Dancing Through It: My Journey in the Ballet

by Ringer, Jenifer

  I tried to sleep late the first morning but made it only to about eight fifteen. I woke up and had coffee and read the paper, a novelty in itself. I watched the progress of the blizzard, both outside my window and on the local news. I went to the hotel gym to ride the bike and walk on the treadmill. I watched Oprah. I even did a ballet barre in the hotel room, thinking people would certainly think I was crazy if they could see.

  It occurred to me that the Joffrey Ballet was located in Chicago, and that if anybody would continue business as usual in a blizzard, a ballet company certainly would. I got in touch with them and received permission to take company class with them while I was in town. I tramped ten blocks through the snow my second and third days in Chicago and really enjoyed taking class with the company. The Joffrey dancers were beautiful, and the teachers taught their classes in a more classical style than City Ballet, with longer and more complicated combinations. On the way back to the hotel, I shopped the Magnificent Mile for some earrings to wear for Oprah.

  I also watched Black Swan, which Jason strongly urged me to do. He said that Oprah was bound to ask me about it, and he had been a little frustrated that I hadn’t seen it yet. I’ve always been that way: reluctant to spend my time watching or reading about ballet when so much of my day is already focused in that direction. But here in Chicago, I really had nothing else to do, so I ordered in room service and rented the movie on my hotel television. So many people had told me that the movie was scary that I decided to rent it in the afternoon, since scary movies tend to give me bad dreams. I didn’t want to have to try to sleep after the film, in case it was too disturbing.

  The movie had the opposite effect on me, however. I admit that I found it pretty humorous at times, but that isn’t a reflection on the movie itself, which I thought was very well done. Indeed, I thought the first half of the film was a pretty accurate depiction of how the ballet world can be, and I admired Natalie Portman’s portrayal of the ballerina. She actually learned how to carry her upper body like a ballet dancer, something that takes a great deal of training. But when the movie turned into a thriller, I couldn’t help but get the giggles. Probably anyone seeing their workplace dramatized in such a way would have a similar reaction. Seeing what I do every day for a living turned into a scary movie with evil, tutu-wearing murderesses was just too much.

  Finally the day of the taping arrived. The producers had added an extra taping that day to make up for the missed ones, so this would be Oprah’s third show of the day. Rob and I would do the show and then head immediately to the airport for our ride home. We met early before the car arrived to take us to Oprah’s studios, and Rob ran me through scenarios for the show so that I would feel prepared. Jason also promised to give me an idea of the line of questioning Oprah might take.

  When we got to the studios, we were greeted by the very friendly staff and shown to a little waiting room of our own. Someone came to do my hair and makeup. I’d been asked to bring a pair of pointe shoes so that I could put them on if Oprah wanted me to. I’d also brought a pair of pointe shoes for Oprah in her size so that she could put them on if she wanted. Someone came to lead me to the stage so that I could try out my pointe shoes on the surface there to make sure it wasn’t too slippery.

  I walked through the backstage area in my socks, since the other shoes I had with me were either snow boots or high heels. The audience and stage area was actually much smaller than I’d expected, and the whole set had a rather intimate feeling. I tried the shoes on and did a little dance. The surface would be no problem. I suddenly started to have visions of myself dancing around and then tripping and falling on Oprah.

  I turned to Jason. “Do I have to walk out onto the set in front of the cameras?”

  “No, you’ll already be sitting after the commercial break,” he replied. “Why?”

  “I was afraid that as I walked out I’d slip and have a really awkward moment.”

  Jason thought it was funny that a ballerina, of all people, would be afraid of tripping as she walked. But what he didn’t realize was that we ballerinas can be very clumsy “on land” when trying to do such simple things as walking—especially this ballerina.

  We went back to our waiting room, and Jason came in to go over the questions with us.

  “Now, these are what we think Oprah will ask, but we can’t guarantee it. Sometimes her brain will go in a different direction or something in particular will capture her interest and she will follow it. But this is my best idea of how it is going to go.”

  None of the questions were very surprising, which was a relief. Suddenly music sounded from the television monitor in the room, and we saw that this taping had started. Oprah came onto the set to talk to the audience, and a few moments later the cameras were rolling.

  Watching the first segments of the show, I couldn’t quite believe where I was and what I was about to do. I didn’t have a chance to meet the other guests on the show that day; they must have all been in their own waiting rooms. I felt a little nervous and strange, especially after having been isolated in a hotel for almost four days. But mainly I felt excited about the experience. I was going to meet Oprah and be on her show! I was determined to just relish the adventure and be myself. I had no need to put on any persona but my own and no need to feel nervous. I prayed that God would use me to His purposes and hoped that good would come out of all this. I also planned to have fun while it was happening and didn’t want to waste my time being nervous.

  When it was time, Rob left me to go and get a seat in the audience. I was led to wait off set and stood joking with Jason and some of the other producers while we waited. Before I went on, an initial video segment of my life in New York was shown, and I chided Jason for including the shot of my not-so-picturesque ballerina feet. But I was impressed with what a great job they did with the backstage filming and told him so.

  Very soon I was told to go up to the stage. Oprah was sitting in her chair, and I was led to sit beside her. She shook my hand and was very welcoming and nice, seeming genuinely happy to see me. She thanked me for staying longer because of the storm. Then it was time to start the interview.

  The conversation felt very natural; Oprah was very focused and pleasant, even though it was her third show of the day and she must have been tired. If it hadn’t been for the people in the audience, I would have thought I was sitting in her living room having a nice talk. We spoke about Black Swan, body image, and age, and I put on my pointe shoes and danced around a bit. I’m not sure I was very dignified once my pointe shoes were on, but it felt weird to be in my street clothes and pointe shoes dancing around a television set. I gave Oprah her shoes, and she had me sign them. I enjoyed every minute of it.

  After the show she stood up to say good-bye to the audience and I stood beside her, surprised by how tall she was. She took a few steps offstage, and I thought I should let her go alone so that she could make a grand exit; I figured I would slink off to the side afterward. But she grabbed my hand and said, “You’re coming with me.”

  So we walked off together, hand in hand. She looked majestic and in control as she greeted some audience members. I did a weird, shuffling duck-walk in my pointe shoes with an “Aw, golly” smile plastered across my face. We descended the stairs from the set, and with a wave, Oprah was whisked away to her car, her assistant assuring her that traffic looked good.

  And that was the end of that. I was given a gift bag with an Oprah sweatshirt and water bottle, and Rob and I were packed up and sent off to the airport. Rob was thrilled, and I was happy. I’d had a good time and now was excited to see the show. I felt like I was already forgetting some of the details because I’d been so swept up in each moment. I returned to New York and resumed life as usual, getting back in time to put my daughter to bed and perform The Four Seasons the next night.

  After the show aired, I received many more messages on Facebook from people who had been inspired by the story
or wanted help with their situations. And every now and then when the show repeats or is shown in a foreign country, I’ll get a new batch. I continue to be amazed by what God has set in motion with the whole Sugar Plumgate situation, and I don’t even know the half of how He might have worked through the events that began in December 2010 with that Nutcracker review. But what a faith builder, to know that God could use one of the darkest periods of my life to bring joy and healing not only to me twelve years later but also to an unknown number of strangers across the world. And I know that my problems, in the grand scheme of things, are very slight and insignificant when compared with things that others have gone through, but eating disorders and depression are very real and debilitating problems that can ruin people’s lives and leave them caught under a dark net of shame and isolation. It is gratifying for me to think that through my experiences and with God’s help I can possibly help others who may suffer with issues similar to mine.

  Chapter Ten

  Dancing Dances at a Gathering

  I’m often asked about my favorite roles and ballets. Dancing the principal roles in Balanchine’s Serenade as well as the experiences I had originating roles in Alexei Ratmansky’s Russian Seasons and Namouna: A Grand Divertissement will always be highlights of my career. But another ballet has been a part of my ballet life almost from the beginning of my time in the company, and as I’ve grown and matured as both a dancer and a person, I’ve moved through the different women’s roles in it. Indeed, this is one of those ballets that can take a lifetime to fully appreciate, from the stage or the audience. As I near the end of my career as a dancer, my experiences with this ballet take on a new richness and meaning, because I find that the ballet can be a metaphor not only for real life but also for the life of a professional dancer.

  Jerome Robbins’s Dances at a Gathering is a masterpiece that requires many viewings to begin to grasp its depth and complexity. Though it has no story or plot, it is about living and interacting and experiencing human relationships in all of their forms. And because this work of art is a ballet, its mysteries and nuances are fluid; each live performance is different. Every time a new or different dancer is introduced into the cast, the dynamics of the piece change. Every time a new pianist comes onstage to play the series of Chopin waltzes, mazurkas, and études, his or her tempos and phrasing directly influence how each dance is performed. Dances is a ballet I’ve never tired of watching or dancing.

  To audiences used to twenty-minute pieces, Dances may seem long. It is a solid hour of dancing. But each of its individual parts, choreographed for different groupings of the ten dancers who make up the cast, is different in tone and texture. You can watch relationships being developed and then revisited throughout the piece. I find it mesmerizing, and I’ve been told that when Robbins began choreographing Dances, which premiered in 1969, he showed some of the parts to George Balanchine, who said, “This is like popcorn. I want more!”

  My own relationship with Dances started early in my career, after I’d been in the company for only a couple of years and before my struggles began. Dances is typically danced by principals and soloists, and I was a very new corps member. But Jerry Robbins, who was still alive then and overseeing rehearsals, was known for picking dancers without regard to rank, so it was really not that unusual that I was called to understudy the ballet.

  Each dancer in this ballet, each “character,” has a different personality and manner of dancing, and I’ve been blessed to have an experience with each of the five female roles. The women are distinguished by the color of their flowing chiffon costumes: blue, pink, apricot (also called yellow), mauve (or purple), and green. The five men are dressed in different-colored tights and blouses with matching ballet boots. My first assignment was to learn the Blue Girl. The Blue Girl is in many ways the juvenile of the group and does not have as much stage time as some of the other dancers. Her relationship to the others in the ballet is similar to that of a younger sister. This was as true for me as a dancer as it was for the role when I was called to the rehearsals. The other dancers were experienced in their roles and already knew their steps, so I just stood in the back and watched, trying to pick up what I could.

  It was intimidating to be in those rehearsals at first. The studio was filled with principal dancers in their prime: Kyra Nichols, Jock Soto, Damien Woetzel, Peter Boal, Maria Calegari, Lourdes Lopez, Helene Alexopoulos, and Wendy Whelan. None of them had ever even acknowledged my existence, and I kept myself in the farthest corner of the room, out of everyone’s way. I really didn’t want to be noticed at this point; Jerry was at the front of the room rehearsing, and though he was generally in a good mood for these rehearsals, I’d heard stories and I was pretty scared of him. I don’t remember much from those first rehearsals because I think I was so overwhelmed to be watching these great dancers rehearse with this great choreographer.

  After a couple of weeks, there was a Dances rehearsal on the company’s daily rehearsal schedule that called only two names, and mine was one of them. Victor Castelli, the ballet master for Dances, would be with us. I assumed that I was now actually going to be learning the steps for the Blue Girl, not just watching others dance them, so that I would know them if I was ever needed to fill in.

  However, when we arrived for the rehearsal, Victor informed us that we were to be learning the Green Girl. Now, the Green Girl is an oddity in the ballet. She does not arrive until halfway through the ballet, and when she does appear, it is only to dance a witty, stylized solo. My friend Pascale Van Kipnis, the other dancer at the rehearsal, and I were both young corps dancers and were a little wide-eyed to be learning this part. But Victor jumped right in and started telling us about the Green Girl’s character. Her solo was almost like a monologue. She was supposed to be an older ballerina telling stories about her greatness.

  Using her body, Victor told us, she would “say” things like “Here, I would take a great leap, flying through the air, and when I landed the audience would go crazy! I would bow and then do a beautiful port de bras that would leave them weeping . . .”

  The solo was very subtle, with nothing overtly difficult. The challenge lay in controlling the movements with the correct nuances and instilling the right feeling and meaning into the steps. There were delicate timings and musical phrasings with combinations of steps that turned on a dime and moved instantly from quick to slow, matching the staggered rhythms of the music. It was really fun to dance, and Pascale and I were red-faced and breathless by the end of the rehearsal, probably because we both held our breath throughout much of it.

  We rehearsed it all the way through one more time and then were told that Jerry would be coming to see us the next day.

  I was full of adrenaline for the rehearsal. I couldn’t believe that I was going to be showing something to Jerome Robbins. Pascale and I were both in the studio early so that we would be fully warmed up and prepared. Jerry and Victor came in, Victor smiling and Jerry looking at Pascale and me warily. He obviously wasn’t going to give his approval easily.

  The studio felt silent and empty with only the four of us, plus the pianist, in there. Jerry had us begin dancing the solo together, each of us taking one side of the room. The first thing the Green Girl does is to walk slowly in a half circle, opening her arms up to the audience. Jerry stopped us immediately.

  “It’s more like this,” he said, demonstrating how he wanted the walks done. The way he walked had gravity and texture, and the expression on his face conveyed the character’s sense of self-importance and grandeur. Pascale and I had to try several times before he allowed us to move on to the next step, which simply involved shifting our weight from one foot to another.

  We confidently executed this move, probably not putting much thought into it, and Jerry clapped his hands to stop the pianist again.

  “No,” he said, “you are showing off your costume.”

  Jerry again demonstrated for us, becoming the character
. As he danced the steps, he looked up at the “audience” in the mirror and said, as if he were the Green Girl, “See this? When I danced before the Queen I wore this beautiful gown. Everyone gasped!”

  I started to realize that the solo was not about the seemingly easy steps at all; it was all about the richness of the character Jerry had created. The dancer performing the Green Girl needed to understand who it was that Jerry was attempting to reveal to the audience. This was my first inkling that with Jerry, it was rarely about the steps themselves.

  In the thirty-minute rehearsal, we didn’t even make it once through the entire solo, which is in reality probably only one or two minutes long. Jerry wanted to stop and talk about every step. When our time was up, he looked at Pascale and me and said, pointing his finger at us, “Keep working on it, keep working on it.” Pascale and I looked at each other, both amazed at the fact that we had just had a private coaching session with Jerome Robbins. It was extraordinary, but it was also obvious that we still had a lot of work to do.

  Shortly after that rehearsal, I was told that Jerry had decided to switch me to Apricot, also known as the Yellow Girl. I think I was just too young to grasp the nuances of the Green Girl’s persona. This was not something to be worried about; he often switched dancers from part to part until he felt that he had found the right fit between a dancer’s personality and the character of a certain role. He also tended to use his favorites in everything. I never did perform the Blue or the Green Girl onstage, but I’ll never forget that initial rehearsal with Jerry. His way of working appealed to my way of dancing; I wanted ballet to be about more than just the perfect execution of technical steps. I wanted there to be an inner dialogue going on inside the performers’ heads, even if there was no real story line to be followed. I wanted there to be a reason why I was doing certain steps, and Jerry’s choreography gave me that reason.