Dancing Through It: My Journey in the Ballet

by Ringer, Jenifer

  It was in the role of the Yellow Girl that I first performed Dances at a Gathering. The Yellow Girl is a complete change of pace from the Blue and Green Girls. Her personality is bubbly and free, vivacious and playful, with hints of a darker drama at times. For a season or two I just understudied, watching Lauren Hauser and Wendy Whelan be coached to perform the role. Jerry loved both of these dancers and rarely had much to say to them, especially because they had both performed the part before. And seeing that they each had different takes on the role of the Yellow Girl, I came to understand that another thing Jerry valued was a genuine quality in his dancers. He wanted dancers to be true to themselves, as they inhabited his choreography; any hint of pretense, tension, or acting would drive him crazy. He wanted to see thoughts and emotions come to the surface in an organic way that was evident through the layers of his choreography and the dancer’s own personality.

  The Yellow Girl has a piece called the Wind Waltz, a pas de deux at the beginning of the ballet in which she dances with the Green Boy. We were supposed to dance as if the wind were pushing and pulling us along, and our steps often echoed and overlapped as we moved in staggered repetition of each other. Mastering the Wind Waltz essentially taught me how to be a “Jerry Dancer.” It was while I was learning it that it was drummed into me that eye contact with my partner was more important than almost anything.

  Jerry’s pas de deux are rarely about a bravura presentation to the audience. They are about some relationship or dialogue or experience shared between the two people onstage; the audience is allowed to watch this relationship and find satisfaction in the very human emotions the dancers are feeling. For that reason, Jerry wanted partners to focus on each other, without sidelong glances toward the audience for approval.

  During my first rehearsals for the Wind Waltz, I rarely got very far into the choreography without being stopped. We would dance about eight counts of music and then hear Jerry’s hands clapping in a signal for the pianist to stop.

  “You need to look at each other all the time,” he would say.

  We would start over. Clap clap.

  “You took your eyes off of him. Never take your eyes off of him.”

  We would begin again. Clap.

  “No. You must look at her no matter what.”

  Soon, my partner and I were twisting our necks at impossible angles in order to maintain eye contact no matter what direction our bodies were facing. We were dancing the steps horribly, but we were concentrating so hard on looking at each other that we were disregarding our ballet technique.

  Jerry didn’t care. “Okay, you are starting to get it,” he finally said.

  It dawned on me that this was a lesson. Jerry didn’t expect us to actually dance the pas de deux this way. We were dramatically distorting the choreography in order to look into each other’s eyes. But he wanted the feeling that we would never take our eyes off of each other. He wanted us to be constantly aware of each other and never to lose sight that we were dancing together, for each other, and not for the audience. And if there was even the possibility within the choreography that we could make eye contact, then we should be compelled instinctively to look at each other. Technical execution of the steps took second place to the emotional connection between the dancers.

  My experience learning the Yellow Girl’s mazurka was completely different. This was a solo, so I had no partner to look at. But I soon discovered that my partner was in fact Chopin’s music. The solo was very brief, but somehow Jerry had stuffed complicated rhythms and changes of tone into a very short musical moment. It was important to be right on the music so that his choreography would be very clear.

  During one section, all the Yellow Girl did was some stylized walking right on the beat of the music. She was to step on the first, third, and fifth counts of the very fast six-beats-per-measure music and there was a slight emphasis on the fifth beat. I can still hear Victor’s voice counting in my head, “ONE two THREE four FIVE six ONE two THREE four FIVE six!”

  If I blurred my feet at all or got late on the music, I was sent back to the beginning to try again.

  I loved the challenge of trying to force my body into the parameters of the musicality and initially had to put a great deal of concentration into getting the choreography exactly right. Soon, however, it became second nature and I couldn’t imagine doing it any other way. And there was nothing like the feeling that I was dancing right on top of the music, visually exposing the rhythms for the audience so that they could appreciate the music on a whole different level. I often danced that solo with the feeling of some force propelling me from behind, pushing me forward so that the music never got away from me. It was exhilarating.

  During one stage rehearsal for Dances, after I’d been performing the Yellow Girl for a while, I came out of the wings to take my opening pose for the mazurka solo. I looked at the pianist across the stage, and we started simultaneously. After I’d danced only the first rapid six counts, Jerry, standing at the front of the stage, shouted out, “HEY!”

  I stopped in my tracks, standing flat-footed while the pianist stuttered to a stop. I looked at Jerry anxiously. He had never lost his temper with me, though I’d certainly seen him lose it with others. This is it, I thought. I’m finally going to be yelled at by Jerome Robbins. I girded my loins and told myself not to cry.

  Then Jerry laughed and shrugged, looked around, and said, “It’s fun!”

  I kept looking at him a moment while the other ballet masters onstage laughed, a little nervously. Then, smiling weakly, I walked back to my starting position on watery knees, gave the pianist a look, and we started the solo from the beginning.

  Now, when I dreamed of becoming a ballerina, I never thought I would be thrown into the air by one man to do a double spin before landing upside down in another man’s arms, but that is exactly what the Yellow Girl does halfway through Dances. She participates in the Grand Waltz, one of the bigger group dances in the ballet, with six of the ten dancers onstage at one time. At the end of the dance is a series of throws where the boys toss the girls through the air to each other. The three girls have successively more exciting jumps, with the Yellow Girl being the last girl. I was pretty daunted by the prospect of these throws when I first learned about them.

  My “thrower” was to be Jock Soto, the strongest man in the company, and my “catcher” was to be Kipling Houston, a seasoned soloist very comfortable in the Robbins rep. Both had done the part many times with many different girls, so they approached my first rehearsals very casually. I tried to appear nonchalant as well, even though I was terrified inside.

  Jock gave me some simple instructions. “Take off in this position and then don’t do anything. Let me do everything,” he said.

  “And then pray that I’ll remember to catch you,” Kip added with a smirk.

  I was supposed to keep my arms up and my legs together like a pencil while I was hurtling through the air, but I think the first time Jock let go of me, I screamed and immediately spread-eagled, making it very difficult for Kip. So much for trying to appear calm.

  Jock and Kip were very patient with me, and after a couple of tries I was able to get a decent version down. Soon enough, after some rehearsals and performances under my belt, I got very comfortable with the throw and knew I could trust my partners completely. It would only make me a little nervous when Jock would look at me very seriously and say darkly, “I’m going to throw you so high . . . ,” and then Kip would walk by rubbing his elbow and loudly complain, “My arm is really hurting tonight. I’m not sure I’ll be able to catch Jenny in those throws . . .”

  I danced my most memorable Grand Waltz while on tour with the company in Palermo, Italy, in 1994. It was summertime, and we were performing in an outdoor theater. The stage, like many in Europe, was severely raked, or slanted, with the part closest to the audience being lower than the back. This meant that during the throws, Jock as
the thrower was at the top of the “hill,” and the catcher, who in this performance was James, was at the bottom of the hill.

  As I approached Jock in preparation for my throw, having seen him toss the Blue Girl away toward James, I saw a look in his eye that said he was going to really launch me this time. I wasn’t worried, because James was strong and reliable and I knew that I was in good hands. But as I left Jock’s hands and completed my first revolution in the air, my mind took a snapshot of James in the split second before I went around for my second spin.

  This is what I saw: Pascale, as the Blue Girl, was not in her normal finishing position but was instead on her hands and knees on the stage, trying to get up. James had his hands on her waist and seemed to be trying to disentangle himself from her costume as he glanced at me over his shoulder with a look of horror in his eyes. With that picture in my mind, I went around for my second spin, tipping upside down and really hoping that James would in fact be there to catch me.

  He was, though I really have no idea how, and we were all certainly more cautious the next performance in Palermo when the throws came around.

  —

  After performing the Yellow Girl for several years, I began to get the sense that it was time for me to move on. I didn’t want to be out of Dances completely because I loved the ballet. But the Yellow Girl’s role involved a great deal of youthful running about, and I started to feel too mature for the part. Though I was a principal by this time, I was still uncomfortable requesting roles, something I’ve hardly ever done. Jerry had passed away a few years earlier, but luckily the ballet masters had the same feeling that I did. I was called to learn the Mauve—or Purple—Girl.

  I’d seen the taller, more statuesque dancers of the company dancing this role. Lourdes Lopez, Maria Calegari, and Helene Alexopoulos were all long-legged beauties who brought glamour and mystery to the part. I was shorter than these other dancers, and more long-waisted than long-legged. The Purple Girl’s signature sections were adagio pas de deux that required a sense of gravity and lyricism. I knew that I would need to change my approach to Dances to do justice to the part of the Purple Girl, and concentrated on adding a sense of weight to my steps, as if I were moving through very thick air.

  In addition to her other dances, the Purple Girl opens the Scherzo section with an untamed solo. The Scherzo is the last real dancing in the ballet, because the actual finale of the piece is filled mostly with contemplative walking. I knew this music well long before I danced to it because it was one of the piano pieces my sister had played; I used to lie under the piano while Becky practiced it, loving the feeling of being surrounded by such wild and tempestuous music.

  Before her solo, the Purple Girl waits for the stage lights to change, and in silence she runs out to center stage. The pianist watches from the onstage apron and strikes a dramatic chord right when the Purple Girl hits an elongated lunge, her arm pointing diagonally out toward the audience. After that, it is as if the Purple Girl is losing her mind, alternating between wild dancing and controlled moments of stillness. I had to struggle to control myself when dancing to this music because of the wild choreography and passionate notes flying from the piano. There were plenty of rehearsals where I actually did lose my balance completely, and several performances where I thought I might end up rolling around the stage but managed to keep it together. It was a thrill to dance.

  After dancing the Purple Girl for a while, I was asked to take on the only role I hadn’t yet learned: the Pink Girl. I’ve always loved watching what Jerry made for the Pink Girl. She has wonderful choreography that allows her to be playful, sweet, and tenderly loving. Her pas de deux with the Purple Boy in the middle of the Scherzo is, I believe, one of the most beautiful combinations of music, choreography, and placement in a ballet that exists. For years I’d watched Kyra Nichols and my friend Yvonne Borree dance this part, and I felt terribly honored to be given the chance to dance it myself.

  The Pink Girl has three pas de deux in addition to her group dances. One of these is the Études Pas de Deux, a dance with the Brown Boy. This pas de deux is very satisfying to dance because it has some flashier dancing at the beginning and end of the piece, with big jumps and a lot of traveling around the stage. I always felt a sense of freedom when I could come out onstage and dance the first diagonal that traveled from one corner to the next with a flying tombé coupé grand jeté. The two dancers challenge each other and seem to relish their energy and strength. The boy puts his hand out, palm down. The girl puts her hand higher. Then the boy puts his other hand higher, which forces the girl to put hers even higher. They then take their hands away and make a gesture as if to say, No one won that one, so let’s do something else. But in the center of the pas de deux, the music turns quiet and the Pink Girl and Brown Boy have the opportunity to dance together in a gentle, loving way. It is as if they set aside their joking relationship to finally reveal their true feelings to each other. But soon enough, they return to safe ground, playing with each other until the music once again winds down.

  Then they come to a resolution. The Brown Boy once again puts his hand out and the Pink Girl adds hers, but this time they link arms so that they are connected. The boy then swirls the girl up onto his shoulder so that she looks like a bird in flight, and he takes her off the stage.

  The Pink Girl’s last dance, like the Purple Girl’s, is the Scherzo, which takes place right before the finale. She is caught up with everyone else in the storm of wildness, but then she is able to make a connection with the Purple Boy during the eye of the storm. The Purple Boy is bent over, not looking at her, and she runs to him and gently taps him on the arm. But after the tap, she begins to fall, as if that tap were her last bit of energy. The Purple Boy turns to catch her, lifts her high into the air, her body reaching for the sky, then places her down to kneel with him on the floor.

  Then, after all of the tempestuous movement that preceded it, there are six slow counts of stillness. The Pink Girl sits back on her heels, looking into the distance. The Purple Boy kneels beside her, looking into her eyes. Then he slowly offers her his hand. She sees it, places her hand in his, and together they rise to walk slowly in a half circle, arms stretched out as if to trace a beautiful sunset. What follows is an incredibly tender pas de deux, with the two dancers exchanging expressions of fragile devotion and seeming to cling to the hope of an everlasting love. The Pink Girl is constantly trusting the Purple Boy’s strength and steadfastness as she falls back blindly into his arms. They do a slow, extended bird lift, where he presses her all the way above his head, and she floats over him like an angel.

  Dancing this pas de deux will be an everlasting joy to me. I was privileged to dance it with Jared Angle, my friend and one of the best partners in the company, and I was able to truly trust him and relax into the peacefulness of the pas de deux without worrying that anything would go wrong. During the times we danced that pas, it felt as if we were alone in another world, and it really didn’t matter if there was an audience there or not.

  But something happens at the end of the pas de deux that seems to signal a breach of trust. A discordant chord sounds from the piano, and the relationship is broken. The Purple Boy reaches for the Pink Girl’s hand, but she takes it from his grasp and runs away. The other dancers return to the stage and the couple rejoins the group, their future left up in the air.

  I think one of my reasons for loving Dances at a Gathering so much is the feeling of dancing with friends. The ballet is all about relationships, and it’s just so meaningful for me to interact and respond to another dancer, without words, whom I’ve either known for many years or am just then, in the rehearsals and performances, getting to know. What I’ll take away from this ballet career, when it is finished, is the friendships I’ve enjoyed with these other extraordinary artists, both onstage and off, as we all walk the path of being a dancer together, dancing through our own individual struggles and triumphs, side by side.
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br />   I’ve always found Dances to be such a satisfying experience, no matter which part in it I dance. During the hour of the ballet, so many different feelings are exposed by the happenings onstage, and many of them cannot be clearly expressed. There is no story to the ballet, yet many stories unfold as the dancers interrelate with one another. Some casts gel completely, and it almost feels as if a family or a group of very close and old friends have met to dance together for a day; the audience is forgotten, and we all dance for one another, completely in the moment. As I come out of the wings to walk my pattern at the beginning of the finale, I always feel a sense of completion and gratefulness, both for the dancing I’ve just been allowed to do and for the other dancers with whom I’ve shared the stage. A performance of Dances is like a journey that we’ve all been on together, and once it’s over, I’ve found that the cast often lingers offstage to talk about particular moments, whether they were good or bad. It’s as if we’re trying to hold on to a feeling that was already lost and gone the moment the curtain lowered and the music ended. No matter how hard we might try to re-create it, that performance, that experience, is over, and it becomes just another echoing memory, adding layers to the history of that stage.

  Chapter Eleven

  Facing Away

  Often, before we get to the stage rehearsal of a particular ballet, the dancers will decide that it is time to “face away,” which means we’ll dance not toward the mirror but rather toward the back wall of the studio, which becomes our “audience.” Thus we relinquish our dependence on the mirror and the habit we all have of checking to make sure things are looking as perfect as possible; instead we focus on one another, and start really dancing together.