Process

Freewrite: Workshop 11

I just love this picture of Ms Michele so much. Not only is it beautiful from a technical perspective -- her long, lovely legs and beautiful upper body, but it is also imperfect -- she herself would be the first to point that out. Her hands and fingers aren't in the ideal position; her arms haven't quite reached classical precision. But it is so beautiful. She looks like she's dancing, really dancing, and her love and enjoyment of what she's doing is evident in her face. And I guess that's what ballet really is, in the end: a physical manifestation of the exquisite joy/sorrow we feel, the most perfect expression of our emotions.

It reminds me of Serenade -- I don't think any other ballet captures humanity itself so perfectly and movingly. Even in that slightly grainy video from who knows how long ago, the poignancy and pathos of the dancing is clear. The opening chords of the music give me goosebumps every damn time. and it's just dance -- not a story or a costume -- just the dancing itself that evokes such beauty and emotion. It's ballet in it's purest, most unadulterated form, and that' s really what I see in Mis. Michele's picture. Just the beauty and the love of the beauty and the love of the dance.

Image provided courtesy of Michele Ziemann-Devos

Rough Draft: "And the Curtain Lifted"

at age four

When Ms. Michele answers my FaceTime call for our interview, the first thing she asks me is, “What unexpected, lovely thing happened to you yesterday?”  Despite the medium of communication, her voice and her face are crystal clear, and I feel like she’s right there sitting with me. I tell her about my day, first about getting coffee with my friends, and then about straining a muscle in ballet class the night before. “Usually when something like that happens,” she says, “it’s our body’s message that it needs something. Can you think about what your body is trying to tell you?” Even though we’re separated by hundreds of miles and are only able to communicate through screens, her voice sounds exactly the same as it always has, which is enormously comforting to me.

 As our conversation progresses and I go into further detail about the injury, she reminds me, again and again, that it’s not random, that our bodies tell us what we need. “What is it you need right now?” she asks. She looks to me exactly as she always has – short dark hair lightly curled, earrings dangling from her ears, a pendant necklace, a light blue top and a dark blue cardigan. Her skin glows even through the camera lens, and she’s holding a pen in one hand, which she occasionally rests against her chin.

I’m sure she can tell that I’m discouraged about the injury – I can see it myself, in the tone of my voice, the wrinkle between my eyebrows, the downward slant of my mouth. “Trust what’s happening,” she says, “and leave the rest to God, and it will work out.” I mention the bad timing, and she smiles a little at that. Again, she reminds me, “it is what it is, and it’s good. It’ll all work out.” Even though I have no doubt that my own disappointment is palpable when we discuss the injury, she remains positive and encouraging throughout. She doesn’t stop smiling.

`All of this, of course, happens before the formal interview has even begun. Later, when I ask her if she has any regrets, she’s emphatically answers no. “I believe in purpose,” she says. Whether it’s God or the universe or Something Else, she doesn’t think that what happens is random. She mentions my back injury again – “even something like this happens for a reason,” she tells me. It goes back to her original question. Life, to her, is not about achieving an outcome --  it’s about what happens on the journey. “You get to set your own outcome,” she tells me. She’s eloquent and articulate as she speaks, never once resorting to a “like” or an “um.” Occasionally, she pauses to collect her thoughts, and then I marvel at the fluidity and insight that follow. Throughout the interview, she exudes an elegance and a kindness that I’ve rarely encountered in anyone else, a graciousness that is impossible to miss. 

I first met Ms. Michele, as she has always been to me, when I was eight years old. At the time, she was the Executive Director of the school where I had just started dancing, and she came in and started teaching our class halfway through the first year. I remember I was a little bit terrified of her at first. I didn’t really know what “Executive Director” was but I did know that she was a big deal in the school, and even at such a young age, I was in awe of her natural elegance and poise. When she came up to me that first day, knelt by my side, and started shaping my feet with her hands, I can clearly remember that I froze and stared. She looked up at me with a smile and said “Well, go on!”

It didn’t take long for my initial fear to deepen into the enormous respect I have for Ms. Michele that has only increased as I have gotten to know her better. Again and again, I have been impressed by her unceasing grace and kindness in the most difficult of situations. I count myself fortunate to know her as well and for as long as I have, and she has without a doubt been one of the greatest influences on my life.

Of course, I’ve had cause to wonder many times through the years that I’ve known Ms. Michele – where did it come from? How did she learn to look at life the way she does, with such warmth and love, to move through it with such grace? It turned out that Ms. Michele herself would answer the question for me, only a few minutes into our interview. After we had chitchatted for a few minutes, Ms. Michele mentioned that to start the interview, she wanted to answer a specific question from the list that I had sent her: the question, “What is ballet to you?” “They say that if you learned everything there was to learn about a knothole in a piece of wood, you would learn everything there is to learn about the world,” she told me. “To me, that’s ballet. I am neither a dancer or a teacher; I am a student, and ballet is my teacher.” 

Ms. Michele started dancing when she was three or four on the recommendation of her pediatrician because she was so painfully shy. “From that time on,” she says, “I considered myself a dancer.” Even though she didn’t keep training for long, she never stopped dancing. She practiced on her own the steps she had been taught, and even asked her playmates who took classes for lessons. When she was 13, she was diagnosed with scoliosis, and started taking dance classes again, although not, she admits, at a very intensive level. She studied tap along with ballet, and took much easier to the former rather than the latter --  but she tells me that she distinctly remembers thinking that “I like ballet because it’s harder.”

 It’s this passion and willingness to do the work that has characterized Ms. Michele for as long as I’ve known her, and is evident the story of her life so far. In a world where most professionals are training seriously before they reach high school, she didn’t start intensive study until her senior year, when she started taking classes under Richard Ellis and Christine DuBoulay, both former dancers at the Sadler’s Wells Ballet (which would later become the world-renowned Royal Ballet in London). It was only then that her serious training began. After graduating, she was accepted to the University of Cincinnati, where she continued her training ballet for a year. In college, she experienced for the first time the negativity and competition that are so ingrained in the ballet world. Prior to that year, she says, ballet had always been a joyful thing; in college, she was often quite miserable, and had to deal with feelings of insufficiency, insecurity, and doubt. Through it all, it doesn’t sound like her passion for the artform ever wavered. She tells me that she would often come home frustrated and in tears, and her father would ask her why she was crying. Her response: “because I love it so much!” 

as a student, 1982

as a student, 1982

The pictures that she shared with me from around this time show a girl with classically long limbs and a face that I know well. They’re not perfect from a purely technical perspective -- she herself would doubtless be the first to point out that her hands and fingers haven’t quite reached their fullest extension, her arms aren’t in the ideal classical shape. But even in a black and white rendition of a moment from the last century, the pictures are alive and moving and so very beautiful. One can tell that she’s dancing, not just striking a pose, and the pure joy of the movement radiates from the tips of her fingers to her pointed toes and shines out through her eyes. And that is what ballet is all about after all: capturing an emotion and bringing it into exquisite, tangible form. 

dancing Spanish in CT, 1992

Eventually, her hard work payed off. After a year at U of C, she moved, first to Philadelphia to train at the school of the Pennsylvania Ballet, and then to Iowa as an apprentice for Des Moines Ballet. When I asked her what she considered her greatest accomplishments, she says that obviously this first paid job was one of them. But she hastened to add that to her, conceiving of a goal and then reaching it is strictly peripheral. It’s the old adage that “life is about the journey, not the destination” – and, Ms. Michele reminds me, of finding “lovely, little things along the way.” It’s the same philosophy that she mentioned at the beginning of our talk. 

After her first season in Des Moines, she injured her [???] and took a seven-year hiatus from dancing. When I mention that that must have been a difficult setback, she agrees – but only partially. “The real obstacle,” she tells me, “is our own thinking – fear, regret, blame.” During that time, she moved to Connecticut, where she still performed occasionally in local productions, but not as a contracted company member. She went back to school to study business, and it was also in Connecticut that she discovered the joy of teaching. In fact, she founded a dance program at a local school, where she taught for 4.5 years, and expanded the program to include close to 130 students. 

In _____, Ms. Michele moved to Georgia, and was contracted by The Georgia Ballet, a small school and company founded by Ms. Iris Hensley in Marietta, Georgia, 41 years earlier. Ms. Hensley had traveled throughout Europe after graduating from the University of Georgia, before returning to Marietta to found the Georgia Ballet in 1957 (Kay). When Ms. Michele came to the company, she found the Georgia Ballet to be a “wonderful and glorious institution…a very professional organization with a warm family environment” (qtd. in Kay). Ms. Iris had a deep dedication and passion to the artform – the same dedication and passion that I see in Ms. Michele – and it shone through in the special environment she built at the Georgia Ballet. Soon after she joined the company, Ms. Iris asked her to become the Director of the school.

in "Swan Lake"

It was during those years dancing and teaching under Ms. Iris that Ms. Michele says she had some of her greatest onstage experiences.She told me that often, she felt too pressured and nervous during a performance to truly enjoy it, and that her best moments were always in the classroom, where she felt the freedom to be herself and take risks. However, when I asked her what some of her favorite performance memories were, the ballets she listed were all danced at the Georgia Ballet. She mentions I Never Saw Another Butterfly, choreographed by Ms. Iris and based on a collection of Holocaust writing of the same name. She also remarks upon Ms. Iris’ staging of the world-famous classical ballet Swan Lake, where she played the part of a big swan. She tells me that she remembers standing on stage during the tragic ending of the ballet, facing the back of the stage, her face away from the audience; and she says that all she can remember is the tears streaming down her face, as Tchaikovsky’s remarkable score reached its most glorious and poignant climax. After she decided to retire permanently, she says, Ms. Iris convinced her to do one final ballet – the title role in the latter’s Mary Poppins.

as Mary Poppins, 2003

In 1997, the Georgia Ballet received two additions to the staff: Ms. Gina Hyatt-Mazonand her husband, Mr. Janusz Mazon. Both were well-known dancers at the Hamburg Ballet in Germany, who came to the United States to raise their daughter Emilie. When Ms. Iris passed from cancer in 2003, she was succeeded, per her request, by Ms. Gina as Artistic Director and Ms. Michele as Executive Director. 

Under their combined leadership, the organization experienced a dramatic increase in quality of dancing as well as the size of the company (Sucato). In an article for the Atlanta Journal Constitution, Cynthia Perry remarked upon the “remarkably high” (2) level of technique and artistry possessed by the dancers. In keeping with Ms. Iris’ vision and passion, Mr. Gina and Ms. Michele created a uniquely warm, nurturing environment at the Georgia Ballet. They instituted an outreach program, DanceAbility, which gave children in the community the opportunity to experience ballet. The organization as a whole touched the lives of many – one company members said that “they’ve [Ms. Gina and Mr. Janusz] shaped my dancing, my work ethic, and everything…they have played a huge part in my life” (qtd. in Perry, 2) At the Georgia Ballet, Ms. Gina and Ms. Michele cultivated a sense of belonging and a deep respect for the artform that I myself experienced firsthand. It was there that I encountered ballet for the first time. I met Ms. Michele soon after I started dancing, and even at eight years old I remember being impressed by how seriously she took our training. I was a little in awe of her, but even at such a young age, I was aware and deeply in admiration of her grace and poise. 

It’s ironic that Ms. Michele characterizes herself as above all else as a student, when I’ve always seen her primarily as a teacher. When I first met her, she taught me ballet technique, but in the years that I’ve known her I’ve learned far more important lessons about myself and the world. She says that ballet, like the knothole, has taught her about life now that wealth of knowledge, love, and wisdom is apparent in every word that she utters. Every experience in her life – every obstacle and every accomplishment – she has chosen to learn something from, and to make into something beautiful, and now she can’t not pass it on. Her greatest advice for young people, she says, is to look for mentors – “people with a deep love who express it in a loving way” – and I wonder if she knows that she has been that for me, and more. 

with students of the GAB, 2006

In 2012, Ms. Gina and Mr. Janusz made the difficult decision to return to their home in Germany. It was the right thing for them both personally and professionally, but it left the precious organization that they had helped to build – along with Ms. Michele herself -- in disarray. The final performance over which they presided was a production of the legendary choreographer George Balanchine’s Serenade, which is quite simply one of the most beautiful and emotionally impactful ballets ever to be created.The curtain of Serenade rises on 17 female dancers spread across the stage, simply attired in long, diaphanous blue dresses, their right hands raised as if to shield their faces from a light in the upstage corner. This opening tableau is one of the most iconic and powerful images in all of ballet. From the initial note of Tchaikovsky’s magnificent score, the viewer is transported into a drama of human emotions – love, loss, joy, sorrow – all made tangible on stage through the raw power and genius of the music, the choreography, and the dance. In an article for Pointe Magazine, Maria Calegari, a répétiteur and former Balanchine dancer says that “Mr. Balanchine loved passion, and part of movement was passion to him” (qtd. in Rinehart, 38). In many ways Serenade captures humanity itself, not through story or costume or any other visual effect, but simply through poignancy and pathos of the dance itself. The beauty and emotion it evokes is ballet in its purest, most unadulterated form, and I think that’s the passion that Calegari mentions – the same passion that Ms. Michele exhibits with every word and gesture. 

Perhaps the most remarkable thing about Serenadeis the way in which it brings to life the most fundamental human emotions and makes them visible on stage; the way it tells a story without having any plot, but simply through the entanglements of the music and the movement.  It’s a microcosm of ballet itself --an artform unlike any other in that it takes both performer and viewer on a journey that goes beyond any one dancer or dance. Ballets like Serenadeare, at their essence, an education in what makes us human, and a revelation of our deepest selves. 

Sadly, the institution that Ms. Iris and then later Ms. Michele and Ms. Gina had so labored to build fell to pieces after the latter left. The board fell out over Ms. Gina’s succession, and the end result was that, Ms. Michele was, without ceremony or warning, ejected from the organization to which she had dedicated the last 17 years of her life. 

Her loss was a massive blow to all of us and caused an exodus of dancers, faculty, and students – myself included. Well do I remember the pain and sorrow that such a sudden falling out caused, and I can only imagine that heartache that it caused Ms. Michele herself. But when I ask her about what must certainly have been a dark period in her life, she remains philosophical. She says that while at the Georgia Ballet, she was constantly obsessed with being right, and that “that kind of obsession is never healthy.” She reminds me again of the dangers and negativity of comparison. “We built something good there,” she continues, “but there was a lot of pride involved.” 

Of course, such a radical transition is never easy, but Ms. Michele says again that she doesn’t have any regrets. “You just have to trust what’s happening,” she says. And then, characteristically, she turns the conversation away from herself and into a lesson for my own struggling, insecure, teenage self. “There is a purpose to everything,” she says, “Life is like a GPS. There’s a destination, where you’re supposed to be, and life is going to get you there. You just have to trust it, and enjoy the journey rather than getting attached to outcomes.” 

After leaving the Georgia Ballet, Ms. Michele spend the next few years teaching at a small studio in Acworth, GA, where I was fortunate enough to continue my training with her. I will cherish the memories of those hours I spent learning from her, not just about ballet, but about life itself, for all the rest of my days. 

In 2017, a year after I left Georgia to train out of state, Ms. Michele made the decision to stop teaching. By that time, she was working at a marketing agency, and had started her own business selling on Amazon. But even so many years later, I don’t think that her love for ballet has waned. I asked her what she thinks the future holds for her, and if it involves ballet, and she tells me, “I’m not sure, but I’m not going to worry about it.” It ties into a question I asked her earlier in the interview, about what her greatest fears and worries are. “Of course everyone worries,” she tells me, “but there’ s no use in dwelling on it. Focus on the present; come back to right now. Have faith that we’ll get where we’re going – remember the GPS system.”It’s the same philosophy that has marked the story of her life so far. From the day she said she liked ballet better “because it was harder,” Ms. Michele’s passion for ballet has always been not about the outcome but about the work that goes into it. She says that ballet has been her teacher, and I say that it has taught her well. 

“Kids, I shouldn’t see space between your knees in first position. Before you plié, the insides of your legs should be glued together, like a single leg.” It was probably Ms. Michele’s first correction of the day, to the 15 or so of us teenagers lined up at the barre, in a nondescript ballet studio in a nondescript warehouse in Acworth, GA.This, of course, came after she had given us a plié combination, which is usually the first exercise of a ballet class, and involves various slow bends of the knees and arms to begin our warm up, arching our backs and pointing our toes. Each of us were standing facing her, our feet turned out from our hips in the effort to achieve the 180 degree line, toe-to-toe, that is known in the ballet world as “first position.”

It was a day early in the fall – perhaps sometime in September -- and this far south, still warm enough that the garage door behind us was open to the outdoors. I remember that it was a beautiful day, warm and bright and breezy. Birds sang nearby, and I recall with great clarity the fresh, earthy scent of autumn in the air. The sunlight was streaming into the studio, heating our backs and casting all of us dancers in silhouette. “I like having the door open,” Ms. Michele commented from her chair at the front of the room where she sat facing us, the wall of mirrors at her back. “I can tell your legs aren’t straight when I see daylight between them.” I don’t remember specifically what she was wearing, but doubtless it involved an elegant blouse, a long necklace, dangling earrings, athletic pants that revealed slender “ballerina” legs of her own, and always a pair of soft, well-worn black shoes. 

Then she looked at me. “Ems, yourlegs were straight. I didn’t see any light.” I remember looking into the mirror, at my own adolescent body clothed in a teal leotard and pink tights, my dark hair pulled away from my face, my legs pressed together all the way from my inner thighs to my heels. And I remember distinctly the pride that her words gave me, because I’ve valued her approval more highly than that of almost anyone else, ever since the first day I met her when I was eight years old. The inner glow from her praise followed me throughout the day. 

As the class progressed, our movements got more complicated. Ms. Michele often demonstrated the combinations herself, and I would strive to imitate her graceful carriage, the delicate shapes her fingers made, the precise tilt of her head. Sometimes, she went very slowly, perfecting the minutia of each pose before we could move on to the next. Other times she gave us intricate exercises with numerous turns and steps that all linked into one long, graceful dance.

And that was what made every class that she gave so unique and enjoyable. Never did it feel like we were doing the steps by rote, or that we were performing them only to get them done. She gave quality to even the most elementary of exercises, and she pulled and prodded until we were able to give them quality too. Her classes had a sense of energy, grace, and movement that brought the dancing alive for me in a very special way. Often, it was in her class that I felt I danced my best, because I was able to let go of my concentration on technique to some extent and dance for the pure enjoyment of it. Through it all, her enormous respect and love for ballet, for the artform itself, were always in evidence. And she demanded that same respect from all of us. 

myself and Ms. Michele, 2017

By the time we got to the end of class, I was sweaty and exhausted. Ms. Michele was never afraid to push us – often, she gave combinations that were more complicated than we were accustomed to, and at the end I would be tired, but also excited. I never wanted it to be over. By that point, the sun had set behind us, the sky was dark, and the crickets and cicadas were singing loudly. It had gotten colder out, but we were warm from the dancing, and the night breeze felt good on our backs. We closed the garage door to escape mosquitos, and it descended with loud creaks and groans. And then we gathered around her and said “thank you” individually, as is tradition in ballet classes the world over. Thank you for teaching me, thank you for your time, thank you for the wisdom that you shared (and continue to share) that goes so far beyond ballet. Thank you more times than I will ever be able to put into words.