Dancer story

How I started to dance

For me, classical dancing is strongly associated with family ties. Both my grandparents on my mother’s side were dancers, my grandmother was a Professor at the Conservatoire. Like all students, I spent my Wednesday afternoons doing outside school activities. The Conservatoire, where my grandmother was working, offered several artistic activities and in order to make good use of my free time, she enrolled me in some of those. This was the start to my dancing career.

I have a particularly emotional memory of my first performance, which captured me. On stage, everything made sense. At this very moment, I understood in which direction our initial hard work would take us and this conclusion won me over. I was around 12 years old and I decided to deepen my dance routine. It was already too late for me to join L’Ecole de l’Opéra de Paris.

With my grandparents’ vocational training and support I slowly but surely developed my style and progressively renewed some of the lost years which separated me from other precocious children.

Thanks to a scholarship, I was able to join the National Ballet School in Cuba. To be a dancing scholar in Cuba is a very prestigious status for all the inhabitants and sought after by parents, who see a means of offering their children an award of excellence and open up opportunities unhoped for. I was one of the first foreigners to attend this school. For the majority of these students – descended from very modest Cuban families – to excel in the art of dancing was more an act of survival compared to Europe, where it is just another educational option. Being part of the Ballet School of Cuba allowed them to enjoy a better life compared to most of Cuba’s population.

This “Cuban” experience certainly is a major factor to me becoming a dancer. I made profound progress amongst other young dancers equally tenaciously ambitious.

Stage memories

Several last-minute opportunities came my way to replace an injured dancer. Long days of intense preparation followed and short nights clouded with fear of failure.

One very particular memory has stayed with me. I had been accepted to dance “Etudes” the evening before a very delicate surgical operation to a painful injury on my Achilles heel. This intervention resulted in several weeks of rehabilitation.

At the end of my “Etudes” performance, I cried. I felt overwhelmed by the fear of not being able to be on stage again should there be repercussions from the operation. I imagined all my hard work over the years going down the drain. It was like saying goodbye to ballet without being given notice. Absolutely heart wrenching.

That is when I realized how much I love what I do.

To be a dancer

We do not make the dance – one is a dancer. To be a dancer is just as much a way of life as it is an occupation. One cannot just dabble with dancing. It has to be a total sacrifice – no short-cuts. To be a dancer means to devote oneself totally to dancing.

Not being the youngest master dancer, I had to fight to carve a way towards my ambition of excellence. I was always hungry for success. My pugnacious spirit!

To be a dancer means to carry a legacy from one generation to the next. I had some outstanding teachers and coaches.

Relationship to dancing roles

To live a role is like a metamorphosis.

From the moment I wake up, I am thinking about my role: ‘Today, I will be…’. I dissect all of the emotions relevant to the role and explore them. If the part asks for jealousy, I unearth the jealousy in me. I try identify with the characters, imagine their lives before the story began, and think of different ways other interpreters carried out the role before me. No role is ever frozen—each is the result of an evolution, an iterative process.

This mental preparation, almost spiritual, helps me to physically live the figure, and this is what I want the public to feel.

I strive for the public to forget all day-to-day troubles.

Most of the time, the audience is unaware of who the dancers are. They just want to forget the daily grind. To captivate them, even if only for a minute or a second is my sincerest wish. May they forget everything and may their senses be captured in that moment of the presentation. Especially in the present time, where our attention span is very short, the art of dancing touches aspects far more precious and unique.

Just to think, that a person has dedicated his life to his kind of art and that today, on stage, as a spectator, I can watch this performance and savor this precision, this greatness.

The audience can relish a spectacle in many different ways. The compassion for a role or key figure can absolutely crush them. If, at the time of death, the sorrow of the key dancer reaches over to the audience, I have succeeded in transporting the audience to another level. Be it the precision, the exquisiteness, a beauty that appeals to them, the fervor of the interpretation or just the magic of watching a live performance – dancing should fascinate and spellbind! They should say to themselves: “What I have just experienced, is priceless!” »

Responsibility as an artist

We represent an ancient art. You cannot learn how to dance ballet over the internet. Our profession is of sacrifice and demands historical continuation. We carry a flag, a philosophy of art, a timeless memory. We abide by ancient laws. The art of dancing appealed to spirits, well before acquiring an aesthetical dimension. Pledged as dancers, we are also instruments. We are the creators of movements and also the consequence of a tradition and of an old school.

I feel as it is my obligation to carry on a legacy. To foresee a divine fulfillment – ​​non-human. An improvement. Watch the jumps, the lifts, the points, the twirling tulle skirts.

The opposite of dancing

The futile, the triteness, the emotional inanity, the ordinary, the meaningless routine. Dancing is non-conformity.

My highest ambition as a dancer

Continue to evolve and grow as a dancer to the best of my ability. To reach my full potential. So, that if someone watches me dance, they would notice the improvement over the years.

Jonathan is Principal dancer with the Royal Danish Company.

Interview in French.

Beginnings

Classical dance has a family connection for me. Both my maternal grandparents were dancers, and my grandmother was a teacher at the conservatory. Like any schoolchild, I dedicated my Wednesday afternoons to extracurricular activities. The conservatory where my grandmother worked offered numerous artistic classes, and to make the most of this free time, she enrolled me in some of them. That’s how I began dancing.

I have a particularly vivid memory of my first performance, which delighted me. On stage, everything took shape and made sense. I understood at that moment the direction our preparatory work had been heading, and this outcome captivated me! I was about twelve years old and decided then to further my dance training. It was already too late to join the Paris Opera Ballet School.

Supported and trained by my grandparents, I gradually developed my art and progressively caught up with the few years that separated me from children with an earlier vocation.

Thanks to a scholarship, I was accepted into the National Ballet School of Cuba. For Cubans, being a dance student is highly prestigious and sought after by parents who see it as a way to provide their children with an excellent education and open up incredible opportunities. I was one of the first foreigners to attend this school. For most of the students, who came from very modest families, excelling in dance was, rather than simply an option as it often is in Europe, a matter of survival. Joining the Cuban Ballet would allow them access to a lifestyle beyond the reach of the majority of the Cuban population. This Cuban experience is certainly what allowed me to become a dancer. I progressed enormously, surrounded by young people with fierce ambition.

Stage Memories

Numerous opportunities were offered to me at the last minute to replace an injured soloist. This was followed by long days of intense and rushed preparation, and nights shortened by the anxiety of the approaching deadline.

One memory in particular lingers in my mind. I had agreed to dance “Etudes” the day before a delicate surgical procedure. I had an extremely painful Achilles tendon injury. The operation required several weeks of recovery.

At the end of the performance that evening, I cried. The anxiety of perhaps never going back on stage, due to the possible complications of the procedure, overwhelmed me. I saw all those years of work vanishing. It was like saying goodbye to the stage without being at all prepared. Heartbreaking.

I realized at that moment how much I love what I do.

“What if this was the last time…”

This idea was unbearable to me.

To be a dancer

You don’t just dance, you are a dancer. Being a dancer is a way of life as much as a profession. You can’t just dabble in dance. It has to be a complete, almost sacred passion.

To be a dancer is to dedicate oneself to dance.

Not being a young virtuoso, I had to fight to forge my own path towards my ambition of excellence. I have always carried within me a thirst for success. A tenacity.

Being a dancer means carrying a heritage, passed down from generation to generation. I had extraordinary teachers and coaches.

Relationship to roles

Inhabiting a role is a metamorphosis. I think about my role as soon as I wake up, “Today, I will be…”. I dissect the emotions intrinsic to the character—or to the “role” more broadly for a non-narrative ballet—and explore them. If it’s a jealous character, I unearth the jealousy within myself. I am a disciple of the school of character conditioning and identification. I imagine the character’s life before the piece, consider how other performers have taken hold of them before me. Each character and its interpretation at a given moment are the result of a prior becoming, an iterative process. No role is fixed.

This mental, almost spiritual preparation helps me to physically inhabit the character.

What I want to bring to the public

My aim is to make the audience forget their everyday worries. Of course, the audience includes enthusiasts who evaluate and appreciate the technical aspects of the performance. These people are familiar with ballet and eagerly anticipate the most acrobatic or technically demanding passages.

Some members of the audience come to see specific dancers. However, most people come without knowing who is dancing. They want to forget their everyday lives. My dearest wish is to transport them for a few moments, even if only a minute or a second. I want people to forget everything and for their senses to be fully engaged in the moment of the performance. Especially in our time, when our attention spans are so short, dance calls upon increasingly rare and precious qualities.

To think that a person has dedicated their life to their art so that today on stage, as a spectator, I can see this performance and appreciate this precision, this excellence.

The audience can experience a performance in many different ways. Empathy for a character can overwhelm them. If sadness grips them at the moment of my character’s death, I will have succeeded in transporting the audience to another dimension. And whether through precision, aesthetics, a beauty that speaks to them, the incandescent nature of the performance, or the magic of seeing a work “live,” dance must dazzle. They must say to themselves: “What I came to see is priceless.”

Besides providing escapism, can dance also raise awareness about certain realities?

It depends on the ballet. Some pieces lend themselves more readily to reflection, introspection, and critique than others. It’s our role as artists to question things—to question them, to question them emotionally and personally.

Dance is an invitation to which everyone responds differently. The resonance a performance evokes within us varies from one individual to another. We must be open to it. We must be ready to receive it.

Artist’s responsibility

We represent an ancient art. Classical dance cannot be learned on a computer screen. Our profession has a sacrificial dimension and is part of a long history. We carry a torch, an aesthetic, a timeless memory. We perpetuate ancestral gestures. Dance was a call to the spirits, long before it acquired an aesthetic dimension. As artists, we are instruments. Both creators of movement and the culmination of a tradition and a training.

I feel compelled to pass on a legacy. To offer a glimpse of something divine. Something inhuman. An elevation. Look at the leaps, the lifts, the pointe work, the swirling tulle!

The opposite of dance – mediocrity, banality. Emotional emptiness. Ordinary. Meaningless routine. Dance represents nonconformity.

Greater ambition as an artist

Become the best dancer at my art I can. Continue to evolve and grow as a dancer to achieve the best I can. Reach my full potential. That if someone comes to see me dancing over the years, they would observe a change.