The Prospect of Performing
It usually starts quite subtly. So subtly you hadn’t really noticed. Your teacher will casually say something like, “Imagine there’s an audience in front of you--smile! And really perform!”
Then you’ll start working on particular steps and choreography and you’ll be thinking that it’s great to really concentrate on something over several weeks, really learn it.
And gently, very gently, your teacher mentions she’s thinking about putting on a show and would you think about taking part, and “We’ll do something you know well”.
“Oh, and the costumes—you’ll love the costumes!”
It would not be at all surprising if you suddenly find that your head, whilst previously shaking with vehemence, is now nodding, perhaps a little slowly, but nodding nonetheless.
Do not be fooled, dear reader. If you think that because you’ve started your dance classes later in life or are simply going along for the exercise that you’re safe from the spotlight. I tell you now, you are not. Even the most introverted amongst us has found themselves prancing about on a stage dressed in a red tutu and, though mostly trying to remember what step was next, was also thinking “How did I get here?”
How did I get here?
How indeed. Or, perhaps a better question, why not?
On behalf of your ballet teacher, the Performance sales pitch…
There is much more to performing in front of an actual audience than the terror of falling on one’s face. “Doubt it!” you say. No, really, there is. When I reflect back on the performances I have taken part in, there are two things that surpass The Terror in leaps and bounds (jetés and glissades)—that satisfying feeling of “I did it!” and the camaraderie that has developed between fellow performers.
A closer look at these two things, I’m hoping, will help ‘sell the product’.
“I did it!”
A very wise aunt once said “Do something that scares you every day”. I told her that I do, I get out of bed each morning. (Her eyebrows were positively horizontal at that.) But when I’m not being ridiculous, there is a lot of sense in the idea of challenging oneself. We can learn so much about ourselves by stepping out of comfort zones and doing something out of the ordinary.
Performing in a dance show, possibly on a stage for the first time in your life, would most certainly full under that banner. And the journey to the stage, the time and work given to it, makes that feeling of “I did it!” even more satisfying than, say, bungee jumping.
Preparation for a performance usually starts several months in advance. Parts of the choreography will be introduced in centre practice and after a while pretty much the whole class will be taken up with rehearsing, working on those harder steps, readjusting the parts that aren’t working, learning to really hear the music. Slowly, but surely the piece comes together.
I have often found myself learning new things entirely for a performance, so whilst rehearsals have allowed time to fine tune steps I already knew, they also allowed me to expand my knowledge and repertoire. And as my confidence in the choreography increased, so did my strength.
Preparing for a dance show takes not only courage, but a lot of dedication, both of which make that final feeling of achievement that much sweeter. “I worked for it, and I did it.”
What’s more, it’s interesting how the confidence that one ‘earns’ having performed on a stage extends into everyday life. I can’t tell you how often, when caught in a moment of nervousness before an event, I have thought “Hey, I stood on a stage in a red tutu—this will be a doddle in comparison.”
The camaraderie
Perhaps one of the things I enjoy the most during the hectic days of a performance are the friendships forged backstage. Everyone helps one and other out, whether it’s sewing on sequins, helping apply false eyelashes or running through a step that’s got someone’s leotard in a twist.
People bring in food to share and someone will invariably have music, ostensibly to run through the numbers, but quite often someone takes the bold decision to turn on the latest chart toppers or favourite tracks and soon everyone is milling about, eating, pasting on makeup, scraping back hair, chatting, with their heads bobbing or toes tapping.
The conversation often has nothing to do with the show. We learn new things about each other, share jokes and laugh regularly.
Then, when someone rushes in and says “Five minutes!” everyone looks at each other, all experiencing that surge of adrenaline and all united in the thrill. One person will be chewing on her fingernails, someone else saying reassuring things and everywhere I look, there’s a friend going through exactly the same thing I am. We are all in it together: we’ve all worked towards this moment, we all hope it goes well for ourselves and each other, and we’ve all got each other’s backs.
A grown-up, posed photo pre-performance.
A not-so grown-up pre-performance photo.
Afterwards, there’s the post-performance dissection.
“I can’t believe I forgot that step!?”
“Sorry I accidentally kicked you during the grand battements.”
“Did you see me lose my balance? It was hilarious!”
“My mother was waving at me from the front row.”
More comforting things are said, more laughter is had and more chocolate is eaten. However we all felt we performed, together, we did it.
To alleviate those nerves
There are a few tips and tricks I have learnt over the performances I have been involved in, and I hope they will either help you decide in favour of performing or, if you’re already in it up to the tiara, help calm those nerves.
Practise!
First of all, practise, practise, practise! In class, whilst the kettle is boiling at work, at the kitchen sink—keep going over and over and over the steps. It might seem like a very obvious thing to say, but when involved in an amateur production, some people don’t feel the need to try too hard. However, if you practise incessantly, you can step onto that stage with the knowledge of “I know this!”
That line saved me from an on-stage panic attack a couple of years ago. At the start of the piece I made a mistake, a fairly obvious one, and the circuitry in my brain prepared itself for a melt-down. Then a very determined thought pushed its way through: “I know this.” Everything fell back into place, I knew exactly what was coming next and the rest of the performance went well.
It's a team effort
Practise not just for yourself, but for your fellow performers. There is a security in the knowledge that everyone knows what they’re doing, that you can rely on each other, and that security will quiet those nerves even more. You’re all in this experience together—enjoy the friendships that come from it and the fact that you can all head to the pub afterwards and toast the achievement.
Show time!
Know the music
Your teacher will most certainly provide you with the exact piece of music you will be dancing to. Put it on your iPod and listen to it incessantly, not just when you’re practising, but when you’re in the car or walking somewhere. Really knowing the piece will not only mean your muscle memory is triggered by certain phrases, but, also, if something happens and you miss a section, you will know how the next phrase starts and can step back in.
What the audience doesn't know
There is a lot of comfort in the fact that the audience does not know the choreography. More often than not, that very minor error that you will dwell on for hours afterwards was not even seen. And if you glissade left whilst everyone else glissades right, how does the audience know that that wasn’t part of the choreography? They don’t. Keep smiling, keep dancing and maybe even enjoy it a little.
What the audience does know
I would put money on the fact that no one in the audience is wishing bad things for you. There will also most likely be people who know you at the performance and they are there to support you and to see why you’ve been going on and on about your dance classes for so long.
When the panic is threatening, please remember that the audience is like the crowd at the game with home ground advantage—they’re cheering for you and wanting you to do well, just in a very understated, silent sort of way.
Finally
You have spent so many hours in the studio and worked really hard. A performance gives you the opportunity to show where that time and work has taken you, and to share your passion with others. Yes, it’s terrifying, but it’s a good sort of terror. Do as my aunt says and embrace it!
If you have any thoughts and experiences that might help the nervous performer, please feel free to share them.