Let's Have a Look at: Marjorie Folkman
I loved to dance," Folkman began, "but I knew I didn't have the technique, because I had missed the formative years of training, and only started classes regularly when I was around thirteen. I was always playing catch-up."
Ballet camps became a source of concentrated classes for Folkman, and she took advantage of summer intensives. She fondly remembers Edward Villella who didn't just teach her to "glissade" but all about the "glissade." "I will never forget his kindness and patience as well as Sean Lavery who sensed how eager I was to learn and guided me to New York teachers like David Howard and Maggie Black -where I could not only take class but watch Misha and Gelsey take class as well."
While working on her formal education at Barnard College, she discovered the Merce Cunningham dancers and was offered an opportunity to be a "RUG" member (Repertory Understudy Group) several students who worked intensively under the late Chris Komar hoping to be selected for the main company or as an apprentice. When decisions were made Folkman was overlooked. "They chose someone else and disbanded our group," she recalled. "I was very discouraged, but not yet ready to quit. I offered my services free of charge to many other smaller choreographers, had some takers, and enjoyed performing. I even trotted off to audition for 'Jerome Robbins Broadway,'" she said, shaking her head in disbelief. "Imagine appearing at that call in bare feet and a one-piece unitard. I didn't even get a nod."
Returning to her hometown of Boston she discovered Amy Spencer and Richard Kolton and spent a happy year dancing with them. "But I knew I was not done with New York," she said. "I had to go back. It was an excruciating decision. What would I do in New York?" More frustrating experiences, more auditions, more rejections, loomed as a distinct possibility. Then through a series of unplanned circumstances and a little help from her college contacts Folkman created a job. She hired herself out for projects that required dance research or library work. "I felt I was still in dance even though I did not have a real dance job. Somehow Mark heard about me and needed someone to help him with research on a project. I would earn a stipend, and I was invited to company class." It was a back door entrance for her, but it was an entrance.
"Mark Morris was always in the back of my mind," she said, "and though I took classes and workshops with the company whenever I could, I never dreamed about being there. I loved the work, but could see that he was not terribly interested in me. Many of my friends would be asked to fill in for 'The Hard Nut,' but I was never asked. It was a matter of cheering my friends and shedding tears at home. Kind of heartbreaking for me and though I wanted to dance more than ever I had to face facts and think about other things."
"However, shortly after beginning research with Mark I was finally asked to do 'The Hard Nut' as a supplemental dancer. I had experienced so many falls," Folkman remembered, "building hopes then have it not happen, I could not let myself think of this opportunity with Mark as an end. And I didn't. I had grown up a little and wasn't so tense anymore." After a year of supplemental work, Folkman was asked to join the company and has remained there as a prominent and lovely addition to the company repertory.
When Morris was dancing he delighted his followers with his scruffy appearance, off beat physicality, witty attack, and blatant disregard for the confines of pure technique. He demanded attention, and audiences flocked to see him. Though his company has taken over all the dancing now, he has not lessened his attention to every detail of his choreography. "Every gesture has to be just so, just the way he wants it," Folkman explained, "and the rehearsal experience can be excruciating, possibly more so than learning a variation with a gazillion jumps. Mark does not permit falseness in anything. If the choreography has a fall in it and you somehow fake it, he will look at you and say rather loudly 'fake.' We get the message. He means fall not fake a fall. We have to take the note, and try not to be thrown by the startling way it is delivered. It takes time to get used to his way, but he is direct and focused all the time and knows exactly what he wants."
The Mark Morris Company is a more orderly looking bunch than it once was, (long and lean like Folkman rather than the old rather compact look) and jobs are based solely on whether Morris trusts he can work with you. The company keeps its dancers. They are loyal. There are no contracts. If there is a problem, there is a company meeting to air differences. All the dancers cover for each other, and all are given a chance to rise up to significant solos. Folkman stressed that the company takes extremely good care of its dancers. "We travel a lot, we are looked after nicely, and we are appreciated."
It has taken all the persistence and determination Folkman could muster to sweat out her disappointments and succeed as a professional dancer. Where does that determination come from? How is it honed and put to positive use? Her father is a world-renowned scientist from whom she learned not to give up. Her mother was a successful choral singer who hooked her early on into the romantic movie dancing of Gene Kelly and Fred Astaire. Certainly she credits their work ethic with mustering the grit to forge ahead in a career ripe with disappointments and meager rewards. It was her privilege to have attended challenging schools that presented goals she had to fulfill. Often she questions herself. "Would I have thought I could have written that thesis at college? Writing has always been a hard nut for me. Nor would I have thought I would ever become a member of the Mark Morris Dance Company?" But Folkman is a third of the way into her Masters degree and is finishing her tenth year with the company. Perseverance, unfailing enthusiasm, and hard work have paid off.