Distractions

I read an interview many years ago with a Paris Opera Ballet dancer, and she said something I've always remembered. She said that it is very important to escape the dance world. She likes to explore the city, for example, and this is her way of getting away from the stress and the intensity of her work. I have come to appreciate this advice more and more since I read it, many years ago when I was still a student. For me, travel is also a wonderful escape. 

But when you can't travel, and you can't get out of the studio, there's another thing that is a terrific escape: stories. 

In a way, dance is made up entirely of stories. Some are obvious and some are entirely below the surface. Perhaps this is why I find writing stories to be such an amazing experience, one that is able to completely pull me away from the problems and challenges I face in the studio. 

Below you'll find a sample of my fiction, and of a realm that is for me, one of the few things in my life that is entirely separate from my work in the dance world. 

They arrived, Daniel pulling a baguette and brie out of his backpack, Amelia clutching her notebook, gazing up at the museum which rose before them, quietly and determinedly into the gray Parisian sky. In line behind a group of American students, they stood in silence, eating bread and cheese with their fingers. Wordlessly Amelia led him through the crowd in the garden, past the Thinker and the Gates of Hell, and into the main house, towards her favorite statue. 

They paused to admire it, bathed in a pool of pale light from the tall windows. 

'Is it possible to love someone that much?' Amelia asked him, as they stood gazing at Camille Claudel's L'Age Mur statue. The figures in the statue seemed to be moving, falling ever forward before them, the man turning away from the woman's slavish gaze. 

Four years ago Amelia had been taught Claudel's work in a French class. A classmate had asked the same question, skeptical and disbelieving of Claudel's ill-fated existence: "they must be exaggerating, it just can't be true. You just can't love someone that much. Enough to destroy your entire life by your own hand. It's impossible. It's all for the drama of the story."

Their French teacher, a surly blonde woman with a constantly furrowed brow and a strong penchant for running, answered after a moment: "Oh, yes. It is most definitely possible." 

Our young heroine sat brooding over the question as her classmates protested. Finally the French teacher waved her hand and said, attempting a chuckle, "you are all too young to understand." 

Amelia knew that she was not. 

In their English class they had been assigned an anthology. Amelia had a used copy. Each day in English class when Amelia opened her book, it would fall open to the page with Shakespeare's 116th sonnet. 

And each day when class began, Amelia let her book fall open, and read in disbelief the words that meant someone else had been as crazy as she. The words that meant — perhaps only implied, but Amelia was quite certain level — that it was indeed  possible: "love is not love / which alters when it alteration finds / or bends with the remover to remove... / ... "  

It had been months, almost a year since they had split. Daniel had since moved on. There was a girl back home, where he was. And still she sat in English class, away at school halfway across the country, unable to rid herself of the thought of him. But she wasn't crazy. She was in fact quite sane. And it was terrible, painful, and she was ashamed of it. But it seemed to be true. The poem, and Claudel's frightening narrative pointed to the truth of it. 

So when she stood with him, four years later, in front of the statue, it was in disbelief. She reveled in how remarkable it was, looked up into those small, bright eyes and wondered if she dared ask. 

Decideding she would dare, she asked him the question. 

He didn't answer, but stared with her at the statue. And together they watched as the figures fell forward, Claudel's arms outstretched toward the man who would destroy her. 

Staying in Shape While Traveling

At home in New York, I attend yoga classes, run, and occasionally attend fitness classes at Exhale or Refine. But while traveling, without the luxury of attending a class for my workout, and without daily dance classes, it can be a little more difficult to keep in shape.

A lot of people say that running is the ideal way to workout while traveling. I disagree completely. As a young woman in a foreign country, I'm not just going to go running around through neighborhoods I'm not familiar with. I would much rather do these quick and effective workouts at home, and get on with my time off. Here are two apps that make this possible:

1. Pilates Anytime: You can subscribe to pilatesanytime.com for a mere $18 per month (less than one drop-in Pilates class in NYC) and with that subscription comes a lot of benefits, including countless mat workouts you can do on the go. I also use Pilates Anytime at home, but when traveling it is especially useful. When traveling, I select the "Mat/No Props" option, but if I have brought a tennis ball, foam roller, or theraband along, I can select a workout that uses those props. 

If you have access to any real Pilates equipment while traveling or at home (lucky you!) then the Pilates Anytime subscription is definitely worth it, because it provides hundreds of tower, reformer, and cadillac workouts as well. The subscription is, in my opinion, totally worth the price and a terrific option for dancers. 

2. Seven: This app is available for iPhone, iPad, and Android. It is my favorite way to work out when I have very little time and no equipment. The exercises are classic: push-ups, sit-ups, wall-sits, etc. It's a simple workout, and it's very effective.

Cora Dance Review

Shannon Hummel/Cora Dance performed on Saturday, July 12 at 8 pm in tennis shoes and T-shirts on a makeshift lawn, to a smiling collection of local residents of Red Hook, Brooklyn. As onlookers drifted into the performance space, a lot surrounded by buildings and covered with artificial grass, choreographer and director Shannon Hummel greeted many by name, embraced many as if they were old friends. In fact, nearly everyone at the summer evening showing of Cora Dance's combined works, Common Dances, seemed to know each other. 

The ideas behind Shannon Hummel's various new projects are wonderfully idealistic. As her audience ate fried chicken and watermelon served picnic-style from a table in the corner, Hummel explained her choices as a choreographer and her involvement in the Red Hook community. 

Hummel has been creating dance in New York since 1997, but in 2008, when she opened a dance studio in Red Hook, her vision for the company began to change. She wanted the studio to be pay-what-you-can, and as the community began to attend dance classes, Hummel discovered a host of new young dancers. 

Here, she explained, was where the "Common Dances" were born, a series of pieces performed in public. On benches, outside doorways, even in Hummel's car. These performances grew popular, inspiring public involvement. And Hummel's collection of ideals took shape. She spoke to her audience, smiling, of the resulting "impediments to art" and her use of "everyday locations and common human experiences" to create dances. 

For the performance on Saturday, July 12, the entire series of "Common Dances" were to be performed using the space that surrounded the audience. To the right, a doorway. Behind them, Hummel's car. In front of them, an empty picnic table and a bench. 

Hummel's dancers were diverse, a collection from her youth company, four company members, and several adult dancers. An extension of Hummel's idealism, it seems that she is passionate about using dancers who are members of the Red Hook community, as well as using community spaces and community involvement. 

As the audience finished their picnic dinner on blankets spread throughout the space, dancers began to come through them, sitting on blankets and walking slowly among them. Folk music played. The murmuring of the audience became quieter as they watched the dancers, young and old, move through the space. 

Although at first their movements were interesting and engaging, Hummel's idealistic choice of using dancers from the community began to work against her vision. Lack of training and performance experience began to hinder the movement. As the dancers moved through the picnic blankets, they stared blankly into space, and up into the skies. The intention behind their focus was unclear. 

When the audience quieted and the dances began, the lack of professionalism became even more obvious. Conflict seemed to be the sole choreographic motivation. Dancers moving together seemed to be fighting one another. Dancers alone were fighting themselves, fighting the doorway they were attempting to open. Tension was established, but never released. Spoken word was used sporadically, in incomprehensible outbursts, which were sometimes amusing, but oftentimes uncomfortable and forced. 

Hummel created Common Dances with a set of high-minded goals. But just as her dancers seemed to lack focus, Hummel's collection of intentions conflict with one another. While dancing in public spaces is a brilliant way of getting a community interested in dance, and setting choreography on dancers who are not professionals is an admirable undertaking, the two combined do not serve Hummel's best interests. 

At the end of the evening, Hummel admitted to her audience that Saturday's performance was meant as a showing, and that the company was preparing for a January season at BAM. If this is indeed the case, Hummel and her dancers have a great deal of work to do before the new year. 

While this performance lacked professionalism and focus, Hummel's ideals are thoroughly admirable. Her vision of community involvement in dance is one that other choreographers – perhaps those with access to more professional performers – would do well to emulate.

This review is also published on exploredance.com. 

Living Like a "Parisienne"

In Paris I realized something, and voiced it to my companion over bread and cheese in a park near the Louvre: "So basically, what I've learned this week is that Americans don't know how to make food." 

Everything we had eaten, even the croissants from the supermarket we had bought when nothing else was open, was delicious. At the creperie we had watched as the chef squeezed a lemon over our crepes, scraping the seeds off with a long, thin spatula. 

"In America," my companion observed, "they would have squeezed that lemon juice three hours before, and it would have been sitting there. Or they would have just bought pre-squeezed lemon juice. And it's amazing. You can taste the difference." 

We ate our crepes walking down my favorite street in the Marais, rue Veille du Temple, a quiet and lovely line of shops and restaurants. One shop we discovered has nothing but jam. Delicious jam and honey in every flavor you could imagine, including Apricot Lavender, Pear Vanilla, Raspberry Champagne. I bought two sample sizes as presents to take home, and the woman behind the counter wrapped them in brown paper and tied them with a gold ribbon. 

Our apartment, just at the border of the Marais and a neighborhood I am less familar with, Republique, was even smaller than mine in New York. You could cross the room in four strides. My favorite thing was the window. In Paris the windows are all huge, almost as tall as I am, and ours looked out towards Sacre Coeur, a beautiful church on the northern side of Paris, clearly visible and rising over the rooftops. 

We couldn't afford to eat out every night, but I didn't mind at all, when the alternative was choosing something lovely from the Parisian supermarket and eating it at the table in front of the window. We never got tired of that view. Everything from the supermarket was delicious, despite our tiny kitchen and lack of culinary expertise. On our last evening we ate store-bought truffle ravioli, and the whole kitchen was filled with the warm, rich smell of truffle oil. The whole package of ravioli was only three euros. 

And so I learned how easy it is to eat well in a place where the ingredients are so meticulously selected, where food supply regulations are so strict, and people's expectations are incredibly high. In one boutique near our apartment there was a charming poster that read, "Je ne suis pas snob...Je suis Parisienne" meaning "I'm not a snob...I'm a Parisian." 

The cheapest mode of transportation was, surprisingly, not the subway, but the Velib city bicycles. A weeklong pass was only eight euros. So we got to know the city from those bicycles, French traffic speeding along behind us. 

"What are the rules?" I wondered aloud. 

"I don't think there are any," my companion replied. I think he was right. I was petrified the first ride, as pedestrians rarely hear your bell or move out of the way, cars nearly run you over, trucks reverse without looking behind them, and you are forced to swerve hurriedly out of the way, right into oncoming traffic or into the curb. 

You get used to it. By the end of our week in Paris I was smiling and cruising along the bike lane next to the Seine, and yelling, "hey!" at the cars who almost ran me over, and ringing the bell merrily at the pedestrians who still took little notice of us. 

Since our apartment was all the way up on the seventh floor, the air that came through the window smelled remarkably fresh for such a big city, and sometimes carried with it the sounds of our neighbor playing his piano, the people next door's dinner conversation. My companion made friends with a little boy in the window across the way. They would pretened to shoot at one another with imaginary machine guns. The little boy loved it, donned a cape, and started calling out to us in French. We could hardly understand him, but for a few words. He seemed to be rather shy when I came to the window, but would ask about me when I wasn't there, calling, "ou est la fille?" with a smile. 

The language was the only disappointment. My French was better the last time I was in Paris, but still a few people I spoke with seemed surprised we were Americans, but laughed at my companion's attempts at speaking in French. We joked that he always gave us away. What gave me away, which I realized at which point in the conversation people switched suddenly to addressing me in English, was when I got my articles wrong, said "le tartelette" instead of "la tartelette." 

The day we left we walked to Gare du Nord in the early morning, talking and watching the shops open.  A few people were on the street, smoking and talking on benches, in cafes. 

I can't wait to go back. 

Today's Choreographers on the Future of Dance

A tall figure wearing black stands between lines of empty folding chairs. She interlaces her fingers behind her neck, folds her face between her elbows.

From my place in the chairs behind her, I can hear her breath. It is unsteady and uneven. Maybe performing for a small audience in a studio is harder than performing for a packed theater.

The dancer in front of me steps onto the floor and begins dancing in silence. Then ambient music fills the room.

I watch as her movements become steadily jerkier, an elbow, a knee jutting out, her face contorted.

And I lose focus. What is the dancer supposed to be feeling? I start wondering if everyone else in the room gets it. The audience, a silent and diverse row of spectators, watches her patiently. Some have their brows furrowed. Others don’t pretend to be interested.

One man, larger than most of the audience members, with a full beard and a plaid shirt, glances at his watch.

There is a disconnect in this room. How did we get here? How did I get here? Dance used to be understandable. Even at small modern dance shows, I didn’t always feel so lost. 

The studio is on the north side of Jennifer Muller’s loft space on 24th Street in Manhattan. At one end of the space lies an office, a living space, and in the center a bathroom and kitchen. The studio lies at the other end. Tonight, it serves as a theater where emerging dance makers show their work. It is the kind of space you only find in New York, and adds to Jennifer’s charm as a New York City creator of modern dance, and a supporter of young modern choreographers.

The other dance pieces pass in a haze of complex group dances and peculiar use of spoken word. The HATCH Presenting Series, a performance series for young choreographers hosted by Jennifer Muller/The Works, concludes as Jennifer Muller gathers the choreographers in the middle of the studio for a panel discussion.

She looks out at the room, filled for the most part with empty chairs, and back to the choreographers, seated in a line in the middle of the studio. After thanking the miniscule audience for staying to hear the discussion, Muller asks the choreographers a simple, yet powerful question: “Why dance?”

“It’s the one place where I can be truly honest,” one choreographer replies. “It’s the most honest place you can express yourself because – because it’s just you.”

The others nod. Their answers mimic the first. They dance because they learn something about themselves. They dance as a form of self-expression. They dance for personal exploration and self-discovery. 

Muller, a slight rigidity in her voice now, her eye on the rows of empty chairs surrounding us, asks the question we have all been wondering about. “What,” she gives the audience a pointed look, “made it difficult for you to bring an audience to see your work this evening?”

The question is met with blank stares. For Jennifer Muller, a highly respected creator of dance, to ask such a question of these young dance makers is, to say the least, incredibly intimidating. One choreographer, pale and fidgeting, wrings her hands in her lap. Another narrows her eyes at the front row.

“The fact is,” Muller continues after a prolonged silences, her voice growing louder, “that when I have my season at the Joyce, I am responsible for bringing an audience. The theater doesn’t bring people. I bring people.”

I stare at the row of choreographers, willing one to answer.

A girl in the middle, her hair pulled back in a tight bun, finally does.

“Well, for me,” she raises her voice, feigning confidence, “I just wasn’t ready for people to see the piece yet.”

Silence. Blank stares. The choreographer is oblivious to how counterintuitive this sounds to an audience of people who have just paid ten dollars to experience her work. She continues.

“I just think that I am in a place where I am not ready to advertise my work. I just feel like I’m not there yet.”

The girl in yellow nods her head. I watch her incredulously, willing her to disagree. She does not.

“I felt that way too.” I watch as Jennifer Muller’s back stiffens, but the girl in yellow doesn’t seem to notice. “It is definitely a challenge for me. I don’t feel confident enough to share my work.”

Muller can only manage a curt, “All right, then.”

The conversation continues. The tiny audience listens politely. They interject ideas about dance and dance makers and choreography they admire. I remain aghast at the choreographers’ answers.

They dance for themselves. They make dances for themselves. They were hesitant to advertise their work and search for audiences. They felt their work wasn't ready to be seen.

And the result is an empty studio. Rows of empty chairs. A lack of exposure, a lack of recognition, the loss of all the elements that support dance makers in this country – audiences, donors, the press – all lost to the self-centeredness of a young choreographer unwilling to seek an audience because their work is nothing more than personal exploration. 

They would rather keep their dances to themselves. Because their ideal audience is the self, looking back at them through movement. 

It is a truly valid experience. You discover yourself through dance in a way no other practice can provide. But creating choreography is different. 

A man in a plaid shirt makes a brave observation.

“The thing is that to an outsider, the dance world is," he pauses, “intimidating.”

A faint muttering echoes through the studio. The man in the plaid shirt glances adjusts his collar, raises an eyebrow. I stare, incredulous. What kind of a person would say such a thing in a room full of dance enthusiasts?

But he is right. Dance, in New York City especially, has become a small niche filled with dance experts and closed off from the city at large. New York, a place that was once the worldwide center of dance, now hosts a dwindling dance community that refuses to interact with the city at large. Now dance in New York is elitist, for a select few. It’s unapproachable.

And perhaps it is because we have fallen into this trap. We have started not only to dance for ourselves, but to create dances for ourselves, dances that wouldn't be interesting to anyone but us. 

Is it simply the young, barely emerging choreographers who have done so? Do the most successful creators of dance create work for others instead? I decide to head to Brooklyn to see what they might have to say. 

Andrea Miller's new space in Clinton Hill, Brooklyn mimics that of Jennifer Muller’s HATCH event. Folding chairs are lined on a studio floor. Cheerful Ikea lanterns hang from the ceiling.

The space belongs to Andrea Miller's company, Gallim Dance, and mimics her casual air. She sits at the front of the room with Kyle Abraham and Brian Brooks, slumped on a red couch with one bare foot tucked underneath her, the other dangling towards her audience. As if she is at home chatting with friends, and watching television. You wouldn’t know by looking at her that she has become one of New York’s most influential young creators of modern dance in the past seven years.

Abraham and Brooks seem a great deal more aware of their position. Both wear fitted shirts, Abraham’s buttoned up to his neck. They sit like dancers.

Throughout the discussion, Miller’s influence upon them is clear: they begin to slouch, laugh, freely pass the microphone between them. They agree with her on almost everything.

Miller marvels at the loneliness of being a choreographer, faced with the daunting task of fundraising and grant writing. And despite their success, it seems these three influential dance makers are hardly immune to the hardships of creating dance in a place with so little funding. 

All three admit that they write their grants themselves.

“I micromanage,” Brooks laughs, “I had a fight with [my company manager] just this morning. She wanted to do a grant. I don’t have time to do it.”

Miller and Abraham nod knowingly. It seems that time is hard to come by if you have your own dance company.

“She wants to outsource.” Brooks gives a sheepish look at his audience. “I can’t stand it.”

A chorus of laughs.

“I think we’ll be outsourcing,” he adds.

More laughter.

Brooks continues, “I think I was working for many years before I realized I had a business. I went through a mental shift, from dance to business.”

Miller and Abraham nod in agreement. It seems that they have become accustomed to being fundraisers, PR managers, and businesspeople as well as being artists. And yet, when I finally ask them about finding and building audiences, about for whom they are creating work, they seem to have very few answers.

Kyle Abraham answered vaguely that the community of the piece should inform the its advertising. (For Abraham, community seemed to be the theme of the evening.)

“So for example, you have Brian’s incredibly mathematical work," Abraham and Brooks exchange laughs, “and so you approach IBM, or some place that would value that, and you show them.”

Abraham then launched into a proud tour of his own experiences as a choreographer. “I’ve had people come up to me… the work spoke to them.” Community, for Abraham, is when someone gives you a compliment on your work. The idea of using different niche communities to support the dance community is a unique idea, and yet it was clear that Abraham had never actually used it for his own work. And thus it seems that most choreographers, those who are highly successful and those who are just barely beginning to launch a career, are content for dance to remain a niche art form. An art form that only those who are members of that community are able to interact with. 

The other choreographers had little to add. 

The trouble is that if we continue to think of dance in this way, as a functionining niche with no need for outside influences, dance will not survive. There are not many of us. There are not enough of us to truly keep dance thriving. As a community, the niche community that we are, we have a responsibility to change this. Because the reason art is great and the reason art is worth creating is not because it's a private joke between friends, something only a select few understand or value. 

It is for a much larger and more influential group. Which means we have to stop creating dance for ourselves. 

But go on, dance for yourself. In class, during a soaring grande allegro, fly for yourself. But when you create dance, when you are in the studio with a choreographer, think of the community outside of your own. The community who doesn't know or care what grande allegro means, but will take notice of movement to music if it is performed and created with an audience in mind. 

It is our nature as human beings to do so. And dance makers satisfy that need, a need that has been forgotten in today's popular culture. Nobody cares about dance except dance enthusiasts, dance lovers, Alastair Macauley and his readers. 

Let's change that. 

Interview with Daphne Lee

I first met Daphne Lee at The Ailey School, where she was incredibly successful. Lee went on to dance with Ailey II and currently dances with Lustig Dance Theater. We spoke briefly on how she stays well. 

How do you stay in shape during the off-season?

I stay in shape during off season by combining rest, active rest and cross training. Depending on the amount of time I have off, I will do completely nothing to give my body and mind a break. Then I will simply begin going to the gym and doing small workouts, to then taking class 3x a week to build back strength, stamina, keep my technique up to par. Getting monthly massages keeps my body relaxed as well.

What is your favorite method of cross-training?

There are many things I do to cross train including swimming, and Pilates. I really love doing small workouts based on core strength and cardio. But Pilates with Former AAADT member Serita Allen makes it amazing.

Do you have any pre-performance or post-performance health routines you'd like to share?

Other than class before a show. After a show is where I really want my body to recover. I would always carry lavender or eucalyptus Epson salt with me on tour, and would take baths when I got to the hotel. Most dancers would go out for drinks after a show but I would typically run to the hotel and try to get in the jacuzzi or sauna to heal my muscles and relax.

What is the best advice you've ever gotten on staying healthy as a dancer?

The best advice I received on staying healthy was "listen to you body". As dancers, our body is our instrument and it's important to simply respond to it. Eat until you are full, stay hydrated, rest if something hurts, get enough sleep. I'm also strong on finding natural ways to help or heal the bodies through food, meditation and having a balanced life. It's essential for a long healthy career.

Is there anything that you learned or anything that differed from your expectations since making the transition from student to professional?

Going from student to professional, you learn to become a better performer. It becomes more about "expressing" yourself and what Desmond Richardson told me was to "find your brand". You start to hone in on how you like to move, why you move, and translating the choreographers language. You also learn there is a company for everyone is patience is key.  When taking class among students, I notice they are still focused on steps and combinations. The professional dancers do the same but they perform as well. I try to pretend that the studio is a stage with an audience watching and every moment counts. It helps in auditions too since companies are looking for performers.

Thank you very much for your words, Daphne! 

Photos by JReid Photo and Kristina Zaidner Photography. 

SALTy Adventures in Portugal

I am writing from a villa in the very southwestern tip of Portugal, in a little town called Sagres. It has been lovely, and I have been swimming in the salt water every day.

At the upper right of this blog is the Isak Dineson quote: "the cure for anything is salt: sweat, tears, or the sea." I've spoken a lot about sweat and tears, but not a lot about the sea. And the sea here actually seems to be curing a few of my injuries. I arrived here with a friend who had a minor case of plantar fasciitis, and the cold, salty ocean made his foot feel so much better! It's like taking an ice bath with Epsom salts.

Many of the restaurants here cater to tourists. The menus rarely have anything besides sandwiches, burgers, salads, and for some strange reason, a plethora of omelets. We didn't really find any authentic Portuguese cuisine until yesterday, at a small roadside cafe, sitting on plastic seats and watching the road. I had seabass, served with a small side salad and covered in the loveliest spices. Apparently, Portugal was originally the home of the spice trade, and we could tell from yesterday's lunch.

Otherwise, for me, the eating here has been quite a transition. I am used to eating plenty of fruits and vegetables, all fresh, and low-glycemic breads like Ezekiel bread. In most Portuguese supermarkets they sell mostly three staples: fish, bread, and candy. A favorite snack my companions have discovered: bacon-flavored chips. They're very flavorful and light, nothing like American chips.

Today in our garden we watched as the tiniest hummingbird flitted among our flowers. It was no bigger than a dragonfly.

It's important during the off-season to get away from your work, and important for artists to explore new places. I've been very inspired by our time in Portugal. It is a beautiful, and slightly run down place. When we are driving we often see abandoned buildings, ruins on beautiful landscapes. New York and our work seems worlds away.

How Dancers Stay Healthy

Dancers are a curious breed. Although many of us pay close attention to health trends, the larger majority of dancers have discovered ways to keep in shape and eat well through experience and through trial and error. This is why so much of what dancers do to keep well differs in surprising ways from what a health magazine or diet book will tell you. 

I interviewed several professional dancers on their health and wellness practices, and although I will not share their names, I will share their answers and how they manage wellness in an industry where health is crucial to how well you perform. 

The interesting thing about dancers is that dancing itself doesn't actually burn that many calories, but it tires you out in a very intense way. So the way that dancers keep in shape is much more applicable to the average person who wants to get healthy... only dancers have gotten it down to a science. 

Many dancers acknowledge that health and wellness is a personal matter, and differs depending on individual choice. One dancer told me she has found that "there is no one size fits all for anything." 

One dancer I spoke with responded earnestly that "it starts, at least for me, with a whole lot of peanut butter." I laughed. I am a member of a large group of dancers who would agree with this statement. There's nearly always a jar of peanut butter in my pantry, and often there's also one in my dance bag. For the dancer I spoke with, the peanut butter is all about protein. She has found that "proteins are key" because they are "a rich and filling food." 

A lot of dancers seem to go back to these kinds of basic ideas about health and wellness instead of gimmicky health trends. Many, if not all, of the dancers I spoke with told me that their top ways of staying well are eating plenty of fruits and vegetables, and drinking lots of water. But I also had some answers that were fairly new health trends. One dancer, in addition to lots of water, swears by the tea Yerba Mate for hydration and energy. 

Nearly all of the dancers I spoke with use massage to maintain balance in the body and prevent injuries. One dancer told me her massage is "monthly at a Chinese massage center, where they use a mix of techniques that really help with tension and muscle soreness." 

Exercise and cross-training are a much less universal category; every dancer I spoke with had a different preferred method of keeping in shape, during the season and the off-season. Some prefer mind-body based exercises like "gyrokinesis, yoga, pilates, and meditation," while others are more geared towards swimming and trips to the weight room and the cardio machines at the gym. Despite its bad reputation for causing injuries, a startling number of dances I spoke with run regularly. Those who do are adamant about "listening to your body... If you feel the running is too intense for your knees and ankles, then you need to back off." 

Being aware of the body's messages was a common theme among all the dancers I spoke with. One said that she learned to "decode the signals you are getting" from your body, especially after a long rehearsal. "Listen to your body!" she smiled. "It's smarter than you think!" 

How to Pack for Tour (Or Just an Adventure)

This year, during the season, I was invited to go on tour with the company. I was unbelievably excited. And immediately decided on all the things I wanted to bring with me.

The company had a really successful tour, and I was glad I brought what I did. Since then, packing has become somewhat of a sport for me, an amusing challenge for the over-achieving perfectionist that I am. Today, my friends and I are leaving for three weeks in Europe, and I couldn't be more excited... or more proud of my packing job.

Here are three things I couldn't live without on tour and throughout my summer travels, and how I'm fitting three weeks' worth of stuff into a carry-on suitcase and my dance bag:

1. The first thing is the amazing travel teapot from Bonavita, which you can view here, along with my travel coffee maker from Melita, coffee filters, and of course, some freshly ground coffee. It is so small that you can stuff it full of socks and fit it right into your suitcase. And then you can have fresh coffee, wherever you are staying. Now, if you are not a coffee drinker, I'd still recommend bringing the Bonavita, especially if you're on tour. It was amazing to have in our room, and in the theater, for tea, or even for oatmeal for a quick, warm pick-me-up. It can really stretch your travel budget if you're not constantly buying coffee, tea, and snacks, and tide you over when you're somewhere remote and you don't have access to a coffee shop or a place to buy a snack. 
2. This is more for the adventure side, but works for tour too, especially if you have sensitive skin or are a light sleeper. It also helps if you are at all worried about bedbugs. This is a must for the adventure side of traveling, if you are going to be staying on a friend's couch, a hostel, or in a remote hotel. The Cocoon Silk TravelSheet is basically a sleeping sack that packs down to nothing, about the size of the palm of your hand. It's also one hundred percent silk. Having this in your bag is like bringing your own sheets with you, except it takes up less room than an umbrella. 
3. The LifeFactory glass water bottle makes life so much easier when you are traveling. Because it's glass, it is very easy to clean, and because of the outer layer, it won't break. It's also slim enough that it's not like carrying a huge Nalgene with you everywhere. I like to travel with vitamin powders that I can mix into my water, like Emergen-C, and this water bottle won't retain the smell or taste of Emergen-C after you wash it out, like other water bottles. 

So, those three things are definitely coming with me to Europe today. But also I'm bringing a lot of outfit options, and not checking a bag. Here's how I'm fitting three weeks' worth of stuff into a carry-on suitcase and my dance bag:

• The most important thing that keeps me sane for packing, perfectionist that I am, is that I put nearly everything in a sack, packing cube, or shoe bag. This way, when you open your suitcase, you can always tell where everything is. And it doesn't look like a big mess of stuff. Also, these are definitely a must for international travel, because if someone goes through your bag at security, you'll have a very easy time putting everything back together. 

• The packing cubes not only make it so much easier to stay organized, but they also give you a little bit more room in your bag. They also simplify the packing process. For the Europe trip, I filled two packing cubes with outfits for the three weeks, pajamas, and a small bag for laundry. Pictured here is one of the packing cubes (with my pajamas on top, because I like seeing the pattern!)

• Smaller things, like swimsuits, and dance leotards and tights, go in smaller pouches. I like to use makeup bags like this one from Victoria's Secret, filled with swimsuits rolled up inside.

• This all depends on the geography of your carry-on, but what's great about cloth pouches is that you can manipulate their shape. The finished carry-on looks like this:

• I used my dance bag, the Lululemon Keep on Running small duffle, as my purse/second smaller carry-on bag. It holds my liquids, cosmetics, jewelry, sweater, scarf, travel pillow, sleep mask, glasses, vitamins, and electronics. The liquids were the biggest challenge for this trip, because I refuse to check a bag. It's expensive, and the thought of losing a bag makes me very uneasy. I used the Travelon TSA Compliant Quart Pouch to pack my liquids. The official rule is that you should have one, but I've never had a problem with bringing two. I used the bottles that came with the pouches, but also added other necessary things, all under three ounces. 

So there it is. Two bags, both carry-on size (actually, they're both slightly smaller than regulation carry-on size.) And I am off to Europe! 

Something Truly SALTy

Summer isn't really the time to talk about bath salts. 

But as I was cleaning our bathroom the other day, I found these. And because I had had enough cleaning, and frankly, had forgotten about the Tiffany blue bag of bath salts above the tub, I opened it and had a whiff. 

The strong smells of lavender and sea salt had me entranced, as did the pretty packaging. 

It turns out that these salts can be used for a lot more than just a hot winter bath. My favorite summer use for these is as an exfoliant: mix a small amount with your body wash, and you've got a lovely lavender scrub. 

Sea Salt is terrific for your skin, especially pure sea salt from a reputable brand like the one pictured above. A natural detoxifier, sea salt helps remove toxins from the skin and exfoliates dead skin cells as you rinse it off. Unlike table salt, sea salt isn't processed in any way, and so it retains the same detoxifying properties of the salt that gathers on your skin after a dip in the ocean. 

I have also started putting jars of this at various intervals in my house, for the fragrance and for its aesthetic; a mason jar full of salts, beach glass, and shells turns your kitchen table into a beachy vacationland. 

And hey, dancers, why not? It is, after all, the off-season. 

Studio Mirrors: A Response

This post is a response to the post "Mirrors in the Studio: Do They Help or Do They Hinder?" which can be viewed here on the blog, The Healthy Dancer. 

Mirrors are part of what defines dance training. And yes, dancers are a little obsessed. They scrutinize those mirrors. No flaw goes unnoticed. Student dancers learn this behavior from older dancers, older dancers from professionals, and here is where the mirror debate begins: do we have to?

Certainly, there are students who rely too heavily upon the mirror. But that is a journey almost every young student goes through. It's one I went through, and I'm a better dancer because of it. I learned to think of my dancing in the context of the entire space, not just the flattened space in the mirror. Learning to pull my focus out of the mirror was an extremely important lesson as a student.

And so I agree with the conclusion that is made on The Healthy Dancer. The use of mirrors requires balance. Balance between looking in the mirror to correct yourself and pulling your eyes out of the mirror for stability and spacial awareness.

But there is one crucial concept that always pushes me to one side of this debate. One that for me, as a professional dancer and dance educator, is the bottom line, the final say on why mirrors belong in a studio.

When I was fifteen, I was cast as a Snowflake in The Nutcracker. The Snowflake choreography was a series of incredibly challenging corps work. The kind of work that required a type of precision, spacial awareness, and focus that on a level I had no experience with.

All the other snowflakes were older than I was, and they had done the Snow scene last year. Everyone but me knew the choreography, and most unfortunately for me, the spacing tricks to making sure we all danced as one.

I have terrible, gut-wrenching memories of being screamed at in the studio, "What are you doing? Get in line!"

Finally, by the very end of the rehearsals, I succeeded in getting through an entire rehearsal without getting yelled at or wanting to cry. It was a huge learning experience for me.

And I couldn't have done it without the mirror.

So here is the bottom line: the use of the mirror in class is one thing, and yes, it requires a delicate balance. But rehearsals are the reasons why every dance studio needs a mirror. They are essential to the professionalism that is dancing together, creating one clean line with a number of bodies.

True, professional dance is created with the space in mind. With unison, difference, movement, and stillness. With the overall look and focus intact. And this is impossible to achieve without a frame of reference.

It's impossible without a mirror.

Contemporary Dance on Wikipedia: Looking Back

Back in June, I wrote this post about amending the Contemporary Dance page on Wikipedia, and why it's important for dancers to share what they learn.

Thankfully, my edits are still there.

But there's one thing I'm not so thankful for. It's that no one else has contributed. And that's because adding information to Wikipedia isn't something that would occur to a dancer. But this is something that has to change, especially if we want funding for our companies. If we want people to know what our work really means when we say, "I'm a dancer."

So that's the point. Let's get to it, dancers. Not a whole lot of other people know as much, or care nearly as much as we do about dance.

Why SALT?

A very close friend of mine, an avid reader, whose judgement I value above many others, wanted to hear about this blog. So, I started at the beginning. 

I started at the choosing of the name "SALT" and my intentions behind it. The idea that salt is so poetically and profoundly related to the subject of dancer health. Because health for dancers is made up of more than cross-training and injury prevention alone. It's made up of a complex need to be nourished. To be nourished as an artist, and to be nourished as a human being. That's why several posts are dedicated to food. Good food. With a little salt. 

Dancer health is also made up of an unusual number of tears. And, cliched so it may be, an extraordinary amount of sweat. It's hard work. It's physically demanding, and emotionally demanding. And that's why a huge number of posts are dedicated to the complex emotional health of dancers, and a number of them also dedicated to exercise. 

I think a vital part of dancer health, that is never discussed, is the need for vacation and escape. The need for experience outside of our profession. When you've been working towards the same thing since you were five years old and "I want to be a ballerina" was an admired and childish notion, it is overwhelmingly easy to get sucked in. To forget there is a whole world outside of dance. A world you won't get to explore on the company tour. And that's why some of SALT's posts are dedicated to travel, movement, and experience outside the realm we work in. 

In my introductory post, I attempted to define these goals. And in some ways, I succeeded. But the part that my very close and trusted friend did not understand despite having read this blog, was why it isn't called "Summer Health for Dancers." It's called "SALT." 

And my friend, the avid reader, the intellectual with whom I almost always agree couldn't understand why. 

And at the beginning, I'm not sure I would have been able to answer her. Now, I know the answer. 

It goes something like this. 

When I leave the studio, it's late. It's dark. It's usually cold (although this time of year it's just the opposite.) And somehow I can't stand the idea of having to walk all the way home in the cold unless I put my headphones in. 

And with the headphones, something strange happens. 

I start walking.

I'm not the only one who would react this way. There are entire magazine articles dedicated to what songs you should listen to on your morning run, what songs to play at your party so people will get up and dance. 

So here's the thing, here's the thing that's amazing and incredibly profound despite its simplicity: we seem to all have this in common. As human beings, we share this intrinsic physical desire to move to music. 

Just like salt, which is essential to the functioning of the human body. It's a physical need. It's built in to us. 

Resources for Dancers in the Modern World

In a previous post, I spoke briefly about how information in the dance world is exchanged almost exclusively by word of mouth. So, as a dancer navigates the field and builds a career, the pool of resources grows. Dancers learn from teachers, from fellow dancers, from dance media like exploredance.com, and the various Dance Magazine publications, and to a surprising extent, from social media.

So I think that more experienced dancers have a responsibility, now that the internet has provided us with a more efficient way of exchanging information in a way that is so similar to the one we know and rely upon, word of mouth, to provide other dancers with information about the resources we discover.

In this post I'd like to focus on one resource that has changed my career: dancenyc.org. The Dance/NYC organization website provides a forum on which auditions, internships, and administrative opportunities are posted. This is where I got hooked, as a young Ailey school student, searching for audition opportunities. But lately, as I've started to write about dance as well (I write reviews for exploredance.com, as well as write passionately about dance, dancers and dance health here on this blog) and have begun to rely upon Dance/NYC Events as a way of meeting and hearing from leaders in the field.

From a journalistic point of view, especially in terms of travel journalism, dance is an unexplored and fascinating subject. And organization websites like Dance/NYC not only provide information about local audition opportunities, but also provide the backbone for credible research for local dance journalism. Dance/NYC has, for the last few years, begun conducting annual research on numbers that previously went unacknowledged. Numbers like audience increases, ticket sales, and number of tours; also less hopeful numbers. The number of unemployed dancers. The percentage of employed dancers who work outside of dance in order to support themselves. This information is, for the dance journalist, an invaluable resource.

It's also an important resource for dancers themselves. Because it's important to know how many of us are struggling. How many companies are struggling. It's important for us to know not only where the opportunities may be found, but also what they may entail. Because the economics of this business aren't what they used to be. And we need all the information we can get.

Why New York is a Good Place for Dancers

Of all the reasons to love New York, the vibrancy and cultural relevance of the performing arts is one that all of us, especially dancers, hold dear. We cherish the opportunity to work in such a place, a place that is the pinnacle of artistic creation and dance in the United States. After spending so much time away from the city after the end of the season, and returning for a brief few weeks, I discovered a new appreciation for how life in New York uniquely contributes to the life of a dancer. In New York you're surrounded by movement, by sound, and by art. It is a catalyst stick and immensely gratifying atmosphere for an artist.

Every day I am inspired simply by my commute, the movement of the trains and the poetic music of the wheels on the tracks. My favorite train ride is the one on the Q train, from Dekalb Avenue in Brooklyn to Canal Street in Manhattan. The train goes over the Manhattan Bridge, with a pulsing and ever-changing view of the Brooklyn Bridge and lower Manhattan. 

Here is a video I created to capture this feeling:



 

Even when getting by on a dancer's wage in one of the most expensive cities in the United States, living here as a dancer is much more than bearable. Not only can we rely on incredible organizations like Career Transition for Dancers or the vast dance community here in the city, but we may also count on a much more important and stable resource: the fact that we are surrounded constantly by movement and sound, things that drive us as artists and creators of dance. 

A Favorite, Nutritionist-Approved Snack for Dancers

Some dancers eat whatever they want.

You wouldn't know it if you saw them. Svelte, strong, lean, long. They look like dancers. And everyone thinks they're on a diet. One dancer I know lives almost exclusively on Shake Shack and Ensure drinks. She has what most would call "the perfect dancer's body."

I am, sadly, not a member of this group. And so, over the years, I've learned to eat and exercise in a way that makes me a successful and healthy impostor. 

The two most important takeaways from these experiences so far: 

1. Eat every three hours, or four hours at most. Never go over four hours without eating. 
2. Drink 64 ounces of water each day. 

These were, for me, the hardest things to change about my eating when I made the jump from student to professional. And gradually, I've learned how to make accomplishing these things a little bit easier. One of my favorite ways is this super-healthy, protein-packed, delicious snack, approved by an expert in dancer and athlete nutrition. 

It's very simple: microwave one Garden Lites souffle (any flavor will do, the spinach is my favorite) according to the package instructions. Then spread one light Laughing Cow cheese (again, any flavor) wedge on top. That's it! 

Although in your balance you'd technically count the Garden Lites souffle as a starch serving, it comes with a little extra protein, and a little extra vegetable kick too. The laughing cow cheese balances the snack for sustained energy. 

Nutritionally, it's just a starch and a milk serving, like a snack of crackers and cheese. But the souffle is so much more delicious than most every whole grain cracker on the market. Enjoy whenever you need to eat something substantial, but don't have time for a full meal. 

Maine's Rocky Coast, Through Another Lens

A friend of ours who had stayed in our house had left us a broken blue vase, along with a note: "to make seaglass with." 

So we got on our bikes with the bag of glass, and parked them at the top of Prouts Neck. We climbed down, settled ourselves among the rocks, and threw the glass down against them and into the sea. 

I braced myself against the rock, sliding slowly down, careful not to slip. Below us, the waves threw frothy salt water onto stone. 

Making sea glass is a more violent affair than I thought it would be. As each shard of our shattered blue vase broke against the rocks below, I marveled at the simplicity of it. At how within fifty years, it would be sea glass. 

Maine's rocky coast inspires me, with its gritty rocks and salty waves. It is forever, and yet, each moment is shatteringly impermanent. 

Journal Entry Prompts for Dancers

In the pre-professional dance world, young dancers are encouraged to keep a journal. I especially remember hearing that advice at summer intensives, as a way of remembering all the corrections you receive in such high volumes during such a short time. But it is rarely acknowledged how a journal can also be a valuable resource for professional dancers.

When I was a student, I was always eager to write about dance. I still am, but often it seems like knocking on an empty door. What truly deserves to make it onto the page? And now that I no longer receive eighty odd tips and corrections, like I did when I was a student, the dance journal has become more of a place for worries about casting than a place for goals and inspiration.

So, the purpose of this post is to go back to the roots. To the SALTiness of it, in keeping with the theme of this blog. The theme of sweat and tears and ocean water and experience — what drives us as dancers. To set true goals. And I've never been able to truly feel I've set a goal unless I wrote it down. Here are five journal writing, goal-setting prompts to get the dance journal back to where it should be.

1. What was the most inspiring moment of this past season? 

2. If you had to focus on just one image in class, what would that image — or color, feeling, experience — would it be? 

3. What dancer do you see in your place in the next five years? What dancer will you be five years from now? 

4. Name three songs, paintings, or ballets that inspire you. Try to explain why they are unique. 

5. Write a message to your first dance teacher. What would you say? How have you grown? 

Healthy Summer Dinner Party for Three

The rain and the crashing of the waves. The clinks and laughter of a busy kitchen. This is when it truly starts to feel like the off-season.

Building balanced meals is essential to recovery and building strength during the off-season. Especially while on vacation, and especially when dealing with minor injuries, dancers tend to want to eat less.  But in order to heal, rebuild, and recharge, you actually need to eat more! 

For this dinner, my mom, aunt, and I had balance and a light summer feel in mind. 

The Menu: 

Grilled Swordfish with Horseradish Dill Sauce

Green Salad with Local Tomatoes

Quinoa Pasta with Goat and Feta Cheese

Grilled Green Pepper

The Steps: 

1. Brush the swordfish with olive oil and season with dill. 

2. Throw it on the grill with any raw veggies you might have on hand (we had a lovely fresh green pepper). It was raining outside, but we were up to the challenge of grilling in our raincoats!

3. Combine greens and chopped tomatoes in a large salad bowl. 

4. Mix half a lemon with one half cup olive oil and season with salt and pepper for salad dressing. 

5. Cook pasta according to package instructions, and coat with olive oil. Top with crumbled feta, sundried tomato, and goat cheese. 

6. Combine dill, mayo, and a touch of horseradish — this makes a delicious sauce to serve with the grilled swordfish. 

7. Once the swordfish has cooked evenly, remove it from the grill with your vegetables, and serve. 

Into the Dark Review

Bryn Cohn & Artists' striking performance of Bryn Cohn's Into the Dark June 15 at Brooklyn's Center for Performance Research combined technical contemporary dance with a haunting dialogue between darkness and light.

Three dark folding screens were placed at intervals on stage. Dancers stood behind the screens, just barely visible. They observed, motionless, as one dancer entered the space in silence. The sound of breath filled the room through the speakers, heavy and strained. It seemed to belong to the dancer onstage, to fill her lungs as she squinted ahead of her.

She was dressed all in black, her abdomen exposed, a high black ruff around her neck. She seemed to be bravely facing some invisible horror.

As the dance continued, the music grew, interspersing piano melodies with electronic beats and the eerie sound of the breath. The dancers manipulated the black screens, folding them over, trapping each other underneath them, observing each other from behind them.

The movement drew the audience out of the comfort of the slow summer evening and into a place of fear and absurdity. At times the dancers were enemies, their fast and athletic movements resembling a fight, and at other times they seemed intensely joined together. In the small performance space the audience could watch clearly as their eyes met, and were captivated by their ever-changing relationships.

The heavy-lidded, inky glances of the striking dancer Yuliya Romanskaya and Bryn Cohn's other talented performers contrasted with the lighting in the theater, a constantly evolving chorus of light and dark. The only adornment was the cluster of string lights at one corner of the stage – the rest was thoroughly and refreshingly minimalist. The shadows of the dancers moved on the white walls, and their dark silhouettes behind the black screens. It evoked a fashionable and extremely appropriate air given the mood of the piece.

As a young choreographer, it seems that Bryn Cohn is off to a promising start. The piece was dynamic, striking, and to use the term her audiences would, most definitely "fierce". But at times, the fierceness of the piece seemed forced and inorganic. Ms. Cohn was perhaps hesitant to let it escape from the "fierceness" she wanted to achieve, and thus manipulated and forced the process of creating an authenticity in certain sections of the piece.

The end of the piece, however, was as authentic and striking as the beginning. The lights and music rose to a profound and heroic place as one dancer was lifted above all the rest, standing on their backs. His gaze rose slowly and he looked into the light. And the piece ended abruptly. As the dancers took their bows, I was still in awe, transfixed at the beauty of that final climb and at the effectiveness of the sudden ending.

For such a young choreographer, Ms. Cohn reached a remarkable level of sophistication through the production of Into the Dark – her work, and her dancers, are truly "fierce" in the way the dance community understands the term.

Why Every Dancer Should SUP

Through the glare of the sunlight on the waves, I couldn't quite tell what I was seeing. Was it just a buoy? A bird resting on the water? Or was it — and suddenly it moved, turning its large black head toward me. It gazed at me curiously over thick whiskers and the movement of the water. A seal was staring at me. Lying flat on my board, my paddle tucked beneath me, I stared right back.

They followed us the whole time. They watched us as we explored the bay and as we headed back to shore. At times they came closer, coming up out of the water to get a good look at us. There were at least six of them.

When we returned to shore and I had carried the massive board up the stairs, heaving it up against my side, I realized something: I had forgotten to worry about dance. And I had seen six wild seals — almost played a game with them as they followed us in the water.

At the end of the season, it can be easy to get caught up in the melodrama - how exhausted you are. What the critics said or did not say. How you'll have to go through it all over again next season. The challenge is to focus on your training, to recharge, strengthen, and improve. This involves training outside of dance, challenging your mind and body in new ways.

This week, as I am out of the city, I got the chance to try stand up paddle-boarding (SUP.)

I believe that SUP has a unique appeal to dancers' cross-training personalities. Here are the reasons why:

* Time outdoors: After many months in the studio, paddle-boarding gives you the chance to move and train outside. Recent studies have shown that getting time outdoors is extremely beneficial for mental health and well-being.

* Strength Building: SUP challenges your balance. You have to adjust to the constantly changing movement of the water. This helps enormously in improving stability.

* Sightseeing: Traveling on rivers, lakes or even the ocean (my favorite place to paddle) is a beautiful and peaceful atmosphere you get to explore while also challenging your body.

* Getting out of your comfort zone: It can be nerve-wracking to stand up on that board. You start to feel it moving underneath you, and at the very last possible second you catch yourself. But then you stand up. An enormously gratifying – and terrifying – feeling.

* Safety: Dancers usually shy away from intense outdoor sports, like skiing, for fear of injury. Paddle-boarding is remarkably safe. If you fall, you fall in the water. Also, dancers have a particularly keen sense of balance and rarely fall to begin with. Always go out with a guide if you're new to the sport, and never go out alone unless you have an inflatable PFD (personal flotation device.)

* Personal Journey: In many ways, SUP is about you. It's about the individual staying balanced atop that board. I think this can be an incredibly powerful experience, and inspiring for the dance artist in particular, because of the way dance combines physicality and mental clarity.

If you get a chance, you should try it.

Emotional Wellness During the Season

My breath is shaking. I force myself to steady my gaze, and as the last notes of Miserere Nobis come through the theater, I release my hands from their places on my shoulders and bow my head. The lights fade. 

Applause begins. I wait, my breath still uneven. And then I hear the dancers beside me standing up, and hastily I stand with them, clasp each of their hands in the dark. The lights come back on. We bow our heads twice, as Miserere calls for a somber bow, and exit the stage. 

It is over. Backstage, I walk down the brightly lit, narrow hallway. Around us, other dancers and stage hands murmur, "beautiful" and "good job, guys!" 

I am still trying to steady my breath, adjust to the light. To the fact that the season is finally over.

When I was young, one professional dancer I knew gave me some incredible advice. We had just finished a grueling Nutcracker season, and I was feeling completely drained. 

She explained to me that during a show, the performer's brain releases bursts of adrenaline at a rate that is much higher than normal. So after several weeks of shows, you've drained your body's adrenaline supply which adds to the physical exhaustion that comes at the end of a season. 

The dance is about anger, loss, and forgiveness. We wear long black skirts and red tights, our feet emerging blood red beneath the hems of the skirts when we dance. The music is Allegri's "Miserere," a hauntingly somber chorus of female voices. 

I have never peformed something with such an intense subject matter in such an intimate theater. With the audience so close to us, our acting has to be impeccable. Jennifer also is known for coaching her dancers to be actors as well. 

After performing this piece every evening, I have found that I am in an extremely vulnerable emotional place. Today, one dancer, whom I shall refer to as AM, told me, "at one point I looked at you and saw the emotion on your face. You looked like you were about to cry. So I almost started to cry. I had to say to myself, A, hold it together!" 

The comment was both a compliment on my acting — which made me very proud — and also an observation about how the dancing the piece in such an intensely emotional place messes with our control. 

For the next few weeks, I am going to be extremely careful and aware of that emotional exhaustion, and try to get some rest after the season is over.