Joining a Full-Time Dance School

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Look, you’ve done it! You’re joining a full-time vocational school; you’ll spend your whole day learning to become a real live dancer! That’s fantastic!

“And the merry love the fiddle, and the merry love to dance”
— William Butler Yeats

So now? What happens next? This is the beginning, but… the beginning of what, exactly?

Maybe you were the best dancer (or one of the best) in your ballet school. Everyone was proud of you, your family, your teacher, audiences at recitals, examiners, younger kids, they all made you feel special. Well, my dears, in your new school it’s different. Here you’re not the best, not even one of the best, you’re just a new kid at the lowest, most junior level.

The people in the years above you are superbly confident; they sweep down the corridor as though you didn’t exist. They all dance impossibly well; you saw the third-years in class, and you know you will never, ever, in a million years be like them. They’re effortless. They turn like tops, they jump as if they had wings, they’re flat turned out with high legs and wonderful long necks. And they’re all beautiful, which is really unfair. Some of them perform with the Company, they even refer to professional dancers by their first names (“Did you see Sascha’s manège last night? And Andrea was sooo beautiful in the pas de cinq…”). This atmosphere is so stellar, so rarefied, you can hardly breathe. Just now, standing in the corridor wondering where you’re supposed to be, you feel overawed, and completely useless.

You’re in uncharted territory. Everyone knows what’s going on; only you have no idea. The accents are strange and you don’t know anyone. They all have friends or people they’ve somehow palled up with, and you’re very lonely. Nothing’s safe or comfortable, you’re miserable and you want to go home.

Things will get better, though. Right now, with everything new and frightening, is the lowest point. You’ll have no time to worry though, you’ll be far too busy. Your days will be chock-full of ballet, modern, contemporary, jazz, folkdance, virtuosity, pointe-work, Hip-Hop perhaps, pas de deux, choreography, improvisation, History of Dance, notation, voice class, maybe tap, Pilates, and … schoolwork (French, Physics, Maths, History, Biology – all that). There’ll be rehearsals. And assessments. And workshops. And Company rehearsals and performances. Some students will even be in these shows (massive prestige, to which you know you could never aspire).

“A ballerina’s life can be glorious. But it does not get any easier. I don’t think anyone must ever think about it getting easier”
— Alicia Markova

You’ll find friends among the other new people. Everyone’s in the same boat, and you have more in common than you think. You’ll have a lot of fun together, and some funny and memorable times.

Make sure, though, that you stay focussed. You’re here because you worked hard, with support from lots of people. Everyone at home is so proud of you — you need to be as good as you can be. You’ve come this far through your passion, integrity, love of dance – don’t lose these precious things. When it gets tough, don’t become discouraged; it’s so easy just to give up. Even though you’re scared, unhappy, exhausted, keep your eye on the ball. Weren’t you the one who wanted to be a dancer? Well it’s up to you, kiddo. Concentrate, get your stuff together, don’t cut corners. Learn everything, because it’s all valuable. Remember your dream? Be true to it. Don’t give it up just to hide from something intimidating (or to hang out with your mates — you’re all worth more than that).

“Dance is an art that imprints on the soul. It is with you every moment, it expresses itself in everything you do.”
— Shirley MacLaine

There’ll be teachers you like, others who alarm you, and some whom you really don’t like at all. The popular ones may make you feel good. The ones who frighten you can also help — they take you out of your comfort zone, so you try harder to avoid their disapproval. The ones you don’t like are the problem. Perhaps you think they’re not as good as your favourite teacher, or they talk strangely, or they’re boring, or just wrong. Maybe that’s not even what you yourself think– it could be something your friends think, and you just tag along. It’s a group phenomenon, but it creates a “them-and-us” mentality. Students who distrust their teacher are difficult to teach. They automatically resist everything that person says, which is frustrating for everybody.

Maybe that class is just not your thing – historical dance, perhaps. Nobody dances this stuff now — why do I have to learn it? Alright, but … every single thing you learn about dance is something you need. Dance is competitive; seize every opportunity to give yourself an edge. Don’t let yourself be pressured, make up your own mind. Ask yourself: “What do I actually want for me? What’s going to help me get where I’m going?”. One day you may be glad you did it.

Also, everyone deserves respect (even teachers). Some vocational schools offer teacher training. If this is an option, go for it. You’ll learn so much about your own dancing, and how to improve it. Teaching other people helps you understand your technique; you’ll develop an “eye” for placing, line and core stability which is very valuable.

“Plié is the first thing you learn and the last thing you master“
— Suzanne Farrell

As the term rolls along, you’ll find your feet and settle in. In some ways you have more freedom than you had at home, and your life is full of dancing. There seems to be a lot to do, though…

You need a system. Plan your time and stick to your plan. Get the homework done, neatly, legibly, correctly and on time. If you mess up, nobody wins. In rehearsal, be the one who knows the choreography, because you’ve taken the trouble to learn it. Watch whoever’s leading the rehearsal; anticipate what they’re going to want next. Work hard in class, rest when you should. I know, this all sounds pious, but it’s too easy to let your standards slip. There are a lot of people in your year. You might imagine no-one is watching you, you can get away with little things, cut a few corners. No-one will notice. But here’s the scoop, my dears – they do notice, and this is a slippery slope. Ever wonder why there are fewer second-years than first-years, and even fewer third-years at the top? There’s your answer. People let themselves slide, they get lazy, and then they don’t make the cut. Each term some disappear; they’ve wasted their chance, and there won’t be another. Don’t do that to yourself. Stick with the dream. Make it happen.

“It is only perfection in the foundations that can lead to mastery of the whole. “Talent is Work”“.
— Galina Ulanova

The other thing that needs to happen is for you to think about your work between classes. The corrections you get are for you, about specific technical or artistic things which you can improve. Correction tells you how to do this. If you don’t understand what it means, find out; wait for the right moment, then ask. Be polite and respectful (you always are, aren’t you?) and try to understand what you did or didn’t do. You can’t know all about the way you dance; you can’t see yourself and the mirror only shows one angle. The one who can help you is the teacher, which is why you’re there in the first place. Corrections are like gold. Value them, keep them, use them wisely.

“The mirror is not you. The mirror is you looking at yourself”
— George Balanchine

In the evening, there’ll be chores: practice gear to wash, pointe shoes to sew, practical stuff. Try to keep on top of it or it’ll build up. What you can’t do is go to class looking untidy or dishevelled. While you’re waiting for the washing-machine to finish spinning, write down the corrections from class. Wasn’t there something about hip placement? What count was the pas de chat? Am I rolling in demi-plié, and how can I fix it? (That’s certainly worth a moment’s concentration). Figure out what you did wrong, work on it, get it better. If you can show that you’ve put the corrections into practice, it will be noticed, believe me.

“No-one can arrive from being talented alone. God gives talent; work transforms talent into genius”
— Anna Pavlova

You need some fun as well. Telly, emails to friends and family, social media, phone calls, they’re all part of life. But remember (your body will tell you anyway) – you have to sleep. On your schedule, with constant physical and mental effort all day, you need eight hours a night. Sleep is part of your training programme. You’ve done a lot “progressive overload”, taking muscles beyond their comfort zone to try and improve strength, flexibility and power. Your body accumulates mini-trauma areas, which your system automatically repairs overnight.

Sleep is regulated by many factors, one of which is light. The light from your computer, tablet and mobile phone is principally in the blue end of the spectrum. It’s the wake-up colour which floods your eyes and stimulates your brain in the morning, and it’s precisely what you don’t need before going to sleep. Try to stop using your small screens and devices two or three hours before bed. The best light for evening is red-yellow, as dim as possible.

When you sleep, your bedroom should be dark (and quiet). Turn off all your electronics – you won’t need them tonight, and they’ll still be there tomorrow. This may sound boring, but it’s part of your dance education. Without enough sleep, you stack the odds against yourself from the beginning of the day.

Then things abruptly… stop. There are half-term breaks, holidays, Christmas, Easter, and the summer. This feels strange. You’re working well, you’re dancing better, now suddenly you’re being interrupted. It can be really frustrating.

Of course, you’re glad to see your family – you’ve missed each other, and they’re delighted to have you home. Even so, after a while, small things can crop up which irritate you. Brothers and sisters can be truly annoying, maybe jealous because all the fuss is about you and not them. Don’t let them get to you – it won’t last forever, and when you go back to school, you won’t feel good if there’s been a row.

Maybe you could visit your old ballet school, possibly even do class. Your teacher will be very pleased– there’s so much pride and affection in this relationship, and it’s sad when these dedicated, idealistic people are ignored and forgotten by the students they’ve taught. You’re probably stronger and better than you were, but you wouldn’t be dancing at all if this person hadn’t helped you and believed in you. One day, you might be a teacher yourself, so pay it forward (and hope someone will do the same for you).

You need a few days of down time during these short breaks, so please get enough rest. That doesn’t mean lying about all day, but you are still in training, and recovery and diet still matter, so do it right. By all means do physical activity, but properly and in moderation – don’t damage the instrument you’ve worked so hard to build. Going back to school on crutches would be embarrassing. Don’t box, play ice hockey or go trampolining, just use your common sense. Dancers need their bodies.

“Let us read, and let us dance, these two amusements will never do any harm to the world”
— Voltaire

In summer, there are other opportunities. If you clear it with the school first (don’t neglect to do this) you might find a course (it has to be a good one, though, with qualified teachers and a serious programme). You can hurt yourself by making the wrong choice, so ensure you, and the school, and your parents are all involved in deciding whether this is right for you. If not, don’t go.

One thing you could do would be a summer job – it can be interesting and often entertaining. Help in a shop or a restaurant for a few weeks, or collect tickets at a funfair or a zoo or a cinema. You’ll get paid, which brings a sense of achievement you don’t get from parental handouts. Maybe you can help pay for your school fees, or travel expenses, or pointe-shoes. It feels good to earn your own money and decide how to spend it, and job experience is useful. You can put it on your resumé; it shows that you are reliable, enterprising and willing to work, all points that ballet companies appreciate.

Try to fit in some physical activity as well, because later, you’ll need to be in shape. Summer will end, and again you’ll have to say goodbye to your job, your family and friends (and your old ballet teacher) and gear up for the new term. You’re probably a bit nervous, but you’ll see them all again. Only now you’re in the – say it loud – Second Year!!!

You’re senior to all those gawky, strange little kids clustering nervously in the corridor. Remember, though, how you felt this time last year. Be kind, and if you see some small, desperate person on the edge of tears, perhaps you can help a little, or give them a smile as you swan past. They’ll adore you for it, and that can’t be bad.

You’re back at class, taller now, and more grown-up, stronger, too. You’re becoming more technical. You turn more and better, the pointe-work is stronger, there is more flexibility in those grands jetés. There’ll be long technique classes every day, repertoire, virtuosity, pointe, pas de deux (much tougher this year), musical theatre, voice, contextual studies, composition, workshops, teaching placements, contemporary, jazz, many more rehearsals, more of everything. And, probably, academic schoolwork. Compared with this, last year was easy… And again, you’ve got to find how to work, rest and somehow get it all done, while still getting enough sleep.

“It is through strength of technique that the body stays in possession of the music”
— Arlene Croce

Now and then the Principal will appear in class and sit watching with a beady eye, possibly dictating notes to someone. There’ll be medical check-ups, and your weight and height might be recorded at regular intervals. This may seem alarming, but the development of your body, your mind, and your dance technique, are all elements in the making of a dancer. Your trainers need to watch your physical and psychological condition, as though you were an Olympic athlete. You are not yet fully grown, so they constantly monitor and safeguard you against any risk of injury. You demand a lot of your body, and it requires their and your consideration.

“Though talent is wonderful, dance is 80% work and 20% talent”
— Tad Williams

Serious vocational schools are punctilious about the wellbeing of their students. Some schools have a curator, who deals with students’ problems, or a specific member of staff who is the contact person for your year. There will be a physician or an orthopaedist; possibly also a masseur or physiotherapist. They are there for you, so don’t hesitate to use them. This is the time to ask questions, or talk about things that bother you. If you’re worried about your health, or the way you look, if you have pain, stiffness or weakness, or you think you might have hurt yourself, or you’re feeling ill, ask for help. That’s your responsibility, and your right.

Oh yes, and one other thing, very important. The life of a ballet student is hard, but it’s also immensely privileged, a fantastic way to spend your time. Remember to enjoy it. It’s a wonderful thing (maybe the most wonderful thing) for you to be doing.

“I set as my goal to be the best dancer I could be. Not the most famous or the highest paid dancer, just the best I could be. Out of this discipline came great freedom and calm”
— Suzanne Farrell

Inevitably one day, you’ll finish Second Year and if you pass all your assessments, you’ll automatically become a Third-Year student (you never thought that would happen, did you?). You’ll be as busy as ever, doing everything you did before only more of it, and a lot harder. Probably you’ll have to stage, rehearse, light, costume and present your own choreography as well. You may also be doing shows with the Company (maybe even Company Class…). The autumn term of Year Three will pass like a flash. And after the Christmas break, all your friends will be starting to get a strange, meditative look in their eye. Everyone’s thinking the same thing — it can’t last forever, and there is no Year Four… By now, though the school has become your life, your home, your battlefield, your sanctuary, your adventure, your team, your surrogate family for years; how can you think of leaving it? And besides, where will you go? It’s terrifying. You’ve formed deep personal friendships here; you’ve all been through so much together, cried and laughed and danced and sung, and soon it’ll all be over and everyone will be going off in different directions. Reality has suddenly arrived, and you’re not at all sure you like it.

You know what’s coming. You’re going to have to audition…

You’re going to have to start being a dancer…

“There was still no likelihood that we could make a living from dancing. We were doing it because we loved it. We realized how full we felt; we were surrounded by music and dancing and joy”
— Alvin Ailey, Revelations