Where Are All the Black Swans?

Ballet is very “white”. A dancer myself, I have worn the same white tutu in performance after performance as a sylph or swan or wili or shade; ballet glorifies white fairylike creatures of all kinds. The ubiquity of white extends beyond just costumes. Ballerinas themselves are predominantly white.

There is much debate about the reasons behind the definite lack of diversity in ballet companies. Popular arguments include economic inequality, the shortage of role models of different races, and racism on the part of dance companies and the ballet community. Some dance professionals are known to believe that blacks cannot be ballerinas because their bodies are unsuitable for ballet. This racism is, unfortunately, still prevalent in some dance companies. Ballet training is notoriously expensive. The lack of diversity in ballet may be due in part to a class divide that does not favor the racial minorities; the lack of diversity is an echo of white privilege and racism in the past.

Misty Copeland is one of few black ballet soloists in prestigious ballet companies across the country, and is soon to be the first black female principal dancer of ABT. She is paving the way for ballerinas of color across the country by speaking out about her challenges and the challenges of others.

Meta Story

I waited in the wings. My heart abused the inside of my chest with a relentless pounding. My view of the stage swirled and spun, but I hadn’t started dancing yet. I looked down at my feet. The pink satin was faded and torn from countless rehearsals, but kept much of its pale shine; my pointe shoes were broken-in, but not dead. I carefully bent down to readjust my ribbons for the eighth time since I tied them in the first place. Every detail had to be perfect. My tutu was slightly too big around my waist, the old elastic was brittle and lazy so I punished it with safety pins, holding it to my leotard. I twisted myself, stretching and bending, rolling through my feet. I could feel yesterday’s show. My blistered toes screamed at me and my hamstrings moaned with a dull soreness. I loved the feeling. That was not a sarcastic comment. Even now, as I write this, my toes swell and throb, my muscles ache. I’ve just finished class. This pain is what matters. It’s evidence of my hard work.

I watched the ghostly figures swarm to the stage. The corps de ballet gathered for their pre-show rituals. We all have crazy things we do before we perform. I heard them chanting “merde” in whispered, anticipatory voices. Saying this to each other before we dance is our version of good luck. The point is to get rid of all the “shit” that could happen before the show starts. I moved out of the wings, onto the stage, and arranged myself into my familiar starting position. My insides demanded my attention, churning around like the waves of a stormy sea; this was way worse than butterflies in my stomach. I obsessed over the choreography, trying desperately to remember the movements as if I somehow forgot that as soon as the music started, my body would already know it. An eternity went by in the next minute as the spotlights began to glow, and the curtain slowly began to open, revealing me to the audience.

Passenger Story-The Rain That Couldn't Touch Us

Come with us. Were going down to the waterfront, I say. Were in the lodge at camp, and its raining like the sky will never let the rain fall again.

We’ll get soaked, Louanne says.

I go, So what? with a shrug and a grin. She, Luke, and Taylor look at each other, as if they might say, No, We’d rather just stay in these leather chairs by the fire, because, you know, it’s warm. But who are they kidding, these are the nights that make memories. We know it before it’s even gotten started. They get up and follow me, Mindy, Ky, and Trip, out the door.

Some of us have rain jackets, some of us don’t. We all get wet. We walk together down the gravel slope, and little streams of water follow us in a hurry like they have somewhere to be. But we don’t. Time seems all at once both limited and abundant. We walk.

Then we get to the pavilion. I take off my jacket, throw it on one of the rocking chairs, and lift my arms up into the air, feeling a light wind swirl around me. There are still warm coals in the fireplace from the 8 o’clock s’mores gathering, and they give off the smell of bonfires. That smell mixes with the smell of rain and heat, Dr. Pepper and the water bottle, grass and summer. Trip sets up Corn Hole and we all take turns tossing the bean bags and watching them fly up towards the ceiling and back down again.

Ky’s telling everyone about that time he thought he was Batman so he dove into a puddle. Taylor’s telling us about what she did in the elevator of her mom’s art gallery last month. Louanne talks about how her friends gave her sixty dollars to buy them McDonald's when it only cost fifteen dollars. And because she was annoyed with them, and because they didn’t know any better, she kept the rest.

Mindy asks what everyone’s favorite movie quote is. We take a while to think about it, and say them aloud when it comes to us. Ky’s is from this movie “Little Miss Sunshine”. He says, Do what you love, and fuck the rest. The chairs are rocking even though no ones sitting in them. The rain is falling around us but none of us are getting wet. I run out from under the cover of the roof and spin around in circles. I let the drops hit my face. Fuck the rest, I think.

Back under the roof, Luke puts on “Dancing in the Moonlight”, and grabs my hand. Let’s dance, he says. I don’t know what I’m doing, I don’t know how to dance. Mindy is the dancer, but none of that matters. He swings me, pushes me out, pulls me in.

we like our fun and we never fight
you can’t dance and stay uptight
its a supernatural delight
everybody was dancing in the moonlight

You ready?, he says.
I go, For what? Then he dips me, and I laugh, and I know I’ll never forget it.

Passenger Story

I sit on the grey marley, feeling the cool vinyl against my cheek. The world is turned sideways to me as I look from my position on the ground. I feel the pull in my muscles as I stretch. It’s hardly bearable, but I stay there, repeating in my head what my teachers tell me. Pain is just weakness leaving the body. 

I stare at the stage. The other dancers are all there. The corps de ballet is still struggling to keep unison. They’re much better now, but they’ll be more beautiful if they synchronize their breathing. It’s a tricky thing to do, making fourteen girls all seem like mirrors of each other. I remember being in the corps, the way I felt myself dancing in my own body but also through the other dancers. The dancers in this corps are young. I can tell they try to look the same way, but they don’t yet understand the true connection they need to feel. It’s not something you can teach. 

I’m a soloist now. I don’t feel the presence of the other girls on stage, and when I perform I’ll feel the loneliness the most. I’ve been thrust from the security of unity to a role in which all eyes are on me, and I know I’ll feel their cold chill without my peers. I hear my music begin, and watch my double begin our variation. She soars through the air with a powerful grace. She dances beautifully; enough to fool an audience into thinking it must be effortless. She can’t fool me. It’s my variation too, and I know every muscle she uses and when, and I know the painful icy burn in her throat as she leaps, gasping for air, gasping for consciousness. With every step I can hear her thoughts racing because I think them too. Shoulders back, pointe your toes… 

I start as I hear the sudden scream of my dance teacher behind me. “You must to SMILE!” I think about the irony of it, yelling at someone to smile. His thick Russian accent and broken English make all he says more beautiful and more terrifying at the same time. A smile spreads across my double’s face. I was given the same correction yesterday, and I know that behind her smile is a grimace that holds it in place. She’s exhausted and in pain. Our variation is hard, and although we love it, our bodies don’t agree with us. 

It’s strange to see someone dancing what I dance. It’s like I’m outside of my body watching myself, and even though I know she isn’t me, I still feel like she is when I watch her. It’s not that she looks anything like me, but I know every move she’ll do before she does it, every thought she’ll think before she’ll think it, and most of all the way she feels alone without the others dancing through her.

Shame On You, 953

After our discussion of shame memories this week, I thought a lot about what triggers shame memories. This line of thought made me recall a video I saw shared on social media. The video outlines the development of cyberbullying and effects of new technology and applications on human communication.

This video acts as a shame memory for all of America. Although the video focuses on cyberbullying, it also calls attention to how humans are slacking in communications and how they treat other people. One line which sticks out to me was the line in which they state that all the new social media websites have changed the way that we think of "friends". Instead of friends being people that you know and enjoy being around, they are someone who can be a complete stranger to you and the amount of friends a person has measures their popularity. This draws attention to the fact that we are getting out of touch with our fellow people and can even ignore their humanity. 

There are many people in our society who believe that cyberbullying is bad but they still participate in it. In the opening sequence of the video, there are many examples of comments used against people on the internet. Saying something behind a screen about someone else is supposed to make the bully to feel powerful but, it is extremely cowardly. In my experience, when someone is being bullied online, there are more people who defend that individual rather than support the bully. When an opinion is not supported greatly, it can make the antagonist want to take away their comment. Overall, the video draws attention to the difficult and negative elements of our culture, making us assess how connected we are to people who are close to us.  

Postmodern Dance

Postmodern dance is part of postmodern art. It explores and challenges traditional art, and is self-aware of the art form in ways that call attention to accepted images and rules, both spoken and unspoken. Postmodern dance explores the body in new ways, making full use of the body, moving in new ways.

Ballet is very structured. It’s all about beauty; dancers must align themselves in exact ways, and stick to defined movements with names and rules. Postmodern dance is different. The movement is raw and strange. There are pieces in which dancers spend an hour simply walking from one end of the stage to another, or randomly fall over, or twist in ugly ways.

Postmodern dance breaks down the structured view of what dance should be; it ignores the pointed feet, the turn-out, and the graceful lines. It explores the body and questions what separates the movement that is considered dance from other movements in life.

Ballet and Body Image

Ballet dancers strive to look a certain way. It’s key to the art; ballet is structured and specific. It’s all about aesthetic lines. This focus on the look of the body in ballet creates body image problems for many dancers. Eating disorders are extremely common in the dance world.

I’m a dancer. In dance class, we are always in front of large mirrors, and we wear tight, body-hugging leotards and tights. The mirrors and dress code are there so that we can see our bodies and correct our alignment. Having the mirrors there helps us improve our dancing because we can see what we’re doing, but doing this encourages us to find the flaws in our dancing. Dance is all about your body. If you look for problems in your dancing, it’s no surprise you focus on your body flaws too.

Ballerinas are supposed to be skinny. Many professional dance companies have weight requirements. Dancers often starve themselves to get to the “proper” weight. The ideal weight is way under what’s considered healthy. Ballet is all about making certain positions, molding your body to do what it’s supposed to. When you get your weight involved it’s easy to go too far.