Variations

and
Interpretations

 Variations
and
Interpretations
by
Jerry Kokich

 Other books by Jerry Kokich

The Competition
The Finals
My Students Said I Should Write A Book

Copyright © [2021] by [Jerry Kokich]

Photos by Vam Productions and P.K. Bradfield
All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. Names, people and places
may resemble reality. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned,
or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission.
First Edition: [May 2021]
Printed in the United States of America

 For Nadia

 For the purposes of this book, I’m assuming

you’re preparing a variation for a competition; I’m
also assuming you are fairly familiar with the
choreography of the speci c variations. The
preparation for performing a role in a full length or
a one act ballet is basically the same, although
your character has an arc through the ballet,
whereas for a competition you don’t have to
concern yourself with what happens afterward.
I don’t want you to feel that I’m telling you
exactly how to do a variation. What I want is for
you to think about the variation. Don’t just do the
steps, tell the story.
This will not be an exhaustive study of every
ballet variation known. In Sleeping Beauty alone
you’ve got all the fairies, three variations for
Aurora, and Bluebird. Raymonda has, it seems, a
dozen for the lead. I’ve chosen a representative
sample. The suggestions for the ones here will
give you an idea of how to prepare for pretty
much any variation. You’ll probably come up with
your own stuff to add to what I’ll say.
Ballet always belongs to the current
generation of dancers. Yes, choreographers tell
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you what to do, but you are the ones doing it. The
Art belongs to you, now; keep it alive, keep it
growing.
There are dozens of different versions of
every variation. Some are only very slightly
different- arms in high fth vs. a la seconde, for
instance- some bear no resemblance to the
“traditional” choreography, at all.
I found a version of the Dawn variation from
“Coppelia”, done by the Kirov, that didn’t look
anything like the expected one. (I actually prefer
it, lots of jumping. A student of mine, who was a
real jumper, her eyes lit up when she saw it).
You must choose which version or parts of
versions (you can mix and match), that t your
character choices. This is why you must answer
certain basic questions, rst; that will tell you
which choreography ts your characterization.
You must be careful which variation you
choose. First of all, you must like it, or have some
emotional attachment to it, because you’re going
to be doing it, a lot.
I overheard a young man at the YAGP say, “I
hate this variation.”
He didn’t dance well.
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 You must also be careful if a variation is
chosen for you. I asked a teacher why she had
picked a certain variation for her student, and she
replied, “Oh, that was one I knew.”
That is so wrong, on so many levels, I don’t
know where to begin.
I’ll try.
Your teacher should not only know a number
of variations (their career should have exposed
them to quite a lot, but even if not, YouTube has
pretty much every one ever done), they should
know which ones are appropriate for you, which
will show off your strengths and challenge your
weaknesses, and how to teach and coach them.
If they don’t, you need to nd a new teacher.
My observations and suggestions will be
based on certain choreography, but I’m not saying
these are the steps you must dance. Even if you
disagree with me, if reading this book gets you to
think about your variation, gets you to tell the
story and not just do the steps, I’ll be very happy,
very happy, indeed.

Jerry Kokich
Sherman Oaks, 2021
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Chapter One

Before you begin work on any variation, you

must ask yourself several questions.
Who is this person?
Why is she dancing these steps, to this
music, in this costume, at this point in the ballet?
Where is she?
What time of day is it?
Is she alone?
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Is anyone watching and, if so, is she aware of

them? If aware of them, does she care that
they’re watching? How does she feel about them?
Where do they t in the story?
You don’t have to be consciously thinking
about all that stuff all the time, but you must know
the answers. That information will be in your
subconscious, and will affect everything you do.
You don’t do piqué arabesque as Kitri the
same way you would as Giselle. In fact, you don’t
do it the same way as Giselle in the rst act of
that ballet as in the second.
Let’s take that simple movement, piqué
arabesque, as an example of how different
characters would do it. First, let’s look at it,
musically.
May Sofge, our company rehearsal pianist at
the Joffrey, told me that there are three places to
dance on a musical note; the front or beginning of
the note, the middle, and the back, or end of the
note. Each place has an emotional component.
Dancing on the front of the note suggests an
impetuous nature, an energetic style, or it could
just mean you’re rushing. If it’s a conscious
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decision, then you’re talking artistic choice, or

character motivation.
Kitri is a ery, passionate character, energetic
in the extreme, so she would dance on the front
of the note, daring the music to catch her, wanting
more speed, more excitement.
Giselle, in the rst act, is a shy peasant girl.
When she dances her variation, it starts out
tentative, on the end of the note. As she gets
more con dent, she moves to the middle of the
note. For the manége, she’s excited, and so
dances on the front of the note. In the Mad
Scene, she’s all over the place.
In the second act, she’s dead, so it’s back of
the note pretty much all the way.
Let me take a moment to talk about natural
musicality.
Some dancers have an innate sense of
musicality. Anatalia Hordov of the San Francisco
Ballet is one of the most naturally musical
dancers I have ever known. I was lucky enough to
coach her for her rst YAGP when she was 12.
She had chosen Swanhilda’s rst act variation
from “Coppelia”. The rst time she ran it for me, I
thought her musicality was a little “off”, but she
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was such a talented dancer (at 12!), that I had her

do it, again; maybe I was missing something.
I was.
I realized, upon watching her second run, that
her musical interpretation wasn’t off, wasn’t
wrong, it was hers.
Most dancers have a default setting for their
musicality; they naturally dance on the front,
middle or end of the note. I danced on the front of
the note, which is why I often got the correction,
“Jerry, don’t rush!”
To this day, I have no idea what Anatalia’s
default setting is. Her musicality is so adaptive, so
exible, that she seamlessly switches from front
to middle to end, as the dancing requires. As one
of her teachers, Pam Sosa, once said, “She
creates the music.”
A dancer must know what their musical
default setting is, or if they even have one. That
will allow them to relax and just go with that
natural musicality, if it’s appropriate for the part. A
dancer who dances on the front of the note will
perform Kitri more naturally than Giselle, for
example.
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All of this is, of course, primarily for dancing

variations, dancing alone. Most ensemble
dancing should be right in the middle of the note.
So, part of the preparation for working on a
variation, (any character), is guring out where
that character dances on the note. This is part
and parcel of the very rst question, who is this
person? The answer, or answers, to that, will tell
you a lot, but those answers will be based not
only on the basics, like, she’s a 16 year old
princess, etc., but also on who this person is in
relation to the individual dancer.
And you thought it was just about the steps.

One of my acting teachers described

theatrical performing as “real people in imaginary
circumstances”, and characters as “you, as if you
were this person”. You might wear a costume and
put on makeup, but these are not things to hide
behind; rather they are tools to help you reveal
the truth of your portrayal, your identity. Two
dancers can perform the exact same
choreography, even the exact same musicality,
but depending on their answers to our questions
and their own personalities, would have
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completely different characterizations, resulting in

completely different interpretations.
I was coaching two dancers for Sugar Plum
who were very different both in physical style and
personality. One, the younger one, had a
mysterious quality to her dancing; she was a
thinker, constantly analyzing her dancing
(sometimes over analyzing). The great teacher,
Peff Modelski, once told Jodie Gates, when she
was working on Sugar Plum for the Joffrey, that
the variation was about “weaving a story from
strands of starlight.”
The Sugar Plum Fairy is, more than any other
ballet character, the inspiration for little girls to
want to become ballerinas. The variation is a
story for children. The dancer gathers children
together and tells them a story about herself, the
land of the sweets and Christmas. Each dancer’s
story, and the way they tell it, is different. This
young dancer told her story like she was telling a
mystery; not in a scary way- Sugar Plum should
never frighten children- just in a way that said,
“Not many people know this.” She treated the
children as equals. It was as if she sat on the oor
with them, held one on her lap, and told her story
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in whispers. Her mother, after watching her said,

“It’s like she has a secret.”
The other dancer- two years older- had a
natural, regal quality. The taller of the two, with a
more muscular, but still feminine physique, she
radiated strength and a protective nature. Her
Sugar Plum, with essentially the same
choreography, had a more majestic presence.
She, too, told a story to children, but whilst they
would listen to the younger dancer with giggles
hidden behind their hands, they would listen with
wide-eyed awe to this queen, this ruler of the land
of the sweets.
Both interpretations were completely valid
and very different because the dancers were
different people and yet both told the same story.
Okay, let’s get to the variations.
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Chapter Two

Gamzatti, Wedding Variation,

La Bayadère , Act One

Every variation must have some sort of

progression; it must be its own little story, with a
beginning, a middle and an end. The great
variations do this with choreography that works
like pantomime. Unfortunately, many ballets are
like gymnastics oor routines. In those the
gymnast performs dance “elements”, then drops
all that for a tumbling run. The gymnastic
elements have no dancing in them at all. In some
ballets, actually most, a great story is told in
pantomime, then a variation comes along, and
the dancer treats it like a tumbling run. They
cease telling the story, and just do a mindless
series of turns and jumps. When they nish, it’s
like they all of a sudden remember they’re
supposed to be telling a story. A perfect example
of this, is Gamzatti’s Wedding Variation.
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Prince Solor is betrothed to Gamzatti, the

daughter of the Rajah. He is in love with Nikiya,
the temple dancer. He’s never met Gamzatti and
doesn’t want to marry her until he nally does
meet her. Astounded by her beauty, he agrees to
the wedding, but then remembers his love for
Nikiya.
Gamzatti nds out about Nikiya, and asks her
father, what should she do? He says, don’t worry,
we’ll just have Nikiya killed. Gamzatti, who has
led a sheltered life, is not a bad or cruel person,
and tells her father no, let me talk to her, woman
to woman.
She summons Nikiya to her chambers.
Gamzatti’s handmaiden ushers the temple dancer
in, who shows appropriate respect and deference
to the daughter of the Rajah. Gamzatti tells Nikiya
of her betrothal to Solor and explains how she
knows of his love for the dancer. She asks Nikiya
to give him up; Nikiya refuses. In an ingenuous
display, Gamzatti offers Nikiya an expensive
necklace in exchange for Solor. (This may seem
callous, but Gamzatti feels that Nikiya has always
been poor and has never had nice things. Being
rich herself, she thinks money can buy anything,
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or solve any problem. Gamzatti is actually quite

innocent). Nikiya, however, is so insulted by this,
she pulls a knife and attacks Gamzatti! The
handmaiden stops the assault, and Nikiya ees.
Infuriated, Gamzatti returns to her father and
says, “You know that suggestion you had about
killing Nikiya? I think it’s a great idea...” The
murder is planned to take place during the
wedding of Solor and Gamzatti...
So, here you have a woman who has plotted
to have her rival murdered during her wedding.
(It’s almost a given that if there’s a wedding in a
ballet, something awful is going to happen). I’ve
seen many dancers including great ones like
Royal Ballet principals, Russian stars, and up-
and-coming young ballerinas, perform this role in
full length productions and as variations in
competition. I have yet to see a woman who has
plotted to have her rival murdered during her
wedding. Oh, I’ve seen some phenomenal
dancing, some astonishing technical displays, but
they’ve all been “tumbling runs”. The story stops,
the dancer does the variation, then the story
starts again. Most ballets rely on pantomime and
port de bras to tell the story, then the technique’s
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ability to continue the story is almost completely

ignored. Yes, emotional facial expression can
help and certain technical things can express joy-
a huge jetè- or confusion- wild chaînés, for
example- but the choreography, the actual
classical steps, can and must also tell the story.
Gamzatti’s Wedding Variation is a perfect
example of choreography that can actually tell a
story. The dancer must keep their inner
monologue going. Not talking to herself like she’s
lost her mind, but thinking about what’s
happening. Here is where the dancer ’s
characterization comes into play.
How does she feel about the murder plot? Is
her Gamzatti a haughty princess who is appalled
that a lowly temple dancer not only de ed her,
refusing her gift, but tried to kill her? Does she
feel that killing Nikiya is akin to stepping on a
bug? Or is her Gamzatti a terri ed girl who has
been swept up in this whirlwind, and has no idea
how to stop it? Is she considering going to Nikiya
and warning her, defying her father who may then
take out his wrath on her?
(As you can see, this book is more about the
questions you must ask yourself than about me
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telling you what to do. You might come up with

even more questions after doing the variation for
a while; it’s all about keeping the dancing and
your characterization alive, and telling the story).
Other questions you can ask yourself are,
who else knows about the plot? Did your father
tell you details, or did he say, don’t worry, I’ll take
care of it? Do others suspect? Your handmaiden
witnessed and stopped Nikiya’s attack on you; did
she tell anyone? How is the murder going to take
place? Where? When, exactly? I know this can
seem overwhelming, but like technique, the goal
is to learn all this, then just dance.
So, you’ve done your homework, maybe even
written down the answers to some of the
questions (with a pen or pencil and paper
because that helps you remember), now it’s time
for the variation.

You enter, proudly, the daughter of the Rajah,

a princess of royal blood. Your answers to some
of the questions will color even this simple
movement. Regal, yet fearful? De ant? Angry?
Pretending that everything‘s ne? Let me say
here that there are no right or wrong answers to
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these questions. As long as your answers are true

to your character, as long as they make sense
and help you create a true, believable Gamzatti,
they are right. The test of whether or not you are
conveying your meaning, will be the reactions of
the audience and, if you get to do the full length
ballet, the reactions of the other dancers.
Your portrayal will affect the other dancers’
portrayals of their characters both in the ways you
rehearsed and in the ways the individual
performances unfold.
There’s an acting term, “Being in the
moment.” It means reacting to things as they
happen. In any theatrical endeavor the performer
knows what he or she is doing and what is to
come. They know their lines, or the choreography,
they have rehearsed things, and the play or ballet
must function like a well-oiled machine, going like
clockwork. Everyone and everything has to be
exactly where they should be exactly when they
should be.
However, it must always seem as if things are
happening spontaneously, as if life is unfolding
moment to moment. A performer must be open to
inspiration, a thought perhaps that springs
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unbidden to your mind that says, “Do this,

instead!” As long as that doesn’t ruin a scene or
change choreography wholesale, that new
movement could be amazing. It might be as
simple as turning your head in a different
direction, but even such a small thing can be a
dramatic and powerful moment. Some dancers
have the ability to be in the moment naturally;
others need to develop the skill. One way is to be
physically con dent in strength and stamina so
you don’t have to worry about simply surviving the
variation.

A few words about stamina.

One of the rst things dancers realize when
they start rehearsing a ballet, is that regular
classes do not really prepare you for extended
periods of dancing. In class, the longest exercises
are usually adagios which might go on for several
minutes. Most combinations, however, are less
than a minute long. When a dancer starts working
on, say, Waltz of The Flowers in Nutcracker, they
are confronted by burning lungs and heavy legs.
(My grand allegro combinations in class are
always variation length. A student who was in an
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audition that had a long grand allegro

combination at the end told me she said to
herself, “Thank you, Jerry!”).
When I was dancing, the goal for a variation
was to be able to do it three times back to back to
back, without stopping. The physical con dence
from that capability allows the performer to free
her or himself from the fear of not surviving the
variation. If you’re not sure you have the strength
and stamina to complete it, that will probably be
all you’ll be thinking about, especially if, like many
variations, the most demanding movements or
sequences come at the end.
I was thrown into a part when the rst cast
dancer broke his foot. I was to do his role, which
included a dif cult variation, opening night on tour
at the Kennedy Center. I had rehearsed the role
of course, but I had an emergency rehearsal a
few hours before the performance, just me and
the balletmaster.
I did the variation.
“Again.”
I did it, again.
“Again.”
I did it, once more.
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Our balletmaster, Scott Barnard, who had

been quite a brilliant dancer, was soft-spoken and
never raised his voice, so the “agains” were calm
and quiet, almost requests instead of commands.
I wound up doing the variation ve straight
times. The fth time was quite possibly the worst
dancing in the history of classical ballet, but when
I got on stage and it came time for the variation,
knowing I could survive ve consecutive runs
made doing it once a breeze.
That ballet, Gerald Arpino’s “Light Rain”, was
a plotless one so there was no real story to tell,
but in a variation that comes from a story ballet,
having complete con dence in your physical
abilities opens up new worlds of emotional
exploration and discovery. Your mind is free to
wander and wonder. You might even get to a
point where you forget about the steps
consciously, and just dance. Inspiration can come
to you to do something completely different
(within reason), that had never before occurred to
you, and that’s why they call it a variation.
But, I digress.
If the other dancers are also in the moment, a
change in you will create a change in them, giving
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birth to a unique moment in the ballet. Okay, back

to the variation.
You must have a reason to do a step. You
must have a reason for going in a speci c
direction, or to a particular spot on the stage. Not
every little gesture needs a thought or meaning,
but if you can communicate something to your
audience constantly, they won’t be able to take
their eyes off you. Something must always be
going on with you. If you check out mentally, the
audience may do the same.
The rst movements of the variation contain a
huge jeté across the back of the stage, to the
upstage right corner. (Note: There are so many
versions of all the variations in this book, I can’t
hope to address them all; I’ll stick to what I feel
are the most common). The jeté lands almost in a
dead stop, then there’s a series of relevés in
place before a long diagonal of two grand jetés in
attitude that carry the dancer to the downstage
left corner. This choreography suggests Gamzatti
starts out going in one direction, then something
stops her, forcing her to look around for an
avenue of escape. Remember, you are not on a
stage, you are, in this instance, on the grounds of
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your father’s palace, surrounded by wedding

guests, visiting nobility, friends and servants, any
one of whom might know of the plot, or be
actually involved.
The rst jeté stops because Gamzatti has
seen something. Is it Nikiya? Is it one of her
father’s servants, acting suspiciously? For
whatever reason (you decide), she does the
relevés, sees something way down stage, and
heads that way, using the fastest method, two
grand jetés.
Arriving at the downstage corner, Gamzatti
once again sees something that makes her pull
up short. She’s beginning to feel trapped.
In some versions of the full length ballet,
Gamzatti’s father is seated downstage left; this is
a good reason for her to y towards him. When
she gets there, her father might give her a look
that says, “Stay calm, everything‘s going as
planned,” or “Don’t blow it!”
The usage of attitude turns in the next
diagonal, that start facing upstage but nish to the
downstage corner, suggest Gamzatti returning to
look at her father for reassurance. (As with almost
every variation, there should be a character arc or
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progression of some sort. Perhaps the character

gets angrier as the variation goes on, perhaps
she gets more fearful. Keep this in mind).
Finishing the diagonal of turns in the upstage right
corner, Gamzatti nds herself in the same spot
where she felt the rst pangs of anxiety or
uncertainty. Not getting enough reassurance from
her father- a quick glance back to him would be
cool, here- she returns to where she started the
variation, upstage left, in the hope that this time, it
will be different. To that end, she does a diagonal
instead of traveling straight across the stage-
avoiding the upstage right corner- and does a
series of turns rather than the jump that started
the variation.
The turns start simply, a single piqué, a
double, a soutenou, then three chaînés, each
movement becoming more energetic, wilder, until
it seems the three chaînés are getting out of
control. She’s in the middle of the stage, without
her father for comfort or warning, and realizes she
has to pull herself together; everyone is watching.
She quickly calms herself, and starts the
sequence again, but now the single piqué is
barely controlled, the double is much wilder, the
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soutenou and the chaînés are a whirlwind, so she

must stop her forward momentum, and race back
towards her father.
Finding no help there, she launches into a
nal manége, which must seem like she is losing
control completely. She thinks, Who knows? What
have I done? Can I stop the plot? Should I? Oh,
my God, how has this happened??
Finally, she crosses the stage from where she
began the variation, with three saut de chats,
getting progressively bigger, until she relevés into
a de ant pose to nish.
Throughout the variation, the dancer must
keep the story going. The variation must not only
be danced, it must be acted. Your face must be
alive. The particular facial expressions are not
speci c, as in you must smile, you must not smile;
your face re ects your emotional state.
I saw a video of a dancer sitting in front of his
make up mirror practicing facial expressions. Do
not, I repeat, do not ever do that! Not ever!
Emotions are not contortions of the facial
muscles, that is false. You may wear a costume
and makeup but you do not hide behind them. (I
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may have said that before. If I have, it’s good to

hear it again, if I haven’t, I’m glad I said it now).
Your emotional state comes from your
thoughts, your feelings, your heart, your soul, and
your face will show that, but not if you’re tensing
your facial muscles. That doesn’t mean you relax
those muscles to the point where your mouth is
hanging open and you look half asleep; just don’t
tense.
So you must act, but act truly. If you are
committed to the story and the character, if you’ve
asked and answered all the questions, your facial
expressions will be natural. You must also act
with your body. Just as you must not contort your
facial muscles to convey emotions, you must not
warp your body or distort your classical lines.
Conveying emotion with your technique is dif cult
but when done properly is very powerful. I
touched on how two different characters would do
piqué arabesque, and how the musicality of that
movement can reveal who the character is. The
physicality of the movement is also revealing.
Let’s take the landing of the rst jeté in the
wedding variation.
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The jeté lands in fth position, and the relevés

come right out of that landing. If you land and
bring the back leg gently down into fth, it means
something different than if you bring it down
quickly. It’s the difference between closing a door
quietly, and slamming it shut.
Now, here’s where either of these movements
can be appropriate. If you decide that you’ve seen
something that startles you, closing fth quickly
could be the right choice. If what you’ve seen just
makes you wonder or confuses you, closing
gently might be appropriate. Your choice will have
an effect on how you do the relevés and the
diagonal of jetés and on and on.
Let’s say you’ve been startled. The relevés
might have a more staccato quality, or the
accompanying port de bras might be a bit wild.
Then, the jetés on the diagonal could be more
forceful, requiring you to stop on a dime when you
reach the downstage corner. (Was it a look or
gesture from your father that made you stop? Did
you see him signal to a servant to go kill Nikiya,
while everyone is focused on you?).
On the next diagonal of attitude turns, once
again something you see makes you turn back to
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your father. The plié in arabesque to nish gives

you the opportunity to reach back to him, “Help
me!” (Stretching out that arm to him will also help,
technically). As you go farther upstage, the
diagonal can get wilder but you must never be out
of control. Your character may seem to be out of
control, but the dancer can never be out of
control. A dancer who is not in control of their
body/technique/dancing is a danger not only to
themselves, but to everyone around them.
I watched a video of a choreographer telling a
dancer to just throw himself to the oor with no
r e g a r d f o r h i s p e r s o n a l s a f e t y. T h a t
choreographer should be horse whipped. Ballet is
hard enough without some idiot endangering
dancers.
This is one of the reasons why to be a great
dancer, you must also be a great actress or actor.
You must make the audience fear for the
character, not for the safety of the dancer. The
instant the audience thinks, “Oh, that dancer’s
going to hurt herself!”, they are no longer
watching La Bayadère, they’re watching someone
in a costume, wearing pointe shoes, etc. The
magic is gone.
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Back to the variation.

For the diagonal of turns from the upstage left
corner, the rst piqués can be gentle, on the back
of the note, almost like stepping onto thin ice. The
soutenous can be a little more forceful, on the
middle of the note, and the chaînés can be on the
front of the note. (If you want to get really speci c,
the rst chaîné can be on the front of the note, the
second on the middle, and the third on the back
as you regain control). When repeating the
sequence, advance everything; the rst piqués on
the middle of the note, etc. with the chaînés all
pushing the music. (Both turn diagonals can end
with an en dedans pirouette, if you like, just be
sure you give yourself a solid plié preparation, no
matter what characterization you choose).
The nal manège is tricky, musically. It must
be wild, no matter what emotional choices you’ve
made. If you’ve decided that you’re terri ed
someone has discovered the plot, that fear will
drive you. If you’ve chosen that you are a
princess of royal blood and how dare that slave
attack you, she deserves to die, that anger will
drive you. You can push the music, but in grand
allegro jumps, you must never rush. Even if you
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have a powerful jump, if you land early, before the

music, it’ll look like you can’t jump and, at this
point in the variation, you must y across the
stage!
The last three jetés from the upstage left
corner start small, increasing so that the last one
is an explosion that soars into the nal pose.
Even though the jumps seem to be small,
medium, huge, they each have to take the same
time, the same number of notes. You have to stay
in the air on the rst “small” jeté the same as the
last “big” one. This can be accomplished by a
breathing trick, and an illusion.
In reality all three jetés are the same height,
but the position of the legs makes them seem to
get bigger. The breathing trick, the inhalation,
happens at the top of the jump, not on the way
up: At the height of the jump, you inhale, which
makes you hang in the air. The illusion is simply
not opening the legs too much on the rst jeté,
then a little more on the second, and a full split on
the last.
The variation ends with a balance en pointe,
in attitude. You land the last jeté on the right leg,
then faillé through with the left, to relevé in
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attitude, croisé. Both arms can be in fth en haut,

or just the right arm up. I am not a fan of ending
variations on a balance; the chances of sticking it
are small. If at all possible, I will change the
ending to a more solid, more attainable pose. In
this case, however, I’m afraid we’re stuck with the
balance. My advice for any balance ending is this:
If you stick it, great, but if you are not absolutely
100% sure you can hold the balance, hit it, then
get off of it. Have several contingency plans: Roll
down to B plus, tombé off and step to another
pose, but do not attempt to save it. Better safe
than sorry.
Your bow will be different depending on your
characterization, but don’t get carried away. If
your Gamzatti is a haughty princess, you should
bow with regal dignity, however, if she is
frightened by what is happening in the story, don’t
go overboard with looking that way when you
bow; you’re still a princess. You can look around
the theatre warily, and walk off in character, just
be subtle about it.
Well, I thought this book wasn’t going to be an
exhaustive study; good thing I’m not including
every variation I know.
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Chapter Three
Odette, White Swan, Swan Lake,
Act Two

Variety is the spice of life.

Betcha didn’t think that was how this chapter
was going to start.
Characters must be three-dimensional. They
can’t be predictable. If you were absolutely
certain what you were going to see a character do
at every moment, it’s kind of boring. If Myrtha in
Giselle, for example, is simply an iron witch, a
cruel, evil, vicious man hater, she really isn’t very
interesting. There must be a moment, somewhere
in the second act of that ballet, where you see
that she was once a woman in love. Then you
feel something for her, then she becomes
fascinating.
Odette, the Swan Queen, is usually played
very one-dimensionally; she’s sad. Yes, there is a
profound sadness in her, and in the story. When
Prince Siegfried meets her, she begins to tell her
story; she points to the lake and says, “There is a
lake of my mother’s tears.”
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Think about that for a moment. A lake of my

mother’s tears. How much would someone have
to cry to ll a lake? Now, think about this: How do
you know the lake is lled with your mother’s
tears?
You saw her crying.
After you’d been cursed, after you’d been
placed under Von Rothbart’s evil spell that
sentenced you to become a swan, you saw your
mother crying at the side of the lake. You ew
down, landed on the lake, and swam up to her.
You were unable to speak, but you hoped she
would understand you.
“Mother, it’s me... I’m alright...”
Yes, it’s quite sad, and quite easy to fall into
the “Oh, woe is me!” trap. That’s why so many
dancers have one expression through their entire
White Swan portrayal. Yes, Odette is depressed
because of the evil spell, but if that is all she’s
about, she becomes a very boring drama queen.
If a character is only one note, they aren’t very
interesting.
Odette knows that if a mortal man loves her
truly, the spell can be broken. There should be
some hope in her that Siegfried is that man. If
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you’ve decided that this is not the rst time the

situation has come about, that it ended badly
before, you can start your interaction with the
prince with a sense of impending doom, but, as
the pas de deux progresses, there must be some
hope that this time it will be different. (Hopefully,
your Siegfried will help with this, doing his best to
convince you of his love).
After the pas, give yourself a reason for
dancing alone. Perhaps you’ve told Siegfried that
you simply need time to think. The variation, like
99% of all variations, starts off stage or, more
theatrically, in another part of the forest. You y
down, and hide in the rushes at the side of the
lake.
Fearful of being seen by the evil sorcerer Von
Rothbart, you cautiously emerge from your hiding
place. Startled by a sound, you retreat to the
protection of the reeds at the water’s edge.
You come out again. The coast seems clear,
and you continue out onto the lake. You hope that
Siegfried’s love will break the spell, making you
think of your life before your enchantment.
The rst diagonal of sissones are your
memories of being a little girl wanting to y like a
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bird. You remember walking through this very

forest, watching sparrows, eagles, and swans
take to the air. How free they looked! Were they
also enchanted creatures, cursed then as you are
now? Maybe they looked at you and wished they
were as free as you were.
Emboldened by apparently being alone, and
not under the oppressive watchful eye of Von
Rothbart, you repeat your ight of fancy farther
out over the lake, doing the sissones from the
other upstage corner. Feeling the freedom of
ying, you begin to really believe that you have a
chance to break Von Rothbart’s hold over you.
You soar through the air! Suddenly, you feel
something! Was it a gust of wind? No,
everything’s all right! I’m going to be free at last!
I’m going to be-
“I will never let you go...”
He’s been watching you all the time, letting
you think you can escape his grasp and, just
when you think the curse will end, you hear his
voice and you plummet to the ground, collapsing
in tears.
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I have seen many great performances of

Swan Lake, including one by the Kirov, where the
corps was so perfect, so precise, that they got a
greater ovation than the principal dancers, but
there’s one thing I’ve never seen in any
performance of the ballet...
I have never seen Odette smile.
You dance with everything or, at least, you
should. Your entire body, your soul, your mind,
and your face. Your body, your muscles, they are
all designed to work in concert, to work together.
(If a teacher tells you to use one speci c muscle
to accomplish a movement, they are denying
basic anatomy). Your face is part of your body, so
it must be part of your dancing. If your Odette
doesn’t smile, she falls into the “boring drama
queen” thing I mentioned. She must have
emotions, plural, not just sadness.
This does not mean she bursts out into a
toothy grin, or laughs- that might be a bit much-
but a smile as she remembers her childhood,
even a sad smile, or one when she thinks she can
break free from the evil spell, would be a fantastic
moment. Such an expression would make the sad
moments more powerful because of the contrast.
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Even though audiences, dancers and

“civilians”, as Meredith Baylis used to call non-
dancers, appreciate beautiful legs and feet, we all
look at upper bodies and faces. Let your facial
expression be part of your artistry.
Let Odette smile, even if only once.

Most dancers enter for the variation from the

upstage wing, walking very high in their pointe
shoes, doing some swan-ish port de bras before
settling into position.
No.
The entrance is Odette ying and landing on
the lake. A run would be inappropriate, but just
walking is kind of dull. Try accelerating the walk,
with just one raising of the arms at the end, then a
uttering of the wings as you gently light upon the
surface of the water.
When I teach variations class, I give my
students leeway for their own artistic and
technical interpretations. I don’t let them get away
with making things easier, but with things like port
de bras in some situations, I let them explore.
One very talented young dancer, Julia Miller
of Ballet California, made a gesture the other day
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at the beginning of the variation that was so lovely

I must mention it here.
As Odette settles into her opening pose, one
arm rises and falls, then the other, to nish
usually with the wrists crossed. This can signify
the sense of being trapped, or her hands being
tied. Julia put one hand in front of her like she
was placing it gently on the head of a small child.
It was so... loving... that it brought a tear to my
eye.
I’m the emotional sort.
The rst moves are usually three very high
developés, signifying ight. I believe the rst
should be very low, the second waist height, and
the third very high. That sequence has more
meaning than just high developés. There should
also be a uttering, a trembling of the lower leg
before it unfolds. It’s not a true developé, it’s a
bird’s wing. Odette is testing, probing, not simply
launching herself into the air. Your face should
re ect this cautious attitude.
After the third developé (for lack of a better
word), you close fth, staying en pointe, then step
quickly to one side closing again to fth, “hiding
under your wing”. One arm is overhead, palm
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outward, the other down in front of you, both arms

forming an S shape, protecting the head and the
body.
Here’s the rst of what I call the
“commercials”, the little stuff in between the main
series of steps. Usually, two movements, a piqué
arabesque or relevé in attitude, with appropriate
swan port de bras, or some such thing, followed
by bourées, or walking to get back to your starting
position. These commercials can be different,
every time, another opportunity for the dancer to
be “in the moment.” The movement can be
elaborate, keeping in mind where you are
emotionally, or as Marianela Nuñez did once, as
simple as stepping into fth en pointe, her arms at
her sides and not moving. A moment of absolute
stillness can be amazingly powerful.
After the rst commercial, you bourée back,
and repeat the opening sequence. A little bolder
perhaps, your head held a little higher, your
caution still there, but a little less. After the repeat,
another commercial, and you bourée or walk, to
make your way to the upstage left corner.
The choice of swans as the subject for a
ballet is, I believe, perfect. Think of a swan gliding
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majestically across the water. It is the epitome of

gracious calm, a serene picture. Below the
surface, however, the feet are working very hard,
moving quickly in marked contrast to the peaceful
image above.
A ballerina doing bourées is exactly the same.
Above the tutu- the surface of the water if you
will- calm, serene, peaceful. Below the tutu, the
legs and feet may be going a mile a minute, a
thousand tiny steps for each owing movement of
the arms and upper body.
A thought just occurred to me: The White
Swan tutu, which of course, must be pure white,
should have very subtle silver and blue highlights
on the platter, to signify the moonlit surface of the
lake.
The rst diagonal of sissones should be
smaller than the second. Remember, if you repeat
a series of steps in a variation, there should be
something different the second time. It’s not like
doing 32 fouettés, when the sheer number is
amazing, when the physical and technical
demands are what are on display. In addition, in a
variation such as this, it has to progress; the rst
set has the same feeling of probing, of cautiously
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exploring, so it’s more about closing the rst

sissone into a perfect fth, then the second one
goes into a small faille that launches you into a
fast couru/tendu/developé arabesque sequence.
The most dif cult part of that and, to me the most
exciting, is the stop in tendu devant after the
couru. Sure you can do a gentle run into a soft
tendu, but where’s the fun in that?
I had a student who had an uncanny ability to
stop. Emily Chapman could run full speed across
the studio and just... stop. No apparent effort, no
vibrating to a stop like the cartoon Road Runner,
she would just... stop. It was magical.
So the couru must be a blur of leg movement,
then the tendu comes out of nowhere, there’s a
split-second of stillness, then you developé into
arabesque, or attitude if you so desire. To repeat
the phrase, you must roll into fth position: You’ve
hit arabesque/attitude with your arms either
stretched out behind you, or in a Vee shape
above, like wings. You continue the arms up into
fth en haut as the leg comes down into fth, the
body circling around to nish croisé with the arms
fth en bas, then you start the next sissone.
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The arms in the sissone can be many things. I

suggest the rst of the sequence be rst
arabesque, the second sissone can be an allongé
with the left arm high or both arms up in a Vee
shape. You can also get really swan-like, and do
a full movement of the arms on the second
sissone, taking them all the way up overhead, the
backs of the hands facing each other, just try not
to ap. On the tendu, try crossing the wrists as
you place the arms in front of you. I think that
gives a fuller port de bras as you rise to
arabesque/attitude. You might also rise to attitude
the rst time, and arabesque the second time
(remember that “variety is the spice of life”
thing?).
Another little “commercial” and it’s off to
upstage right for the second series of sissones.
Now, you can really go for it. It seems that Von
Rothbart is not nearby, watching, and these
sissones can be full splits, at least the second of
each set. Everything in this set can be bigger and
more amboyant.
This might be the place for you to smile.
The nal diagonal of turns are more balances
than attempts at multiple pirouettes. Too many
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dancers think they need to put in technical tricks,

when they are not only unnecessary, they are out
of place for Odette, uncharacteristic. Odile is the
one who shows off, the one who throws in the 32
fouettés, not Odette, so here, go for balances,
balances that are joyous.
I suggest three lame ducks, put the foot down
in fth after the third one, and bourée around to
nish the sequence. If, on the third turn, you stick
it and go around two (or even three!) times, great,
but remember, this is not time for trying for more
turns.
The bourée turns should get wild; you’re
excited that this might work. Your port de bras can
get very free, here, and then you stop dead on
seven, croisé with the right leg front, the arms
gently moving, as if you’ve heard something. The
shift from wild, exuberant turns, to standing stock
still, can get an “Ooo!” from the audience.
A note here, about your traditional Swan Lake
arms. You’re not apping up and down like some
great ightless bird attempting to take to the air;
you’re actually drawing a circle with your elbow.
The palm stays facing the oor, and the circle is
an en dedans circle. It’s kind of dif cult, requiring
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shoulder exibility, but if you practice, it looks

really, really cool.
In an ideal world, you don’t spot the turns, the
lame ducks (funny term for turns in Swan Lake).
Actually lifting the head and looking up (and
smiling?), would be awesome.
The second set of turns nishes in a lunge
back towards the upstage left corner. I truly
believe this was done on the spur of the moment,
by a ballerina who felt she was going to run out of
room, and decided to dash back to where she
started the diagonal.
In any case, by giving yourself more room you
can make the transition from joy to hearing Von
Rothbart’s ominous declaration, in a powerful part
of the stage.
There are strong and weak parts of the stage.
Lighting plays a part, of course, but the strong
parts are center center, downstage center,
downstage quarter, and the downstage corners.
These are strong primarily because the audience
can see you clearly; the upstage corners are
weak because part of the audience cannot see
you.
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Giving yourself more room for the last turns

assures you won’t nish in the wings or, if doing
the full length ballet, you won’t smash into the line
of swans at the side of the stage.
Accepted ending poses are either a step into
B plus with the usual Swan Lake port de bras, or
a relevé in arabesque or attitude and a quick exit
after the nal chaînés.
I suggest something completely different.
After realizing that Von Rothbart has in fact
been watching you all the time, letting you think
you’re going to escape his evil clutches, your joy
is shattered. For the last chaînés, take your arms
up through second to high fth, possibly looking
up, then bring your hands down to your face, to
nish in croisé, tendu derrière, crying. Then, after
the tumultuous applause, a slow exit.
A note on bowing in Swan Lake. After your
White Swan variation in a full production, don’t.
(Maybe the swans at that side of the stage form a
circle around you, and you disappear offstage). In
a competition, nish the variation on stage, then,
of course, bow.
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Chapter Four

Gamzatti, Temple Destruction,

La Bayadère , Act Three

The Temple Destruction variation is the most

emotionally demanding solo in classical ballet. It
requires a superb actress, with a deep
understanding, not only of the story, but of
relationships, love, and madness. As we know
from the chapter on Gamzatti’s Wedding
Variation, (what, you’re reading this rst? Oh, no,
no, go back and read that one now), Nikiya’s
murder was planned and carried out during
Gamzatti’s wedding to Prince Solor; that stopped
the ceremony. The Temple Destruction variation
takes place as Gamzatti and Solor, in a much
more private ceremony attended by only a select
few, try again to get married.
Gamzatti is distraught over the murder. The
level and type of this distress, must be
established before you begin work on this
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variation, which is why you must do the other one

rst. How you do that one, directly in uences how
you do this one.
No matter which characterization you’ve
chosen, Gamzatti is teetering on the edge of
insanity. Whether she has been driven there by
remorse, anger, or fear makes no difference.
Here, the questions are, how did I get here? I’m
not a bad person, how did I agree to murder
Nikiya? Who knows? Surely my father didn’t put
the snake in her basket, himself, so at least one
other person is involved; who? Can they be
trusted? Did my father have them killed to ensure
their silence? What about those killers? While
you’re thinking about these, let me toss this into
the mix: You show up for the second try at the
wedding, dressed like the woman who was
murdered. You know Solor was in love with
Nikiya; now, you’re dressed like her. You’re
worried that he’s still in love with her, so you’re
saying, “I’ll be whomever you want me to be, just
love me!”
I’m sure, right there, Solor is having second
thoughts.
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The variation is not only Gamzatti dancing,

Nikiya is there, too. Not only is Gamzatti wearing
her costume, she dances like Nikiya. Part of the
choreography is in the style of Gamzatti-
classically pure, elegant, light- and part is Nikiya,
sinewy, seductive, muscular.
Classical ballet is based on pulling up, lifting
away from the ground. It is the royalty of dance,
(not to insult any other style; all dance is
awesome). Ballet is not of the earth, it is of the air.
Nikiya’s dancing is more contemporary, more into
the ground; it has more weight.
Gamzatti, as a princess, has probably never
lifted anything heavy in her life; she has servants
to do that. Nikiya, on the other hand, is not only a
temple dancer, she’s also a water bearer. Her
signature port de bras of one arm overhead, the
other in front of her chest, signi es holding a large
jug of water at shoulder height.
A large jug.
Made of clay.
Filled with water.
Do you have any idea just how heavy that is?
Now, imagine picking that up off the ground,
hoisting it to shoulder height, and then walking
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around with it. Nikia is extremely strong, with arm

and shoulder development to prove it, (casting
should be physically appropriate). The variation
shifts from Gamzatti to Nikiya, showing
Gamzatti’s growing confusion; she’s trying to be
both herself and Nikiya, since she’s not sure
whom Solor really loves. She’s also not sure if
she is losing her mind, or she’s being possessed
by the spirit of Nikiya.
Let’s dive right in.
Gamzatti’s father, the Rajah, is seated
downstage left, Solor stands down stage right,
and the High Brahmin, who is presiding over the
ceremony, stands atop the steps to the temple.
upstage center. Gamzatti enters with her
handmaidens, covered in a rich, oor length
cloak, (obviously, this is not necessary for a
variation done in competition).
Her servants take her cloak, revealing not a
wedding garment as expected, but the same
costume Nikiya wore at the rst ceremony, the
one in which she was murdered. Gamzatti’s rst
movement is to lift her arm into half of Nikiya’s
signature port de bras, not the full position, only
half.
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Perhaps the arm oats up of its own volition...

Gamzatti bows rst to her father, then to
Solor. The early movements of the variation are
more reminiscent of an earthy temple dancer,
than a princess of royal blood. (Ballet requires
dancers to move as a unit with their bodies;
twisting movements, with the shoulders going one
way, the hips another, are more choreographic, or
modern/contemporary).
In a series of classical pirouettes facing Solor,
Gamzatti attempts to nd her personality, but the
endings of the turns morph into more of Nikiya’s
sinewy movement. She turns away from Solor,
and bourées towards the High Brahmin, but nds
no help there. Her movements keep shifting from
style to style, from Gamzatti to Nikiya. Every time
she seems to have regained her own identity,
Nikiya reaches out from beyond the grave, to
thwart her efforts.
Gamzatti tries to be more playful, almost
childlike, but Nikiya’s in uence is too strong. Her
dancing becomes even more stylized, more
Nikiya, which she tries to ght with sweeping
classical movements. Unseen by her, Solor has
begun to walk around her, watching her; he’s also
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confused by the seeming dual personality of his

bride to be. Lost in the battle, Gamzatti doesn’t
see Solor until she turns and nds him standing
there, staring at her. Nikiya’s voice sounds in her
head...
“Tell him... confess...”
Gamzatti starts to walk towards him, “Yes, I
will tell him... he’ll understand...”
Just when it seems she will confess
everything to him, she loses her nerve, and whirls
about the stage in a nal, last attempt to free
herself from Nikiya’s in uence. Finishing as far
away from Solor, the Rajah, and the High
Brahmin as possible, she strikes a nal de ant
pose, inging her arm across her chest in a
parody of the lower half of Nikiya’s signature port
de bras... or is it Nikiya nally taking full
possession of Gamzatti...

My mother was a star on Broadway. One of

the acting lessons she gave me, was to write out
what happens between scenes. After the aborted
wedding, interrupted by Nikiya’s murder, Solor
was understandably depressed. He falls into an
opium-induced stupor, and dreams of Nikiya. The
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second act of La Bayadère, is the famous

Kingdom of the Shades, where Solor dances with
the spirit of his dead love. When he comes out of
his opium dream, he learns that the Rajah and
Gamzatti have arranged a second wedding
ceremony. Here’s where my mother’s suggestion
comes in to play. The rst act ends with the death
of Nikiya. Gamzatti is not seen again until the end
of the second act when Solor awakes or, in some
versions, until the beginning of the third act, at the
ceremony. You have to know what happened
between Nikiya’s death and the second wedding;
you really do need to write it all out.
It can be as detailed as you need it to be. It
should say what happened immediately after
Nikiya died, how you reacted, where you went,
what you did, who decided to hold a second
ceremony so close on the rst, when did you
decide to dress like Nikiya, did someone- your
father?- suggest it, or try to talk you out of it?
What about your handmaiden, who stopped
Nikiya’s attack on you? Did you and or your father
consult with the High Brahmin? Did you know that
the High Brahmin was also in love with Nikiya?
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Answer these questions, compare them with

your answers to the questions pertaining to the
wedding variation, and see what the two sets of
answers mean to your characterization. Do they
change it or reinforce it? Don’t be afraid to
explore a new avenue; see where it goes. It might
lead to a revelation about your character.
Marlon Brando, the great actor, was doing a
scene in an acting class where his goal was to
get the other actor to leave. They had rehearsed
dialogue and actions, but when they did the
scene, Brando just shoved the other actor out of
the room, accomplishing his goal but ignoring the
dialogue and everything else. Now, that might
sound all bold and cool, but if your goal is to get
the other actor out using the dialogue, you have
to do that.
As a dancer, the choreography is your
dialogue. You can’t change it wholesale because
you had some kind of inspiration. You may alter
little things, of course, even if you’re dancing with
a partner, but nothing big.
I was the father in Taming of the Shrew, when
we did that ballet at the Joffrey. In the opening
scene, the townspeople have had enough of
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Kate, Beatriz Rodriguez, and are out for blood.

She is fearless and has no problem ghting all of
them at once. It was my job to keep them apart. I
wasn’t worried about Kate, I was afraid for the
townspeople. At one point, I carried Bea over to
the downstage corner, put her down, turned to
plead with the townspeople, then turned back to
Bea. One night I turned back... and Bea was
gone! I panicked, which was perfectly in keeping
with my character. I spun around and saw Bea
about to dive into the crowd of townspeople, sts
ying. Fear lent wings to my feet and, in a display
of speed that was no doubt entertaining for the
audience, I shot across the stage, grabbed Bea
just as she was about to deck some poor dancer,
and half dragged her back to the corner. I’m sure
it was exciting to watch, but it was not as much
fun as it sounds- I really was convinced Bea was
going to hit somebody- so, while I want you to be
in the moment, let the story unfold, etc., please
don’t get carried away.
Back to the variation.
The rst movement, the raising of the right
arm into the upper half of Nikiya’s signature port
de bras, must show the difference between how
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Gamzatti would lift her arm, and how Nikiya

would. Gamzatti’s port de bras should be light,
her arms oat up weightless. The more athletic
Nikiya moves her arms as if against heavy
resistance; there must be noticeable muscular
effort to her movement.
With the palm upward, you must feel as if a
great weight is pressing down on you. Since your
arms are completely bare, depending on the
costume, we must see the muscles working.
From the height of the port de bras, Gamzatti
piqués into a penché as she bows to her father.
Her arm becomes light and airy as she becomes
a princess, but the lifted leg, instead of being
straight as in a classical penché, is slightly bent...
it’s Nikiya, again.
Even though you go from dancing like
Gamzatti to dancing like Nikiya, and back again,
the whole variation should have a sinewy control.
Roll down from pointe, plié with great strength,
everything should show how strong you are.
A few words about the music.
The variation’s music is among the most
beautiful ever written for ballet. It is sad, mournful,
yearning and, I feel, absolutely perfect for this
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part of the story. It harkens back to Nikiya’s

variation with its somber notes, and is completely
different from Gamzatti’s wedding variation, which
is fairly happy by comparison. As with every
variation, you should listen to the music hundreds
of times, especially an orchestral version. Solo
piano is ne, but with a full orchestra you can
listen to different instruments; each has its own
feel, and can make you think differently about the
variation.
Gamzatti bows to her father, then steps away
with a combination of light pointe work and
Nikiya’s port de bras. This carries her over to bow
to Solor the same way she bowed to her father.
As with every piqué, you must give yourself a
deep plié as preparation, so that you feel, not like
you’re climbing up to pointe, but as if you’re
stepping down onto it. Your chest must be kept
high and, in this instance where you’re piqué-ing
into arabesque, your upper body stays lifted. You
don’t drop your chest, then lift it, you’re already
there.
Crossing the stage with a twisting developé,
the lifted leg must be perfectly classical,
beautifully “turning” out, (not “turned”, something
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done, but “turning”, an activity), while the upper

body twists with supple, snake-like port de bras;
Gamzatti from the waist down, Nikiya from the
waist up.
The en dedans pirouettes start out perfectly
classical. They close in fth, then Nikiya “takes
over”, and the upper body and port de bras
become liquid as the legs bourée. It’s nice to do
multiple pirouettes, of course, but it’s just as
powerful to do two solid ones that look as if you
could do more, but Nikiya pulls you out of them.
Especially if you’re known to be a turner, it really
makes the audience sit up and take notice if you
don’t go for your usual pyrotechnics, and instead
go for the story.
There was a young dancer who was an
astounding turner, simply phenomenal, who did a
fascinating contemporary solo that did not have a
single turn anywhere in it. It was riveting to watch
her because she didn’t simply rely on her
uncanny turning ability; it was almost as if she
was teasing the audience, making them think she
was going to bust out the pirouettes, but never
actually doing it.
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Technique is necessary, of course- it is the

21st century- you must turn, jump, your legs must
be high, but never at the expense of purity of line,
or the story.
The sequence of developé/en dedans
pirouette, is repeated. As with any repetition,
something different, something more should be
done. Here, more uidity in the upper body and
arms, and you should feel a little more fear as
Nikiya’s spirit exerts more and more control.
Whether or not Gamzatti is actually being
possessed by the spirit of Nikiya is not the issue.
She believes she is, and this belief is just as
powerful as if it were an actual possession. That
is the essence of acting: Belief. You must believe
in the truth of your situation, and you will make
the audience believe.
The next sequence of en dehors pirouettes is
a perfect acting opportunity, (well, all dancing is),
with the changes of direction before the
preparation. It’s also a perfect opportunity for a
major pet peeve of mine.
When you are spotting the corner on a
pirouette, spot the corner! So many dancers get
into the habit, in class, of looking in the mirror on
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their last pirouette, killing any chance of more

turns. Continue spotting the corner, and you just
may get another pirouette or two.
Here, in the variation, in addition to the
mistake of looking in the mirror or at the
audience, is the mistake of looking down right
away to follow the right hand as it goes into the
Nikiya port de bras. The port de bras must
happen rst, then the head follows, as you close
to fth and soutenou. This accomplishes two
things: First, it allows you to continue spotting. If
you continue to turn, while you’re doing at least
the beginning of the port de bras, it’s very
exciting. Second, it shows Gamzatti ghting to
hold onto her identity- the classical pirouette- as
Nikiya tries to pull her out of it with the port de
bras and the plié in fth. Gamzatti’s pirouettes are
a lift, a rise, she is attempting to escape, to rise
above what has happened, while Nikiya is
dragging her back down to reality, to the murder.
Acting wise, if you are really feeling the fear that
you are losing control, your facial expression will
re ect that, naturally. The second time through
the sequence, you ght against the plié by
reaching up, but Nikiya forces you into her port de
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bras, which pulls you around into the bourées that

carry you upstage towards the temple, and the
High Brahmin. The hips and legs should lead the
body in the bourées, and let’s talk about those for
a moment.
Travelling bourées should not look like a
toddler learning to walk, where they lean forward,
and hope their legs and feet follow. Do. Not.
Lean. I know, many teachers tell you to lean and
then start your bourées. This is wrong. One, it
gives it away; everybody in the audience knows
exactly what you did, you leaned and then your
feet moved. Two, you can trip and fall. Start your
bourées with your back foot (if you’re starting in a
standing fth, and travelling to the side), or piqué
up to your front foot with a good push from your
plié, and take a thousand little steps.
Here, your hips must lead the bourées, with
your body slightly behind, because it’s Nikiya
taking control of you. The arms are very sinewy,
and there’s a note in the music where the arms
pulse before you turn to face the audience.
The plié en pointe must be very controlled;
you’re giving into Nikiya, and the port de bras
says, “I don’t know who I am anymore! I just want
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him to love me!” The little spring pointe work

coming up, should be light and playful. Gamzatti
is ghting against Nikiya’s powerful emotions by
retreating into the innocence of childhood, but it
doesn’t work. The port de bras and the next
series of steps shows just how much Nikiya has
taken control: No matter what classical steps
Gamzatti tries, Nikiya changes them.
Be careful not to get too muscular with your
arms in the Gamzatti steps; they could be
stronger than at the beginning, but you have not
completely surrendered. On all the Nikiya port de
bras, let the body start the movement, the arms
are an echo. The simplest way to do that is to
start every port de bras with an inhale. You can
do that, and should, even with classical port de
bras. You should never just move your arms
unless it’s speci cally choreographed that way.
Which brings me to another pet peeve, (I
know, I have a lot of those). Port de bras refers to
movement of the arms. I think that omits a very
important part of dancing: Your head. I think the
term should be port de bras et tête, movement of
the arms and head. Never move your arms
without a concomitant movement of the head.
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When I was at SAB, the directors of Joffrey II,

the Joffrey Ballet’s second company, Sally Bliss
and Maria Grandy, watched class. Long story
short, they asked me to join Joffrey II. After a few
weeks in J II, and I was pretty sure I wouldn’t get
red, I asked Sally and Maria, “There were other
guys at SAB who are better than I am, why did
you hire me?” Their answer? “Your head was
always somewhere.”
Remember, dance with everything.
For the change in port de bras before the
arabesque turn, feel resistance to your elbows
and the heels of your hands, and let that help the
twist of the body. It’s as if your hands are being
held by a Thera band, and you’re pulling against
that. You can really indulge yourself there. You
can look down, up, to the side, you can lose
yourself in that whole section, and get carried
away so that the change when you catch sight of
Solor is really abrupt, like you’ve been caught.
You soutenou as if you’re going into another
step, then you see Solor. He had been in the
downstage right corner, but now he appears to
your left. When you see him, you can simply stop
dead, and be perfectly still for a moment, or do a
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slight double take, (without making it comedic). In

a full production, with an actual Solor standing
there, your timing would be different than when
you’re on stage alone.
My Godmother, Alexandra Danilova, was a
very famous ballerina. She told me that when you
look at someone on stage, or when you’re doing
some sort of pantomime with another character,
you have to be aware of where the audience is
looking. Depending on how far away from you the
other person is, you have to wait for the audience
members to turn their heads to look at that
person, then turn back to you. If you continue
what you’re doing before they get a chance to
return their gaze to you, they’ll miss something.
It’s like a very slow tennis match.
On stage, alone, you don’t have to wait a long
time for the audience to look at Solor, then back
to you; a slight pause is suf cient, but necessary.
If you have looked over at where he would be,
strongly, some audience members will actually
look over there. (You can use that little trick to
“disappear”... I’ll talk about that, later... maybe...).
The walk towards him should start slow, then
speed up going into a little turn before you start
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the nal manége. You’re in relevé with your arms

in fth en haut as you nish the soutenou. As you
walk towards Solor, your arms relax, becoming
almost natural, like you’ve forgotten about them
as you try to decide whether or not you’re going
to confess all to your ancée. The little turn before
the nal manége is your decision to ght Nikiya
one last time. The en dedans turn into arabesque
is you throwing the spirit of the dead temple
dancer off. The piqués with the little ick port de
bras are the last little bit of Nikiya being tossed
away before the nal classical chaînés into the
nishing pose, which must be absolutely solid,
like a nail being driven ush into wood. (Have you
triumphantly won your battle with the spirit of
Nikiya, or did she let you only think you did, nally
taking full possession by wrapping her arm
around you?).
Depending on how fast or slow you want the
manége to be- I suggest fast- the piqué turns can
be done going through the music. Note that you
can go through the music either fast, or slow. You
might even decide to do each set of piqués
differently, one, then two, then three, for example.
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There are many variations that end on a

balance. This one doesn’t, so it’s easier to “stick
it”. Not easy, but easier than trying to hit a
balance en pointe.
I saw this one young lady at the YAGP doing
a variation that nished with a double lame duck
to fourth. When she put her foot down behind her,
she was so off-balance that I, and almost
everyone watching, was sure she couldn’t hold
the position. I’m not a betting man, but I would’ve
put money on her having to take a step.
I would’ve lost that bet.
She said to herself, (I assume), “I am not
going to move”. She probably used every muscle
in her body, but she pulled herself back onto her
legs, and held her nal pose. She was simply
determined to hold that position.
At the end of the Temple Destruction variation
you must nish as if you are set in stone. Tell
yourself that there is no possibility whatsoever
that you are going to move. Demand that of
yourself and you’ll be amazed at the results. From
a technical standpoint, be careful not to throw
yourself into the nal pose. Plié on your left leg
coming out of the chaînés, stop your rotational
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momentum as you do a little pas de cheval with

your right foot, step out onto your right leg, then
simultaneously throw your left arm around
yourself as you put your left foot behind you. Of
course, all this has to happen very quickly, to say
the least, so you have to practice it as much as
anything else in the variation.
Hold that nal position, standing still as a
statue. Your bow should be very simple, maybe
just a step to one side, and a small curtsey.
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Chapter Five
Giselle, Act One

It’s very easy for dancers to get carried away

by the technical demands of Giselle‘s rst act
variation. I’ve seen some try to do the rst penché
staying en pointe and going for a full split.
No.
Simply, no.
One, you’re in a romantic tutu, which means
high legs give you a face full of tulle. Two, where
do you go from a 6 o’clock penché? If you want to
do that at the start of a variation, do Diana and
Actaeon, it’s designed for it.
Anyway, on to artistry.
In some versions of the full length ballet,
Giselle is dancing for the visiting royalty. In
others, she’s dancing for Albrecht. We’ll go with
the latter, as it allows for more character work.
Albrecht is downstage left. Giselle enters,
energetically, from stage right, glancing back
towards her friends. She doesn’t notice Albrecht
until she crosses center stage, then she sees
him, and pulls up short. She continues walking
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slowly, shyly, until she gets nearer, then hurries to

the upstage left quarter, to start the variation.
The entrance is very important. Many
variations have you simply walking on, taking a
pose, and starting. This entrance gives you an
opportunity to set the scene, to create the ballet,
and populate the stage with the other characters.
In general, you are never entering the stage.
You are coming from another part of whatever
world in which the ballet is set. You’re entering the
ballroom, you’re coming onto the deck of the
pirate ship, you’re wandering over from another
part of the forest, you’re continuing your life. This
entrance is perfect for that. The music is happy,
joyous, then it’s quiet; that’s your character, right
there.
Your friends have encouraged you to dance
for Albrecht. You’re all excited, but you get
nervous the closer you get to him, so you move
away. Your friends motion for you to go ahead,
“Dance for him!” You take a deep breath... and
dance.
The rst piqué arabesque is tentative, and
simple. “I want to dance well for him, but, Oh!
What if I make a mistake?”, so you go from a big
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movement, to a smaller one. That seems to work,

so you try again. More success. You get
emboldened by this, and go towards Albrecht.
As you get closer to him, though, you get
nervous again. You pull up short, and cast your
eyes down. The next few movements start with
steps away, but they turn to bring you back to
him. Your steps become more and more
elaborate, bolder, almost showing off, but still with
a demure, shy attitude. A series of dif cult hops-
your best trick- to impress him seems to leave
him almost bored, then he smiles at you! You run
towards him, and then y around the little village
square in a urry of joyous turns, before nishing
with a simple bow.
This variation must progress, both emotionally
as well as technically, which is why starting with a
6 o’clock penché doesn’t make any sense, in any
way. Let’s analyze the entrance. The music is
perfect for dashing on stage, glancing back at
your friends, then seeing Albrecht, and stopping
as you get lost in his eyes.
You run out of the downstage right wing,
smiling, looking out towards the audience. You
can pause, as you look back to your friends, just
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about center stage, then accelerate as you turn to

continue. You see Albrecht, and you stop. You
want to avoid a comedic stop; I think I already
made the cartoon Road Runner comparison.
When running on stage, if you’re going in a
straight line or a really wide arc, you can take big
steps. If you’re traveling in a tight circle, or you’re
about to stop, you must take very small steps.
There are two main reasons for taking small steps
when making a small circle or turn: Big steps in a
tight turn are uneven. You tend to gallop instead
of run. Big steps also put too much sideways
pressure on your feet, and it is very easy to slip.
On the entrance, you come out of the wings
running, you take small steps to stop center
stage, as you turn to look back at your friends,
perhaps theatrically raising your hand to your
chest, then you turn to downstage left, take one
or two steps, see Albrecht, and pause,
mesmerized by the handsome man you are in
love with. You take a step towards him, another,
then you dash upstage, glancing across at your
friends who encourage you. (In a full length, with
several friends, some encourage you, some roll
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their eyes, maybe one throws up her hands and

wanders off into the wings).
You stop at the left upstage quarter, start to
turn your head to look at Albrecht, stop yourself,
take a deep breath, (really do that, take a deep
breath, and let the audience see that real
moment), and start.
The rst glissade is very small, and so is the
plié for the piqué. Don’t try to hold the balance on
this arabesque; this one is tentative like you’re
stepping on an eggshell. The emphasis should be
on rolling down through the pointe shoe. Your
raised leg should only be at ninety degrees for the
piqué. It can go a little higher as you roll down
and plié. The port de bras is really up to you. It
can be as simple as keeping the arms in rst
arabesque, or it can be more elaborate, but
whatever it is, don’t get amboyant. As I said
before, the variation has to progress.
The ballotté to tendu is also small, and the
petit battement is the uttering of your heart. It
can be two beats, or merely the trembling of the
lower leg. The renversé is like everything else at
the beginning of the variation, small, forty ve
degrees. Remember, you’re in a romantic tutu, so
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high legs are not merely unnecessary, they are

distracting, here, because of the way the costume
moves.
Some versions now have you repeating this
opening sequence to the other side, but I think it
makes more sense to do the same side again.
That way you can gauge exactly how much more
you can do with each movement. A deeper plié. A
slightly longer balance. More of a jump on the
ballotté. Musically, these movements are all done
on the end of the note.
One of the main problems I see in many
variations, especially those done in competition,
is the tendency to show off. We discussed how
different characters dance differently, or should,
but we should also talk about different ways to
show off. Of course you should show how strong
you are, how well placed, how exible, how well
you turn, but if that’s all you want, pick a variation
that’s all technique and no story like Grande Pas
Classique or Third Odalisque. (The latter does
have a story, but you can get away with just being
haughty). There are, however, other ways to
show off.
You could show off by being an artist.
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Caroline Moulios, a student of a dear friend,

Liz Molak, a fellow Joffrey dancer, once did the
Mad Scene from Giselle at the YAGP. There was
pretty much no technical stuff in it. She showed
off her acting ability, and was so amazing, that
they made a special award just for her.
There are several reasons for doing a
competition. It might be your rst opportunity to
do a variation on stage. It might be a requirement
for whatever studio at which you study. I like to
think of competitions as stepping stones in your
career. There are opportunities to be seen by
people who could give you a scholarship to a
prestigious school, or even a job in a company.
Competitions are a win-win situation as far as I’m
concerned. If you do well, great, if you don’t,
hopefully your work leading up to the competition
has made you a better dancer.
I had one student who didn’t dance
particularly well at the YAGP, but Larissa Saveliev
saw great potential in her, and gave her a partial
scholarship to the Bolshoi.
Artistry is what’s important. If you hit those
ve pirouettes, or stick that amazing balance,
you’ve probably got a shot at placing well or even
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winning, but I look at it long term. If all you want

from ballet is to win a competition, that’s perfectly
ne, more power to you. If you want a career
however, ballet has to be more than just turns and
balances. It has to be about art, about
communication. It has to be about telling a story.
Back to Giselle.
After the opening sequence, you’re feeling
good about your dancing (as the character), and
you head over to Albrecht. I think a few quick
steps, then a piqué arabesque with a short
balance, not for technique, but to show hesitation,
would be good here. You look at him, decide to go
closer, then slow down, and get shy, again,
stopping in front of him, either in B plus, or maybe
even a casual, natural pose.
For the next set of turns, which start in one
direction and nish in another, it’s always a good
idea to change your spot at the end of the turn,
not at the beginning. If you change your spot rst,
what you’re actually doing is starting your turn by
spotting badly. You have to look around for your
new spot, then go into your regular spotting
rhythm. Why? Do your turns properly rst, then
change at the end, in this instance, as you plié.
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As with 99% of turns, you plié in your turning

position rst, before you move out of that position.
This happens so quickly, that it seems
simultaneous, but it is in fact a de nite sequence
of events. In this case, you can hold the plié out
of the attitude turn a little longer than usual before
the ballonné, which should be small- a shy step to
balance out the bigger attitude position- and then
you step towards Albrecht before repeating the
sequence.
Since the attitude turns are both to the same
side, the only thing you need to concern yourself
with is consistency. You could do a single turn
rst- actually just a half- and a double- one and a
half- the second time, but you should really do
doubles both times.
Keeping in mind the progressive nature of the
variation, the rst ballonné can be small, and the
piqué pas de bourées after, also small. You could
do the version that has a coupé into a developé to
arabesque, but I feel a pas de boureés to fth plié
can look a little more demure, and more
appropriate.
Here comes the infamous en dedans/en
dehors turn section. Since Giselle was originally
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choreographed in 1841, when pointe work was in

its infancy, and spotting hadn’t even been
invented yet, one shudders to think what the
sequence must have looked like. It is much more
plausible that this, and the hops en pointe coming
up, was added much later.
Unless you are absolutely certain of your
ability to do equal technique to both sides, do not
even attempt it. I don’t think it’s necessary to tell
the story, and I actually think it detracts from it. If
one side is noticeably better- or worse- it re ects
badly on your whole team. Of course you should
challenge yourself but you must also put your
best foot forward, so to speak.
Do the rst turns, the ones to the right, away
from Albrecht, to the best of your ability. Start to
go to the left, but when you make eye contact
with Albrecht, you forget what you’re doing, and
don’t do the turn.
Regaining your composure, you make your
way to upstage left quarter. Don’t start too far in
the corner, for three reasons: Part of the audience
can’t see you, you don’t want to have to travel a
great distance on the hops, and you need to nish
the hops far enough to stage right to give you
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room for a run into the nal manège. We’ll get to

that in a moment.
Some dancers just do the hops en pointe
continually, 30 of them, or so, with a little balance
at the end. This misses both an acting opportunity
and a chance to show off, (yes, you get to do that,
judiciously).
You do the rst six hops with the little
ballottés, looking off to the right, or maybe down
at your foot. Then you continue the hops, but
bring your right leg around in a low attitude, and
you look over at Albrecht for the next six counts.
You see that he’s not looking at you.
You’re a little disappointed at this, so you do
the next six hops a little more energetically, bring
your leg around a little higher this time, and look
over.
He’s talking to a friend.
This makes you sad, but you press on, doing
the next six hops with less energy, thinking, “I
thought I was dancing so well!” You bring your leg
around a little lower, you look at him and he’s
looking right at you and smiling!
You’re overjoyed! You’re so happy, you
developé your right leg towards him, en pointe,
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your hands clasped in front of your chest, the

developé pulls you forward, and you dash across
the stage just in time to go right into the nal
manège! Don’t stop in tendu, go into the piqués
right out of your run. Do your best to just explode
into the manège.
Your port de bras during the hops en pointe
should be one of those things you explore in
rehearsals. Usually, you pick up your skirt, maybe
with one hand, maybe with both. You should do it
many ways, as this is one of those “in the
moment” times. If you are truly living in the story,
whatever you do will be born of the moment and
will be very real.
For the manège, I suggest holding the skirt
with your left hand assuming you were doing
these turns to the right. This gives a nice oaty
quality to the turns which should be fast but not
frantic. Fast piqué turns can be done with the foot
at the ankle and, since you’re in a romantic tutu/
peasant skirt, that will look great here. Do either
12 or 14 piqué turns- this works best, musically-
then some quick chaînés, and a single lame duck
to the knee. Make sure there’s a little delay or
pause in your music before the very last note, so
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you can nish gently. This isn’t a stab or stick it

ending.
If you wish, you may take your arms through
high fth on the lame duck, and nished with your
hands on your chest, or you might continue to
hold your skirt with your left hand and take only
one arm up nishing with the right hand held at
the chest, or come up with your own port de bras.
In the full length, one of the things that
happens pantomime-wise, is Giselle’s mother
warning her about her heart condition, which
people forget. She says, “You know you shouldn’t
dance! Remember your heart!”, and like a typical
indestructible teenager, she says, “Oh, Mom!
Don’t worry, I’m ne!”
At the end of the variation, in the full length,
you could actually add gripping your chest as if
you are having a heart attack. Now, in competition
I wouldn’t do that; the audience might think you’re
actually having a heart attack, because a lot of
them don’t know the story, so just nish nicely.
Your bow, here, should be demure, a simple
curtsey. You should always bow in character.
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Chapter Six
Princess Florine, Sleeping Beauty,
Act Three

Okay, after all those emotionally charged

variations, let’s take a look at something less
mentally demanding, and more lighthearted;
Bluebird.
First off, let’s clear up a misconception. Some
people think the female in the Bluebird pas de
deux is a bird.
No.
Sure, there are different versions of Sleeping
Beauty, including one with vampires, but in the
traditional ones, and the version we’ll be
discussing, the female is Princess Florine,
Aurora‘s cousin. She is not a bird, she is a young
lady who has become entranced, enchanted by a
bird, a bluebird. Her variation is her imitation of
the bird’s movements as she follows his ight.
That’s pretty much it, as far as emotional
content and story is concerned, which is why this
variation is perfect for young dancers, especially
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those who are begging to do a solo, but aren’t en

pointe yet.
There are a number of variations that are
simply not appropriate for younger dancers, either
for emotional content or technical demands. If
you’re nine years old, the only thing I want to hear
is, “Oh, she’s adorable!” Bluebird affords a young
dancer that opportunity, and is a great second
variation for a more mature dancer, or for
someone coming back from an injury or illness.
It’s what I call a “soloist’s” variation. It may be
done by a principal dancer in a company, but is
usually given to a soloist, or an up-and-coming
corps member.
Giselle, Gamzatti, Odette, all those are
principal dancer variations. Lilac Fairy would also
be a principal dancer variation, while the other
fairies would usually be soloists or corps.
The entrance is a simple walk with a little
energy, to center center. Right away you can give
the impression that you’re looking for the bluebird.
On the introductory music, you do a little port de
bras mimicking a bird’s wings, then you launch
into the opening sequence.
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The developé on these rst piqués should be

high and pure. Another in my seemingly endless
number of pet peeves, is lifting the hip to get a
high leg.
In a word, don’t.
Purity of line will never go out of style and a
135° developé, with a perfectly placed upper
body, will always look beautiful. You want to be
more beautiful, you say? In this instance, you
could do the developé quickly, and hold the
balance, or you could make your port de bras
prettier, or you could strive for a perfectly turned
out leg, and exquisitely pointed foot.
You know... Ballet!
So, you have a very high developé ecarté,
then a fondu into bourées. I love bourées. I think
they are so beautiful, and can mean so many
things! What I am amazed at, (is this another pet
peeve, Jerry?), is there are so many opportunities
for traveling, I mean really traveling, ying across
the stage with bourées, that many ballerinas
simply ignore! Here’s a perfect place to put
bourées in that really move.
You’ve got this piqué developé that doesn’t go
anywhere but up, so now travel with your
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bourées! Variety! Otherwise, the bourées can look

okay, but are just a placeholder step, while we
wait for another high developé. In order to travel
on the boureés, you must give yourself a deep
plié as you fondu out of the developé to get a
good start. Oh, I think we’re heading for another
pet peeve.
This happens more with parallel bourées or
pas de couru, if you will. I cringe when I see
dancers leap up onto pointe, take a few steps and
die like Pheidippides entering Athens. Okay,
maybe not that badly. Bourées should be able to
be done continuously, and at great speed. This
doesn’t mean taking big steps en pointe; that’s
the stuff of comedic ballet parody solos.
For pas de couru, (terminology varies), most
dancers try to do them with straight legs. Unless
speci cally requested, don’t do that, you won’t go
anywhere. The movement is exactly the same as
simple everyday walking. You bend one knee,
extend your leg in front of you, place your foot on
the oor, pull your body forward- walking is a back
of the leg exercise- then repeat with the other leg.
It’s the same en pointe, only much smaller. There
should be a ripple in the legs and, since it’s
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usually done going directly across the stage, or

on a diagonal, the effect can be quite beautiful. It
can also be done for an extended period of time
which is necessary, for example, in Third Shade
from La Bayadère.
The bourées here are in fth position, so le
the previous description away for future
reference. Keep in mind, however, the traveling
part. After the developé, scoot across the stage.
The quicker you can get into fth, and the tinier
the steps en pointe, and the boureés will be quite
exciting. But, Jerry, how do I really travel the
boureés?
Practice. There really are no tricks. You can’t
lean, you can’t take big steps, you just have to
practice. Tiny, quick steps, and a lot of them.
You repeat the sequence, then go into a
piqué fouetté into arabesque. While the
developés were on the diagonal, the arabesque
should be at across the stage to present the
longest line. (The arabesque can also be a long
attitude in the Russian style).
The port de bras here shows you listening for
the bluebird, so use the downstage hand placed
theatrically at the ear, while you follow the ight of
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the bird across the stage with your gaze. With the
bourées you should travel; with the transition
following the fouetté arabesque, you shouldn’t.
It’s far too easy to step with a less than perfectly
turned out foot, so do a quick coupé instead.
This transition is two emboités, the second
one doing a little developé, so you can piqué onto
a straight leg for the second piqué fouetté.
You must always be aware of your directions
and where you are on the stage. If you’re facing
the side of the stage, unless you are incredibly
turned out, you will look turned in when you walk.
Coming out of the fouetté, keep it tight and
underneath you for the transition.
In keeping with the theme of variety, while the
arabesque should be high the emboités should be
tiny, just like a bird’s steps on the ground.
The rst three sequences are in pairs; the
developés, the fouettés and the developés again.
Then, you’ve got two or three very low piqué
arabesques, and a pas de couru to left quarter.
The port de bras on the piqués can be what I call
“playing in the water”. I tell my students to
practice this by kneeling in front of a full bathtub
then, keeping your ngers pointing down, wave
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your hands back and forth in the water. Your

family may think you’ve lost your mind, or they
may just say, “Oh, she’s doing one of those Jerry
exercises, again.”
The port de bras on the couru starts with the
hands held in front of the mouth to start, then you
push forward and out. That’s the bluebird singing
or twittering, or whatever it is that bluebirds do.
You nish the couru in fth, plié, croisé. Keep
yourself a little more open to the audience than a
typical 45° croisé, otherwise part of the audience
gets a complete side view.
This sequence pretty much always starts with
two échappés, with various port de bras. Those
could be wrists crossed in front of you, or the
ngers of the left hand at the shoulder, elbow to
the side, right arm in second, with a nice bend of
the body to the right looking down at the hand, all
sorts of things.
The next moves can be done in a number of
ways; easier for the less accomplished, or
younger dancers. Of course, here we’ll be going
for the hard version. You quickly relevé on the left
leg, the right leg in attitude front. Hop en pointe,
bringing the right leg to retiré, then straighten the
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left leg, while doing developé with the right leg

into arabesque. (Yes, this might all be easier with
Labanotation, but I never learned that).
The simplest port de bras for this sequence is
rst, fth en haut, then a high allongé- a V shape-
with the leg in arabesque.
Then, you have an exceptionally musical
piece of choreography that really should not be
changed no matter what you do before it; the
quick pas de bourées into fth. It so perfectly ts
the music, and gives such an impression of
uttering birds’ wings, that every dancer should
do it regardless of age or ability. It is, after all, just
a simple pas de bourées. Now, most of the time
the sequence is simply done three times exactly
the same way. Why not do the rst and third times
one way, and the middle one differently? Or you
could do all three differently. I would suggest the
échappés and the pas de boureés remain the
same, but change the port de bras, change the
hops en pointe, etc.
For example, let’s say you do the rst time the
way I described. For the second, say you do the
right hand to the ear, listening for the bluebird, left
hand out in second for the échappé, eyes front,
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then you do what I call “Disney Princess” arms for

the second échappé, (arms to the side, elbows
and palms down, ngers slightly lifted, looking to
the side), single pirouette, or double, from fth,
arms up, opening into arabesque en pointe, then
the pas de bourées.
For the third set, you can repeat the rst one
as I said, or you can play with it, and come up
with something completely different. Be creative!
Now, how about ve little steps back en
pointe, parallel, while you look around for the
bird? These little steps emulate those of a bird
walking (they don’t always y, you know). The
port de bras can be more of the playing in water
swaying, or a little Disney Princess, or almost
Silent Film theatrical gestures culminating in a
clasping of the hands, as you see the bird, which
can launch you into a urry of chaînés towards
stage right. (Watch old Silent Films. The acting
was way over the top, yes, but classical ballet and
Silent Film have major common ground: No
talking).
Coming out of the chaînés, you have, as
always options. You could do a simple lame duck
(double, of course), landing in fourth, then turn
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upstage, a little sauté in arabesque, and run to

the corner for your nal diagonal. You could also
nish the lame duck in arabesque, then fouetté to
en avant before heading upstage, again looking
for the bird. It would be lovely if you could keep
your eyes on the bird as you turn upstage; that’s
what makes you go that way.
Instead of going right into the chaînés from
the steps back en pointe after the échappé
section, you could do a few parallel bourées back,
then fewer chaînés. You could also add a few of
those before you head for the upstage corner. My
suggestion is, that whatever you decide, get to
the upstage corner with enough time to take a
quick breath. As I’ve said in other places (if I
haven’t, I should have), you don’t want to be late,
and risk stumbling or slipping before the nal
diagonal.
We’re getting close to another of my oh, so
infrequent, (hee hee), pet peeves. It’ll be a
surprise, but rst...
This diagonal really should not just be
ordinary piqué turns. If those are your thing, do
Giselle rst act, or any one of a number variations
with lots of piqués. Here, you’ve got a nice
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different series of turns which, done properly, can

be quite spectacular, and follow the theme of
following the bluebird.
These aren’t really consecutive turns. They’re
more of a pose, and a quick ip, with the left arm
reaching toward the down stage corner, starting
low, about 45°, then rising with each turn- six of
those- and out of the last turn, a piqué arabesque
with both arms in a high V shape.
Okay, the turns.
You chaissé towards the downstage right
corner with your right leg, turning only halfway,
then relevé with your left arm reaching forward on
the diagonal at 45°, (both arms are in second
allongé, and start at the same height), the left leg
can go to coupé or retiré, your choice. These
should be very sharp, with the relevé held for a
split second, showing your back and pro le to the
audience, before ipping around, (coupé with the
left foot, then turn to start the next chaissé).
The left arm rises with each turn, the right
stays at 45°, although you can bring both through
rst position for the actual turn.
I think one of the most dif cult technical
movements of the variation, is the nal piqué
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arabesque. You’ve done all these sharp turns,

now you have to stop dead, do a strong plié and
piqué in a straight line, with your weight properly
forward, so you can roll over the top of your foot
to land on the knee without having to replace the
right foot.
There are pretty much three places you can
be when you do any piqué, (no, don’t try to be
clever, just go with it): On balance, forward, or
back. If you’re on balance that’s usually good; if
you’re back that’s usually bad; if you’re forward, it
can be either, but in this case, it’s where you want
to be. It looks better and it’s actually safer here to
be forward enough to continue the movement,
stepping forward onto the left foot and rolling
over- not in an injury sense- onto your right
instep. The other way to get to the nishing pose
on the knee can be a little dicey. You either have
to step forward quickly, then slide the right foot
back, or you have to do a little hop on the right
foot. Neither is as smooth as rolling forward. The
nal port de bras has the right hand cupping the
ear listening to the bluebird, and the left arm out.
J e r r y, w h e r e i s t h a t p e t p e e v e y o u
mentioned? It’s right here.
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Finish on the music.

I’ve seen so many dancers nish the variation
with the piqué arabesque, then go to the knee in
silence.
I detest that.
As I’ve mentioned elsewhere, I’m not a big
fan of variations that end on a balance, but there
are ones that are choreographed that way; this
one isn’t. The ones that are, don’t have
choreographed steps after the balance. Some,
like Kitri’s rst act, the one with all the turns from
fth, has her dash offstage right out of the
balance. Bluebird has a de nite stylized
movement, the pose on the knee after the piqué
arabesque. I know that I’ve said you don’t have to
do exactly what I say in this book. However, if you
look like, 1. you nished after the music or, 2. you
messed up and lost count of how many turns you
did at the end of a variation, you’ve done it wrong.
6 turns, piqué on 7, nish on 8.
Finish on the music.
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Chapter Seven
Diana, Diana and Actaeon,
La Esmeralda

Diana, Goddess of the Hunt, is the Roman

version of Artemis (which is such a beautiful
name. Diana is, too!). The name Actaeon is from
the original Greek myth. Blame Agrippina
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Vaganova for blending the two in a 1935

production of La Esmeralda. The rst production
of the pas was in 1886, with an even earlier
version in 1868, apparently. Vaganova’s version is
the one we are familiar with, but as we all know,
“original choreography” is a very vague term. I
really don’t think anyone was doing six o’clock
penchés en pointe in 1935, much less 1868.
There are many variations that have very
speci c stories associated with them, like White
Swan. Then there are variations that have no
stories at all, like Grand Pas Classique. Then
there are variations that are part of very speci c
stories, but can’t really tell those stories, like
Diana and Actaeon.
In the ancient myth, Actaeon is out hunting
with some friends. He gets separated from the
hunting party, and accidentally happens upon the
goddess Diana who is bathing in a small pond. It
is forbidden to look upon the naked goddess. She
is furious, changes Actaeon into a stag, a male
deer. He runs off and encounters his friends who,
thinking he’s just a stag, kill him.
You can’t really tell that story in the variation,
but you still have to tell a story. (Oh, by the way, if
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you want a really nice prop bow for this variation,

I can make you a fantastic golden, blingy one, like
the one Nadia Brad eld is holding in the photo,
for about 20 bucks).
The choreography for this variation gives the
dancer- I know, I keep shifting from saying “the
dancer” to “you” and back- the opportunity to both
tell a story and show off some technique. What
story should I tell, you ask? My answer is, not so
much a typical one, but more of a day in the life of
the goddess Diana. What does the goddess
Diana do on a typical day? Well, since she is the
goddess of the hunt, and the nest archer on the
face of the earth, she hunts! As far as emotional
content goes, that’s about it. You have no
opportunity, choreographically, to turn Actaeon
into a stag, so just ignore that.
I’ve seen the variation done without using a
prop bow, but where’s the fun in that? (I know, our
de nitions of fun may differ). As far as I’m
concerned, it’s like doing Kitri’s third act variation
without a fan! The bow shouldn’t be big- the ones
I make are about 15 inches long- otherwise it will
become a hindrance to the dancing. You don’t
have to worry about being left or right handed;
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you’ll start with the bow in your right hand, and

you’ll change to the left and back a few times. If
you keep the bow primarily in your upstage hand,
you’ll be okay; you don’t want to hide your pretty
face.
You enter with a huge saut de chat, (or
grande jeté with developé), usually with the left
arm up and the right arm holding the bow in front
of you. Don’t chaissé or glissade into the jump.
Neither is technically incorrect, but it’s far more
exciting if you run out of the wings right into the
jump, exploding into the air with seemingly no
preparation.
This variation is very athletic, so don’t be
afraid to be bold in your dancing. Revel in your
physical ability. Feel your muscles. Be powerful. I
look upon dancing as 50% technique, 50%
physical strength. Here, you get to show off both.
After the opening jeté you get to the penché
everyone is waiting for, but rst, remember you
are on the hunt; you must have a reason for going
to a place or in a direction.
If you were actually out hunting, you would
never blithely wander about, not looking where
you’re going. You would be constantly keeping an
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eye out for your quarry. You would also be fairly

stealthy; creeping up on unsuspecting animals is
going to get better results than blundering through
the underbrush.
Yes, the huge jeté might not be the best
example of stalking your prey, but one must make
some allowances for choreography and artistic
license. You also would probably not be wearing
pointe shoes whilst prowling through the forest
but let’s just leave that, shall we?
We did a ballet called “Offenbach in the
Underworld” that was set in a Parisian café. The
choreographer came in, (Antony Tudor), and was
watching us run the ballet. At one point, I offered
my hand to a Can-Can girl and, like a good ballet
dancer, pointed my back foot. He stopped
rehearsal and said, “Young man, you would not
point your foot in a Parisian café.” I wanted to say,
“But, it’s okay to do pirouettes?”
Yeah, I should have said that.
You prepare for the penché by stepping into
fth croisé, facing the downstage left corner. After
the jeté you can either run around to get into
position- just don’t make it a dainty Disney
princess run- or you can get a little theatrical, and
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do a little prowling walk, looking around for your

target.
The port de bras when you’re in fth can be
fth en haut, or wrists crossed in front of you, or
even a theatrical form of third with exed hands,
but your head must be involved. Remember, as
I’ve said elsewhere, any movement of the arms
must have an accompanying movement of the
head, even if it’s just a small subtle one.
You step into fth like you’ve come upon your
prey, and are hiding behind a tree or a patch of
foliage. You turn your head slowly, following its
movement, then you pounce, or in this case
relevé or sissone onto pointe into your six o’clock
penché.
What’s that you say? You don’t have a six
o’clock penché? I’ll bet you have a better penché
than you think.
Can you sit on the oor in a split? With your
torso perpendicular to the oor? Boom! There’s
your six o’clock penché.
Most of the time, it’s not really a question of
your exibility, it’s a question of strength, strength
in your standing leg, your glutes, and your back.
Your body is always trying to balance itself; it
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doesn’t want to be off-balance. As far as lifting

one leg goes, if your body feels on balance, if
you’re standing on a strong solid leg, your body
will allow that other leg to rise. If your standing leg
isn’t solid, it won’t.
If you have the exibility for a six o’clock
penché, but can’t do it, time to work on strength,
and the best way to build strength, is to do things
slowly.
Very slowly.
Everything except jumps of course, although
jumping to a slow tempo is good, it could make
you jump higher, by forcing you to really plié.
Coming out of that penché should be
controlled, not a fall. Start that movement by
lifting your torso, then bring the leg down. It would
be lovely if you could hit fth en pointe, or at least
get that back leg close to the other, before you
coupé. The piqué into attitude coming up doesn’t
have to be held, so you can really whack that leg
up, but remember to hold your turnout on your left
leg, or it’s Biscuit Ballerina face-plant time. As
always, give yourself a good plié before the
piqué. Keep that right leg crossed behind you,
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otherwise it can get lost behind your body, and

the audience might miss that beautiful position.
There are several places in this variation
where you turn to your right after being in a croisé
position, facing the downstage right corner, and
then go upstage. A couple of times your left arm is
up, and you open it to second as you turn.
Please, please, I beg of you, do not hyperextend
your elbow! Not only is it incorrect, but because it
is a non-classical arm position, it is distracting to
the eye. Out of the attitude position, you go into
attitude turns, starting facing the upstage left
corner. Go for the double, go for it, then you have
three plies coming out of the turns that are right
on the music 3-4-5, with the leg stretching to
arabesque. Here, you can show off your perfect
arabesque line.
To get into the attitude turns, you do a quick
preparatory piqué onto the right leg the left
coming into retiré or coupé; the turns are done
through another piqué.
As you come out of the attitude turns, keep
your arms in high fth for the rst plié, then bring
them down through rst and into rst arabesque
on the next two. Spot the upstage corner in the
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turns, and then use the three pliés to turn back to

the audience.
Another coupé, another plié on the right leg,
another piqué to attitude, another opening,
another show... sorry, musical comedy reference.
Two hops en pointe following the piqué, then plié
on that left leg, developé the right to relevé effacé
en pointe, left arm up, right arm à la seconde.
You can either close the right leg to fth en
pointe, to fourth effacé en pointe, or maybe you
tombé onto it, in a lunge, before you curve around
upstage- watch that hyperextended elbow of the
left arm- and repeat the entire penché/attitude
turn sequence, up to the attitude piqué/hops.
After the hops, you close the right leg from
attitude, into fth croisé, soussus, and bourée
around to face the other, the downstage left
corner. Now, you head for that corner.
How you get to that corner to start the next
sequence, is really up to your artistic
interpretation. Remember, you’re on the hunt, so
that is the reason for going anywhere in a
variation like this, where there isn’t a real story.
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The bow has been in your right hand up until

now. You change the bow from right to left, as you
turn.
Out of the fth position en pointe, the dancer
I’ve been working with for this variation, Nadia
Brad eld- that’s her on the cover, and in the photo
at the beginning of the chapter (YAGP Semis, Los
Angeles, 2021)- does a very low pas de cheval/
developé, staying en pointe. She starts facing the
downstage corner, croisé, right foot front, her
arms extended in front of her, one hand atop the
other, palms facing down. The arms move with
the developé, the left arm stays extended, the
right pulls back in a stylized drawing of the bow
movement, keeping the palm down and passing
her head about eye height. She keeps her chin
down, and her eyes focused on her target.
A few steps get you to the corner, tendu back,
effacé, and you’re ready for the next sequence.
The upcoming turns are rushed by 99.9% of
dancers. First, let’s talk about the prep. You “hear”
your quarry, using a theatrical port de bras with
the right hand coming back to the ear. This makes
you turn to your right to start the preparation for
the turn sequence. Tombé, coupé, sauté
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arabesque, arms third arabesque, or not, your

choice. Here’s where everybody- yes, you,
probably- rushes. There is a de nite count, and
music, for the ending of the pirouettes. If you
were counting slowly, the rst step in to the
pirouette is on four and nishes on six; if you’re
counting fast eights, the step is on seven and the
arabesque nishes on three. Either way, the
music accent for the nish is pretty obvious, and
very de nite.
The turns, however, can be different. One
option is to do a little sauté in a la seconde, facing
upstage, then a lame duck pirouette, nishing in
arabesque on the left leg facing stage left.
Another is to step right into an en dedans
pirouette, nishing in arabesque on the right leg,
facing stage right. The timing I mentioned is
based on the rst option, the little sauté in second
into the lame duck. A third option is to do the little
sauté in second, then go right into an en dedans,
nishing as mentioned above. This last option is, I
think, the most dif cult. In any case you must
nish on the right music; it’s painfully obvious
when you don’t. I’m going to say something
incredibly profound... ready? Here goes: If you
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nd yourself consistently nishing the pirouettes

early... start later.
That’s it.
If you’re supposed to nish on three, for
example, and you’re starting on seven, but you
nish on two, start on eight, or one, but for God’s
sake don’t keep nishing before the music.
Coming out of the arabesque, you step into
another attitude croisé on the left leg. This is also
very musical, but there’s a snag. There are three
de nite notes after the arabesque. If you nish in
arabesque on your left leg, you only have two
steps to get into attitude, one of those being the
actual piqué. If you nish in arabesque on your
right leg, you can take three steps, (coupé, step,
piqué), to hit that attitude right on the
aforementioned three notes. What do you do if
you have only two steps in three notes?
I was hoping you’d ask.
Step on the rst and third of those three
notes. Simple, yes? Oh, and the attitude arms are
left up, right side. Why not step on the second
and third notes? I don’t think that gives you
enough time to do a good plié before the piqué,
and you know how I love a good plié.
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Out of the attitude, turn to your right for a

tombé onto the right leg, pas de bourées,
glissade, saut de chat, curling around to head
back to the downstage left corner to repeat the
sequence. You have to get around very quickly in
the pas de bourées, so that your glissade is in a
straight line to the corner. This will make the jeté
much easier and, probably, higher than if you
make the whole prep this big arc. (That jeté shot
of Nadia is from this section).
You repeat the whole turn sequence, up to the
piqué attitude. Stay en pointe, close the right leg
behind you into fth, a few quick boureés, then
pick the right leg up and do a low developé front
effacé towards the downstage right corner.
Since the start of the pirouette sequence,
you’ve had the bow in your left hand, which has
been mostly the upstage hand. Here you change
it to the right hand, but there are a number of
places to do that. Nadia keeps it in her left hand,
until she gets to the corner, then changes it very
quickly, as she does another drawing the bow
port de bras, complete with “taking an arrow from
her quiver.”
I’m getting a little ahead of myself.
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After the little developé, there’s a piqué

arabesque onto your right leg, left arm up, right
arm forward. Step onto your left leg, then two
piqué with petit battements around the ankle, on
the right leg, then the left, a little temps de esch
(how appropriate, “time of the arrow”), where you
do the aforementioned drawing the bow port de
bras, and another piqué arabesque on the right
leg.
By now, the bow is in your right hand, held
forward, left arm up in the arabesque.
Let me take another of my moments.
Switching the bow from one hand to the other
may seem like a minor thing, but it can have an
effect on the subconscious mind of the viewer.
Tiny details that might go unnoticed by the
conscious mind, can make a de nite impression
on the subconscious. Have you ever said, “I really
like that”, whatever that is, but “I can’t explain
exactly why”? Possibly, it’s because of one of
those tiny details your subconscious latches onto.
A lot of art is subtle. It may be a particular stud
earring that glints a speci c color, or a shade of
blue in a costume chosen to set off a dancer’s
eyes, or special lighting. It might be one string
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instrument in an orchestra playing something

different from the rest, or something in the corner
of a painting. Sometimes the tiniest detail can
have the biggest impact.
Okay, enough of my moments... for now...
You head for the downstage right corner to
start the diagonal of tour jetés. Remember, if you
prefer the other side, or if you’re a left turner, you
can always change things; go to the downstage
left corner. Heck, you could do the whole variation
to the other side, if you so desire.
So just some quick steps to the corner into
the piqué arabesque, maybe another penché en
pointe if things are really rocking, or you could
throw in a saut de chat, if your legs aren’t feeling
the length of the variation, and still have a good
amount of spring in them.
Run, do not chaissé, into the tour jeté. I know
I’m repeating myself, but that’s what teachers do;
you simply will not get the same height in a jump
from chaissé that you will with an athletic run. The
old style had you leave your head, looking back
the way you came until the last moment, and
that’s a sure jump killer right there. Hit the split in
the tour jeté on the “one”, the high note. (You are
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hitting a full split, yes? Not to brag, but I could... in

my youth... many decades ago...).
It would be awesome to land the tour jeté on
the knee, as if you’re taking cover or hiding from
your prey, but landing in a fourth lunge is perfectly
acceptable. With your hands together- nocking an
arrow- you look out from your hiding place,
around the tree, whatever, then you relevé in
arabesque as you re the arrow.
In rehearsal for this, Nadia did something that
was less than she had been doing at this point,
because it was towards the end of our session,
she done the variation about ve times full
through and was a tad fatigued. Instead of rising
up to a full arabesque, she only raised her leg to
45° and lifted her right arm much higher than
usual.
It was beautiful.
Rather than appear tired, she looked like a
statue of the goddess Diana! It looked like a
choreographic choice. As every great director
does, I said, “Keep that!”
Okay, another one of my moments... Most
people, dancers included, think being a
professional at something means getting paid for
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that something. This is only part of the de nition

and, in actuality, a fairly small part. True, if you
are not paid for an activity you’re technically an
amateur, as in sports. That used to mean
something before the Olympics, for example,
decided to allow professional athletes to compete.
When the Soviet Union and other iron curtain
countries elded athletes, they were promoted as
amateurs, but were paid under the table. Many
were ostensibly members of a country’s Armed
Forces, but spent far more time with a hockey
stick in their hands than a ri e.
I’ve always felt it was a mistake, and quite
unfair, for the Olympics to allow professionals to
compete in the Games. In Ancient Greece, the
birthplace of the Olympics, there was no
distinction really between pros and amateurs, and
no one cared, but now we have professional
leagues paying athletes millions. They have their
forum and their fortunes. Amateurs used to have
the Games. No more.
I liked it when our amateurs were going up
against their professionals in the Olympics. Not
so we’d have an excuse for losing, but when we
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won, we could say our college kids beat their

pros.
Back to the de nition of professional.
It isn’t about getting paid, it’s about an
attitude. I knew a lot of dancers, in major
companies, who weren’t professional. They were
talented, but had a lousy work ethic, and little
respect for teachers, choreographers, directors
and ballet masters, and were rude and conceited.
The great Martha Graham, working with Rudolph
Nureyev, got angry at him during rehearsal and is
reputed to have told him, “You are a spoiled
child.”
To deconstruct this segue, let’s go back to
Nadia. At the time of this writing, she’s a senior in
high school. To my knowledge she’s never been
paid for dancing, but she is more of a professional
than many “professionals”. Even when she is
tired, in rehearsal, class or coaching sessions,
she dances as if she is on stage in front of an
audience. In the arabesque I mentioned, she
didn’t just phone it in, she adjusted as one would
in performance. When I’m coaching someone in a
variation, I let them know what I expect when they
run it. I’ll say things like, “Do it at, say, 50%,” or
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“Mark the jumps but do all the turns,” or, “This is a

full-out performance. No matter what happens,
keep going.”
The low arabesque choice came in one of
those full-out performance runs. As a
professional, Nadia kept going, even though she
was tired. In fact, it was because she was tired,
but kept going, that she found something that was
completely hers, and that I wouldn’t have thought
of.
The moral of that story is, push through
fatigue, and you may discover something
amazing.
A word I use as infrequently as possible is
“dynamics”. I think it is used as incorrectly as
“rotators” when dancers don’t know what those
muscles are, or even where they are. To me
“dynamics” means simply, differences. If
everything is the same in a variation, all high legs,
all big jumps, or all turns, it gets kind of boring. At
a YAGP gala, there was a pas de deux done by a
couple from a European company. In the rst few
seconds, it was obvious the woman had no
bones, and her partner seemed intent on tying
her in knots, or making the audience wince by
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exploring the limits of her exibility, which were

nonexistent. This went on for 10 minutes.
Boring! Remember, variety is the spice of life!
The variety that Nadia created by dancing
whilst tired- the lower arabesque- was exactly
what I feel the last diagonal needed. Everyone
expects a high arabesque, and surprise! Aside
from being a beautiful position, it was unusual
and that always makes a spectator sit up and
take notice, especially a judge in a competition
who might’ve seen twenty Diana’s that day.
You do the tour jeté to the knee/lunge, relevé
sequence twice, then you do a third tour jeté,
which can nish in a lunge, if you like, or you can
just step out of your landing, and piqué to the side
onto your left leg. Now, either bring your right leg
through retiré to close fth, plié and soussus,
arms in third, or do a quick assemblé into
soussus, or you could do assemblé entournen,
then soussus. Whatever you choose, give
yourself a moment before you start the nal
diagonal of turns.
The port de bras on the tour jeté landings,
has both hands on the bow, arms stretched in
front of you. Tilt your head a little to the left, like
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you’re looking around something, then you re

the bow as you relevé, with a lift of the head into
our lovely Goddess Diana statue pose. You don’t
have to do that on the last tour jeté; you can do a
joyous port de bras through high fth instead.
The last diagonal is a set of three double
lame ducks. Your typical lame duck pirouettes,
done consecutively, go from relevé directly into
tombé. Back to Nadia.
I will often ask my students to tell me how
they do a step, breaking it down piece by piece.
Sometimes I’ll say, “Assume I know absolutely
nothing about classical ballet,” so that they really
have to think about what they’re doing. When I
asked Nadia to describe a lame duck pirouette, I
picked up on an interesting thing: I’ve mentioned
that coming out of almost any turn, you plié in the
position for a split second, before moving out of
the position. In her description of the lame duck,
she said to plié coming out of the rst lame duck
before going into the second. Ah, but that makes
it a different step you say! No, not really.
You still step into plié with your lead leg,
you’re just not doing a strict tombé off of relevé.
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I hadn’t thought of that, but it coincided with

my idea of doing a plié out of a turn, so I said to
do a little more of a plié to stabilize herself when
going from one lame duck to the next.
Voilà! Her diagonal of turns became very
solid, and it looked like she could keep doing
double lame ducks as long as she wanted.
I know, the purists out there are screaming it’s
not right. Let me ask you something: What’s more
important from a performance aspect, doing a
speci c procedure, or doing solid turns? I’m not
saying you should completely pervert the start or
nish of a turn, but the turn’s the thing, to
paraphrase Shakespeare. Besides, most of your
audience couldn’t care less about that added plié,
if the dancer is doing great turns.
Three consecutive doubles is expected, but I
like variety, (really, Jerry? I never would’ve
guessed!), so, I’d love to see single, double,
triple. Sure, why not? Pirouettes are a
coordination trick. Anyone can be taught to do
three or four pirouettes. The people who do ten,
fteen turns, they’re naturally disposed to turn.
That should not make you believe that only gifted
dancers can turn.
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Remember, force plus balance equals

pirouette. Balance must always be greater than
force. You should always be working on your
balance.
Always.
Larry Rosenberg, Anaheim Ballet, says every
exercise is a pirouette exercise. I used to think he
meant there’s something in every exercise that
applies to pirouettes, but it also means that in
every exercise you must be aware of your
balance, especially at the barre. If you’re not on
balance at the barre, you won’t all of a sudden,
magically, be on balance in the center. I’m not
saying don’t use the barre, just don’t rely on it.
Don’t grip it, just press down on it.
After the third lame duck- the triple- you nish
in a croisé lunge, facing the downstage right
corner, hands together on the bow, arms
stretched out in front of you. You’re looking at
your target, head slightly down. You hold that for
a moment, having nished the pirouette on the
music, then you re the arrow, lifting the left arm
high, and your head, on the last note.
As with every variation that nishes on stage,
hold that nal pose for a moment, both letting the
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audience appreciate and applaud, and showing

that you’ve stuck the landing.
Always give the audience a moment to
admire your ending, your nishing pose. You can
enjoy it, too. Enjoy the applause. Be proud that
you danced well. What, you don’t think you
danced well? Don’t worry about it. If you did your
best, you can be proud. In your next rehearsal,
you can dissect your performance, but never do it
on stage.
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Chapter Eight
Go have gelato

After you nish your competition, go have a

good meal, and relax. Go home, and get a good
night’s sleep. If there’s an awards ceremony, go
to it, you never know what’s going to happen. Liz
Molak, the fellow Joffrey dancer I mentioned, was
at an awards ceremony with her students. To her
surprise, she was chosen as Outstanding
Teacher. She was so stunned, she was actually
speechless. I’ve been to awards ceremonies with
some students who were equally surprised by
their results. One, who nished top 12, came up
to me afterwards, and said, “What the hey?!” So,
dress nice, and go.

Go over score sheets and critiques with your

teachers and coaches. Each individual judge has
their own personal viewpoint which may, or may
not, be valid. Some may not like a speci c color
of costume, and they might mark you down for
that.
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The Russians like certain things, the Brits

others, the neo-classicists others still. You might
have one judge absolutely love you and another
not care for you at all. Your teachers and coaches
will be able to translate what they say and let you
know if you should listen.
Lastly, remember this book is not about telling
you exactly what to do. You can disagree with
everything I’ve said, but if I’ve gotten you to think
about these and other variations, I’ll be very
happy, very happy indeed.
I can be contacted at
[email protected]
I also have a blog at
jerrykokichballet.blogspot.com
Thank you for reading this book, and good
luck in your career.