Indianapolis is a city in a rather unique situation—the Indianapolis City Ballet is actually trying to establish a regional classical ballet company, which contradicts certain images we harbor of dance companies struggling, making cuts, or folding altogether. In this world where the arts are constantly under attack there seem to be more forces that destroy rather than create, and yet here in the Midwest, a little seed is trying to take root in a land often depicted as far more agricultural than cultured (P.S. Stop that.). And yet it’s here that people are trying—so much so that even non-dancer friends of mine in Indy have taken notice of ICB’s efforts to make their presence known at arts festivals and such. ICB has founded a school, is now looking to develop an audience and I find the prospects exciting—I mean, how often are ballet companies created? It’s like watching the birth of a volcanic island…an obscure but rarefied phenomenon that really begs us to take notice and appreciate the magnitude of what is happening, and just like how a volcanic island can eventually blossom into a tropical paradise, a newly formed ballet company can proliferate into something incredible.
Part of ICB’s efforts include an annual gala that invites internationally acclaimed ballet stars from all over the world, as well as master classes with some of those dancers and other well known teachers. This year, one of the classes was with Herman Cornejo, Argentine dynamo and principal extraordinaire with American Ballet Theatre. Ever since my first pilgrimage to New York in 2012, I’ve seen Herman dance in many roles—and I was never disappointed. In fact, he’s one of the few dancers who have ever exceeded my expectations. I knew him to be great (duh, you don’t get to be a principal with ABT if you aren’t), but watching him live was an experience that can’t be conveyed within the confines of a YouTube screen (though his performance as Puck in the DVD of Ashton’s The Dream comes pretty close to capturing his spirit and it’s well known to be one of his best roles). When I saw him on the list of guest teachers, I figured it’s only a three-hour drive—I’ve done a lot worse—and I like dancers who can do Ashton justice so I figured why not take his class? Okay, and maaaybe, I wanted to make my friend Robin, who’s obsessed with him a little jealous. Or CRAZY jealous…you’ll have to ask her (even though she’s already taken a master class with him in New York, so…we’re even? I don’t know.).
So I signed up, knowing that I’d be the only adult to participate, and the kiddies didn’t disappoint—there were plenty of younglings half my age and less, stretching like rubberbands while I massaged the hell out of my legs after the morning drive. I took a barre spot near the corner, wearing more layers to get warm in all of my senior citizenship glory, slightly horrified by some of the drastic oversplits some of them were doing. When Herman entered the room, he took a few minutes to mark exercises out, which of course set my intellectual gears into motion because while I didn’t have flexible tendons, my brain has always been my asset as a dancer, and I would of course, evaluate what I thought of him as a teacher. Let’s be real, his physique is beautiful for ballet—great line through the legs and feet, nice broad shoulders with good posture. So the question remained—could he teach? The best athletes don’t always make the best coaches and the best dancers not always the best teachers, and I’ve been wary in the past of great dancers who were unable to prove themselves as great pedagogues, so my critical thinking cap was on.
He began with a short warm up facing the barre and went right to tendus in first—at which point I panicked because I thought “where are the pliés?! I need pliés!!!” but those came right after and everything was okay. Actually, everything was great—aside from the slippery floor, which often causes my right calf to have a mind of its own and instinctively develop a charley horse (which I remedied with Tiger Balm, again showing my age as a dancer), Herman gives a comprehensive barre, with nothing crazy, and really stresses correct alignment with square shoulders and hips. “Nothing changes” he would often say, whether you move from fifth to retiré or do a fondu to relevé a la seconde—nothing changes. It reminded me a bit of the Maggie Black philosophies that were filtered down to me through students of hers, to keep the body in neutral alignment and keep things simple. Furthermore, I really appreciated that he respects individual bodies…it would be easy for someone with his physical attributes to say “turn out more, rotate more, stretch more” etc., but he never asked for “more”; he said things like “find your own balance,” which he later explained as important because we all have different things we need to learn to work with—different turnout, leg length, feet, toes, etc. A prime example would be his own feet, which have a superb arch, but he actually trains a super high relevé that goes past the metatarsals because of a freak accident that completely broke his big toe and never healed properly. So bonus points for emphasizing the idea of working with what you have in a way that can be both correct and pain free (and kudos for overcoming that adversity!)
After a brief adagio (something I find to be symptomatic amongst male teachers…not that I mind a short adage), he went through the typical assortment of pirouettes and allegro combinations, all of which were phrased well and quite Romantic, borrowing a few steps from the classical repertory. The first of his petit allegroS (yes, more than one, which gets more bonus points in my book), had a bit of Giselle and Albrecht’s first little romp (which one of my teachers once called “the most notorious 6/8 in the history of ballet), and the second had a bit of James’s first variation from La Sylphide (that wicked brisé volé-ballonné battu-jeté battu thing—I swear, some of the kids went cross-eyed trying to figure that one out, but I loved it). I was having such a great time until grand allegro, which started with my favorite step (the cabriole, the double of which is Herman’s favorite step, but I like mine singular), but then went into double tours of imminent death for the boys. Here’s the thing—I started ballet when I was 23, so I never really properly learned tours en l’air; I can count the number of times on one hand that I ever had teachers give them. They’re simple in theory—jump straight up, spin around two times, land with your feet together, but there’s something about it that my body is so terrified of that I can’t commit to it. Even my singles are wonky because I’m so scared I just want to bail every time, so I settled for doing the preparation into a simple passé relevé and closing in fifth. Kids don’t have this fear—the boys all went for it, but when you’re an adult and you’re not comfortable with a step, it’s okay to say “not yet”—which is far better to do than continue having nightmares about breaking your ankles. Although, I do have to say that Herman pointed out that in the preparation I wasn’t assembling onto two legs, so maybe that’s something I can start with. We’ll see…
Anyway, the class overall was great and for the first master class I’ve ever taken, a hell of a lot of fun. I would’ve preferred repeating the center exercises because we only did them once each (and class still went a little over time!), because Herman gives these great concepts and corrections to think about, like making jumps dynamic and negotiating alignment, but there’s no chance to try it again and really focus on something differently (then again, sometimes I forget that not everyone is the machine that I am). All in all, I’m satisfied with what I accomplished in Indy; I went in wanting to learn something new, dance cleanly and artistically, and I feel I did just that. Honestly, most of those kids had no épaulement, so in some ways, I think my maturity showed in a good way. I could’ve been embarrassed about being 29 amongst a bunch of youths and adolescents, but I chose to see it as something great, that this art form can bridge across generations and bring different people with different backgrounds together for a common purpose. And really, I was like the poster child of minority affairs—I was one of only two non-white dancers, by far the oldest, definitely the worst feet, and considering that I’ve only been dancing for about six years, among those with less time in ballet. But I was proud to represent a different kind of dancer and I hope that any other adults reading this get the message that anything—even a master class with one of the best dancers in the world—is possible, and if ballet is something you enjoy, just do it. Nobody laughed at me to my face and dancers like Herman are exemplary in generosity because he just wants to share the information and his knowledge without judgment, so there’s really nothing to be afraid of (until you get to double tours—that’s legitimate fear right there).
Meanwhile, Indianapolis City Ballet did an interview with Herman after class and they typically post those videos so I’d keep an eye out on their website (http://indianapoliscityballet.org), where you can also click on ‘Media Gallery’ to see interviews with previous guest teachers. I mean, if you want to know the secret to double cabrioles or find out why he likes dancing with Iana Salenko…darn it, I guess you’ll have to wait and keep checking their site for updates.