The Perfect French Twist and the First Day at SAB

My arms are aching from holding them above my shoulders for the last three hours.
But it has to be perfect.
Even as I am doing it, I know that it would seem crazy to anyone watching me.
Yet, I cannot seem to stop.
Today, is an important day. It is my first day at the School of American Ballet.
I am so nervous!
Currently, I am more frustrated than I want to admit to myself.

For the last three hours I have been trying to make my hair into the perfect New York City Ballet – French Twist.
This hairstyle is the symbol of the SAB students and Balanchine’s preference to elongate the neck and accentuate the beautiful lines of a ballerina’s body.

After all, her head is supposed to almost float above her body. But it also must be proud, strong, elegant, long, and beautiful.
The French twist helps create that illusion for the ballerinas and I am bound and determined to walk in with that look.
I want to show everyone that I belong there and that I am one of those very special young women that is destined to catch the illusive gold ring of being a Balanchine ballerina.
In Ballet, everything is an illusion but because of that presentation is everything. One has to look the part in order to get the chance to play the role.
I have tried and tried to get the hair perfectly smooth on the sides and the twist at the correct angle to accentuate my naturally long neck.

I know this is one of my assets and I want to make the best impression I can.
Perfection is not something that I strive for.

It is something that must be attained. It is a requirement!
It is as big of a requirement as tights, point shoes, and tutus. Dancers are the epitome of precision and passion.
But I am exhausting myself with the effort.
I look at the current French twist in the mirror. It is good, but is it good enough? I glance at the time, and I think, “Ugh! I have got to get going. I want to be early to warm up and then to get a good place at the barre for class.

I had scoped it all out yesterday. It took a lot of courage to walk into SAB … by myself.

I am staying at the Empire Hotel and most of the other dancers from my school are staying at the Swiss Townhouse as they have been here before and knew to have a reservation because they were on their second year for the summer program at the school.

This is my first year and I am staying with another dancer that is going to school at Joffrey Ballet this morning. She had to already leave because she had to get on the subway towards downtown, (where the school is). She is in the same situation as me. We are both new to this reality and our options were somewhat limited.
I take another look at this French twist in the mirror and decide that it is good enough that most will not make fun of me walking in with this version of the Balanchine style.
I quickly get dressed. I put on my tights, leotard, pants, and shirt over it all. It is summer and very humid outside so this should be fine for me to walk the few blocks to the school.
I stuff my legwarmers, ballet shoes, point shoes, dance skirt, and other small essentials into the bag. Making sure that I have sewing needles, thread, ribbons, and elastics for my shoes should I need them.
I eat a bagel with cream cheese, down a diet coke (for the caffeine rush) and make my way out the door of the hotel.
I am a bundle of nerves. I know that I am excited, but in this moment … I am a bit more scared.

I do not know what to expect. But I do expect everything to be very different. I know that I have to act like I am totally comfortable.
Ballet is after all an illusion of grace … with the mindset of professional athletes with tremendous grit.
I make my way across the street to Lincoln Center and take a look longingly at the dream I have to perform there one day. It is the bastion of art in America.
The chance of dancing on those stages would be a pinnacle of success for any performer. And I sigh thinking, “Perhaps one day!”

I make my way a few more blocks and I can see the other dancers now also making their way to the school. Each one filled with the same dreams as me. Each one talented, hopeful, beautiful, and perfect expressions of a budding ballerina.
My heart sinks. I can clearly see that I am one of many.
I quickly recognize that I will have to find a way to shine differently. I have to find a way to allow the unique qualities within me to come out so they can be seen and recognized.
Ballet is an art. It is an art of perfection and an expression of hopeful human potential reaching beyond the form and to touch something infinitely vaster than one’s own personality.
Sounds of excitement fill the air. There is giggling and laughter that hides … nervousness.
I smile pleasantly and feel into the bubbly energy that is such youthful exuberance.
But I don’t feel like them. Though I pretend to. I feel more intense and focused then they seem to feel. But I play along and watch as the elevator doors open and I realize that this is a curtain opening up to a very new life, if I can manage to keep my footing, act with great grace, and spin with abandon and joy. These studios are my new stage. And I am excited to discover new ways to move, new dance sequences, and new skills to practice.
Exiting the elevator, the hallways are filled with young girls and young women, all trying to figure out the rules and how things work. There are lists on the walls with studio numbers, and teachers that are teaching those classes with the time slots and lengths.
The young girls are crowded around looking for their names and which studio they are supposed to be in and at what time.
There is a lot of polite pushing and shoving.
Eventually, I get to a place where I can read the names and I see that I am to be in a class with Suki Schorer, promptly for a class that is to sort us first by age and then by ability, so they know what group they want to place us in.
I moved quickly to that class room because the rooms are easy to find and I want desperately to get out of the hallway. It feels a bit too claustrophobic for my taste.
Relieved I walk into a huge studio, to see about 15 young women already in the space, putting on shoes and skirts, legwarmers and warming up. Most are looking in the mirror at how they look.
Dancers are very self-focused.
I go to my favorite spot at the barre. It is my favorite spot because no one wants the corner. I happen to love the corner.
Most girls fight to be front and center, in the face of the teacher. I don’t like that kind of pressure. I prefer to be less obtrusive and less … obvious.
I had decided a long time ago that a person can see me from anywhere, if they want to. I do not like the constant jousting and jostling of egos to get certain positions at the barre or at the center.
I put on my skirt, shoes, and legwarmers. Then start stretching. It is a great way to calm the nerves down. And the ritual of it is very soothing.
Suki Schorer comes in and is all business.
She explains that this class is for her to make sure that we are in the right groups for our abilities and our age. She said that most will remain in this particular group, but some might move up or down depending on abilities.
She starts the class and as expected she is walking around the whole room, and no one is not fully inspected and looked at with her keen eye. We all know she was a principal dancer with New York City Ballet, and her assessment will matter greatly.
After that class, I am to remain in that class and only a few go to a lower level class.
I feel relieved. At least I fit into that group.
After the class I peek into the windows of other classes even though the doors are closed, and those classes are also doing evaluations.
I was beginning to learn that being a ballet dancer would require constant evaluations throughout my life.
Those that knew, would make decisions about each dancer’s ability and their potential continuation in a company, elevation to a higher position or role in a company, or their release and firing from that company. Such culling’s would happen every year. And often they would be brutal.

Being a ballet dancer, I was to learn that nothing is forever. Nothing is certain. And other people would be in command of whether my dream could continue or stop completely on their whim, projection, or personal opinion of my talents and abilities.
While this was my first introduction to the harsh world of evaluations, it would not be my last.

In that moment, I was grateful to just be there. I was grateful to have the chance. And I was proud that I had made it this far.
This was the beginning. It was a wonderful feeling.
Walking home after three classes, I felt as if I was floating on a cloud. It had been a great day. It had been a day filled with new dance sequences and that stirred my brain to learn how to move in a very new way.

As I move towards the hotel, the lights of Lincoln Center have come on and there is a lot of traffic moving massive numbers of people to their destinations.
For a moment, I just allow myself to sit on the circular fountain at Lincoln Center and watch it all go past me. I look at the Metropolitan Opera House through the hypnotic flows of the brightly lit fountain and smile.

I am in New York City. I am where everything can happen. I am in one of the artistic centers of the world. And I am a small part of this world but perhaps I could become a much bigger part … eventually.

The fine mist from the fountain is cooling. I take off my sandals and sit with my bare feet on the cool marble feeling the evening approaching.
I may be young, but I feel as if I belong. I belong to this chaotic artistic city that is flowing all around me.
Something is so very right.
For the first time. I know I am where I am supposed to be.

~Suzanne Wagner~