Pure & Simple
How many dancers reach a point where it all seems useless? How many hit a plateau where all the work in the world can't seem to move them forward in their elusive quest for perfection?
I don't know a single dancer who can't speak knowledgeably about stagnation. It's horribly frustrating and can easily become debilitating: "I'm not good enough," "I'll never be good enough," "What made me think I could dance?" or "I might as well give up."
Feelings of inferiority take over and it's difficult to trudge through the mire, continually seeking a way out, a way forward. I'm sure there are as many methods of coping with a career slump as there are leotards in Las Vegas, but I'll give you one more, a simple one.
Take yourself back to the beginning and try to picture the first dance class. Recapture the fun of those first few years. They're all stored in the memory. Turn them loose. What drew you to dance in the first place? Was it the accomplishment of conquering a routine, not just an eight count combination? Was it the pleasure of parental applause after demonstrating a routine on the kitchen linoleum? Well OK, that's my experience but you get the picture.
When technical progress screeches to a halt, tap into those initial impressions. As children, our emotions are unfiltered and pure, an indicator of what it's like to live in the here-and-now, with complete abandon and no thought of comparison. It was this very spirit that captured me at a young age and left memorable images.
Of course, kids always think they can do anything and I was no exception. The way I saw it, if you could name it, I could do it. Most of us had ballet and tap, a little tumbling, and a mystery technique that, today, would be called contemporary. Back then, anything that wasn't tap or ballet was called jazz.
We had modest dance recitals in the high school auditorium, not full-blown concerts. Lighting was minimal; sets consisted of a backdrop and some potted plants. I didn't care. Costumes were glittery, excitement was high and I was a star in my own little world. That, after all, is the point. I took no notice of anyone else's expertise. My focus was internal: Was I pleased with my performance? Did I remember all the steps? Did I correct everything my teacher had advised throughout the year? Yes? Then I was a success. Back then, I didn't compare, envy or over-think.
I remember slicking back my hair, adjusting my glittery costume - perhaps a strategically-placed safety pin here or there, even allowing the surrogate dressing room mother to apply mascara. But fire engine red lipstick? I drew the line; that was too much, too gaudy. Imagine this from the child who grew up to dance in Las Vegas.
We were chaperoned in single file from the dressing room to the stage. I don't recall any nervousness but it must have been there. I only remember impressions: the smell of hairspray, firefly-like sequins glittering in the dark, the security of tightly tied tap shoe bows and the anticipation of "next" as applause welled for the dancers onstage. Then it was my turn, and I can tell you one thing for sure: Dance owned me.
Of course, there's necessarily a shift in focus when you decide to make a living out of dance, because there's more at stake than enjoying the moment when you're competing in an audition. Yes, technique counts. But if you've lost the ability to feel the movement, if all you're doing is thinking the movement, then that will stand out as glaringly as a botched combination. You must find the balance between thinking dance and feeling dance.
It's ironic that it sometimes requires forgetting technique altogether in order to gain strength or jump higher or turn faster and stop on a dime, but that's often the answer. Go back to the source. When you can visualize the movement and internalize the feeling, the body can intuitively align things for you. That, of course, means giving up mental control and trusting your innate ability to dance, to love the feel of the craft. It's an extremely satisfying position to be in. After all, isn't that what artists aspire to experience - the depth and purity of emotion? Oddly enough, it may well lead to the breakthrough you seek.
When you begin to see your technique as "less than," remember what it was like when technique wasn't the point. Remember when you danced just to dance, not to be better than someone else. Remember when completing the routine and hearing applause was success. Ah, now that's joy, pure and simple.