they are so costly). Costumes can make a dancer look better on stage, but they can also be a problem. Sometimes the way they are cut or the kind of fabric chosen can hinder a dancer. Sometimes it’s the sheer weight of the thing – all the layers of tulle in a tutu, along with the intricate beadwork and other decoration. But our talented wardrobe staff help make me as comfortable as they can.

  If there’s time, I will book myself a massage or a physiotherapy session. Even if I am injury-free, I try to have massages every week to stay in good condition. If anything feels out of line – my neck won’t turn through its full range, or my foot won’t point fully – I go to the physiotherapist before the problem gets worse. I have learned to listen to my body and react to any warning signs, even when the reason for the pain is not easy to figure out.

  Occasionally in the evening there is an event for supporters of the ballet. While I am not required to attend, I like to meet the people who support our company and come to see me in virtually every role I perform.

  If there are no other obligations, I gladly go home to Che and Daly. Not only am I exhausted, I am also famished. Che and I eat in or, if neither of us has the energy to cook, we go to a restaurant. We hardly ever talk about ballet; it is nice to feel that I am in the real world for a few hours. Later at home, we take care of necessities – answering messages, opening the mail, doing the laundry, and dealing with our shoe business. Or I might just be so tired that I’ll flop in front of the TV and let everything wait for another day. Che tries not to talk to me about business after ten o’clock. Otherwise, it takes me a long time to stop my thoughts from racing. And sleep is a treasured necessity.

  A performance day is different. All my energy is focused on the show. I have the morning to myself, and I’ll get to the theater around midday to take a class and rehearse (not more than two hours on a performance day). Then comes the important task of deciding which pair of pointe shoes to wear for the performance. I will have several pairs that have been worked in during class, and now must decide which feel best on my feet that day. Each pair of pointe shoes is used for only one performance, and sometimes I go through three pairs a show.

  Looking beyond, ready for the future.

  I might have a massage or a physiotherapy session. Then I’ll have lunch and won’t eat another meal until after the show.

  Whenever possible, I try to go home and take a nap before I’m due at the theater for an evening performance, not just to refresh myself but also to achieve calm. Two hours before curtain, I arrive at the Hummingbird Centre. In the dressing room, which I share with two other dancers, I begin to apply my makeup and do my hair. My dressing room is well stocked with chocolates, protein bars, cookies, and water.

  After a short warm-up in the rehearsal studio, I put on my pointe shoes. Over the loudspeaker comes the announcement: five-minute call. I put on my costume with the help of my dresser. When the onstage call is announced, I take my place, either on the stage or in the wings waiting for my entrance.

  Two and a half hours later, the final curtain comes down. Depending on the ballet and my mood, I may be exhausted, emotional, pleased, or critical of my own performance. There are flowers from fans and from Che, who sends me a bouquet for each of my performances, wherever I dance. The director and the coach wait in the wings to offer their comments.

  In the dressing room, the dresser helps me out of my costume. I always like it when my partner comes to say goodbye before he leaves. Almost before I am changed, the audience members with permission – friends, family, and sometimes regular ballet-goers I have come to know – arrive backstage. When finally I leave the theater, there may be fans waiting for autographs.

  At last the evening is over. It is late and Che and I go in search of a place to eat. We relax and wind down, and when we get home I often take a bath. And then, once again, it’s sleep – for tomorrow I have to dance again.

  As a child, I once overheard a friend of my parents ask about my future: “Is Chan going to be a dancer?”

  My father answered, “No, we don’t want her to be. Life is too hard for a dancer.”

  “Diamonds” in Jewels; hearing the applause and feeling that I am the thankful one.

  Now that I am a dancer, I can understand better my parents’ reservations about my following their own career. Ballet takes so much time and dedication that it is difficult to pursue other interests or fields of education. A dancer spends years learning a kind of “language” that is understood only in the dance world. There is no guarantee – indeed, the odds are against it – that as a dancer you will succeed enough to satisfy your ambitions. And if you do, it means unceasing work to maintain and improve your technique, keep in shape, learn new roles. The career is not usually well-paying and it is short-lived. Dancers usually retire in their late thirties or early forties, when people in other professions are still building their careers. The glamorous aspects – interviews, your photograph in the newspapers, curtain-call bravos, and roses – soon lose some of their shine.

  And yet, knowing all this, my love and passion for the art still answers “Yes” a hundred times over to the question of whether I am glad to be a dancer. What ballet will I be cast in next? How can I deepen my interpretations of the great roles in the repertoire? Where will I next appear as a guest artist, working for the first time with other talented directors and dancers? The adventure of my dancing life continues.

  A while ago I was receiving a massage to relax my muscles, when the therapist said to me, “Chan, it seems that you’re always in a hurry to get some place. What about the process. What about now?’” I thought, Yes, I have been focused on reaching one goal and then the next. I have not valued the process, the experience, enough. So now I tell myself to enjoy each moment for its own sake. The class. The rehearsal. The second before leaping onto the stage before the audience. And then the quiet time at home again.

  Still, I can’t help looking forward to the next goal, the next challenge. It’s a simple truth of my character. For me, to reach for new heights is to be alive.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  CHAN HON GOH

  First and foremost I have to thank Avie Bennett, without whose guidance and support this book would not exist. And to Kathy Lowinger, for her vision and encouragement.

  I would like to thank the following for their assistance and confidence in me: Alison Armitage, Lida Baday, Dorinda Chiang, Che Chun, Jonathon Lovat Dickson, Julia Drake, Sonya Dunn, Gary Pagan, Nicole Roy Leonard, Sally Szuster, Sharon Vanderlinde. Valerie Wilder, Max Wyman, and the National Ballet of Canada.

  CARY FAGAN

  I want to thank Chan Hon Goh for sharing her ex
periences with me and for her willingness to go beneath the surface. Choo Chiat and Lin Yee Goh recalled their own dramatic lives and gave me a vivid sense of their daughter Chan as a child. Showing me about their dance school in Vancouver, I could easily feel the pride they continue to take in their young dancers. Thanks also to Kathy Lowinger for believing that I was the right person to help tell this story.

  Among the useful books that I consulted, I wish to note especially the following: Anatole Chujoy and P.W Manchester, The Dance Encyclopedia; Mary Clarke and Clement Crisp, Ballet: an Illustrated History and The Ballet Goers’ Guide; Suzanne Farrell, Holding On To The Air; Mary Kerner, Barefoot to Balanchine: How to Watch Dance; and James Neufeld, The Power To Rise: The Story of The National Ballet of Canada.

  PHOTO CREDITS

  Joseph Ciancio: 87; Courtesy of the Goh family: 11, 14, 15, 16, 21, 22, 27, 30, 31, 42, 48, 54, 56, 61, 64, 69, 75, 76, 108, 118, 121, 132, 133; Andrew Oxenham: 6, 44, 96, 97, 98-99, 125, 149; Lydia Pawelak: 8, 89, 92, 128, 134; Johan Persson: 18, 130; David Street: 50, 78, 93, 103; Cylla von Tiedemann: 1, 12, 25, 34, 40, 58, 70, 82, 88, 90, 91, 94, 95, 100, 112, 114, 122, 136, 138, 140, 143, 146; Bruce Zinger: 145.

  CHAN HON GOH was born in Beijing and raised in Vancouver. She grew up surrounded by dance, as her parents were both dancers and her father established his own highly respected ballet school in Vancouver. She is now a prima ballerina with the National Ballet of Canada and, as a guest artist, has been invited dance with some of the worlds loading companies in Europe, Asia, and North America.