GLOVING

I never studied acting. Of course I have a uniquely experienced teacher right in the house.

When Todd Bolender (one of Balanchine's leading male dancers who also choreographed) was creating "At the Still Point" for Mark Ryder and me, JC directed me. There was a section at the start of the 2nd movement of the Debussy music, where I stood downstage center. Doing nothing, just seeing, envisioning the couples dancing behind me upstage.

JC's directing which added a slow motion gesture, a twist of my head, did not fit with what Todd wanted. He wanted zero, utter stillness.

When JC and I worked on his role on Broadway, in "On a Clear Day," after he told me what the director had been pushing him to do , I mirrored back to JC, what I saw and felt from what he was doing as an actor.

And that has become our pattern. JC directs me like a director. I direct him, by being a mirror.

It changed when JC directed my play, "People in Show Biz Make Long Goodbyes." He cast me as Theresa, a reclusive pianist who earns a meager living making orchestrations, hasn't been outside since she fell in the subway and developed white blotches on her face -- it's a pigmentary problem she blames on the government, the city, the state, the MTA.

Director JC's more of a stickler, a drill master than most of the choreographers I've worked with. He drove me crazy with his intellectual ideas, his detailed precise blocking. I wanted to improvise and find the blocking myself, not be told what to do, but I did manage, finally, to give a performance that pleased him and the critics.

What I learned, however, was how to get to a feeling within myself, by going right to it. I have to describe it as "gloving." Putting on a personality of someone else, becoming that person, as if you slid on a glove.

That's not a Stanislavsky technique though it relates to "method" acting, to knowing who am I, where am I going, what am I doing, what do I want. If you ask those questions, you can arrive at the emotion your character is feeling, produce the tears, the anger, or the blah state ... whatever.

I "glove" the character. I do that instinctively when I meet people. I see them, get a sense of them, by "gloving" them. It's easy to do with females; but I do it with males as well -- workman, mailmen, repairmen, tech guys – connect with the person by "gloving."

Sounds sort of sensual, sexy It's not that. It's focusing. Listening, hearing, seeing the other person. Try it – now that I've told you my secret, try it sometime.

FOUR IS MORE THAN THREE.

One pirouette was easy to learn how to do. (Pirouette: it's a French word for "spinning top." In ballet it's an act of spinning on one foot, typically with the raised foot touching the knee of the supporting leg.)

I just whirled around. On two feet, then on one, and then, imitating the teacher, with my foot raised, did it a hundred times till I didn't lose my balance. Right away I started trying to do two turns. How many pirouettes you can do, is one of the ways people measure a dancer.

Another student who saw me practicing said "Hold in your stomach and spot." Holding my stomach in, sucking it in I could do two turns, but couldn't ever absolutely totally count on two. Even so, two revolutions could be fudged, not done in relevé (on half toe) -- if you fling your arms strongly, you can turn fast, with the standing foot almost flat on the floor.

"Three" pirouettes eluded me. I wasn't a "technical" dancer. My mind, when I dance is on the feeling. A famous ballerina once told me "You can't ever be sure about a pirouette." Even if you're truly into being "Giselle," you turn off the emotion, and turn on your technique.

I was a rehearser, dancing full out when others marked the steps. I'd rehearse in emotional distractions, figure out what to think about, continually inventing new things to have on my mind, like "catch a firefly," or "push a balloon"--so the technical feat didn't bug me or scare me, as I spotted.

(Spotting: You pick a particular place, point, or position, keep your eye on it for as long as possible as you're spinning, turn your head quickly back to it the moment you lose sight of it.)

But three pirouettes (I'd go for it sometimes on stage) was never safe. I didn't own three. I'd do it for me, the me who loves a challenge. I've tried four when I'm alone in my studio. It's easier to try it competitively when other dancers are pirouetting with you, but I don't ever try to do four in public.

What's all this pirouette talk about? Am I trying to teach you who are reading this, how to pirouette?

No.

I'm talking about four, because I dreamed last week that I was in a room with mirror and a pale linoleum floor like the floor in my studio, and I did four ... in balance, effortlessly, perfect position, "on one leg, with the other at the knee" like the "Basic Principles of Classic Ballet" describes, effortlessly spotting, smoothly spinning.

It was dream. It was glorious. I didn't do four on a stage, but I did it. I know from having done it, four pirouettes is better than three, or two, or one.

I guess I'm writing this because of The Readery. I want you to know, you who are reading my blog, that I'm exulting. My work is out there. I did it -- stopped rehearsing -- doing it over and over -- planning, strategizing, waiting, hoping and praying for something to happen, I just DID IT.

THE MOGLIES

Mornings when you don't want to get up ... school days ... no matter how old or wise you are, you'll never forget the dread, the knot in your stomach because of the test for which you don't feel prepared.

When was it -- was it when I was working on "Dream Dances"? It was an ambitious full-length ballet, featuring each of my eight dancers in his/her dream.

The state unemployment bureau informed me by mail that I owed them money. One of the dancers had applied for unemployment insurance. I phoned the bureau. Was told I had to pay into the fund, and prove that I had disability insurance.

Huh? What's that?

Mrs. Moglia, a clear-speaking, humorless, not friendly head of the department had said, "It's the law. You need a policy. Basic coverage is - - - - - -"

Did she say 1000, or 10,000, or what? I don't remember the amount, just the awful feeling in my stomach. The amount was a flock of blue birds in the sky, flying over my head. In Manhattan I'd seen gray wrens and pigeons. I'd never seen a blue bird.

All too well, I remember the days when we had no money -- nothing for salaries, dancers rehearsing without pay. Home was a 9 x 12 room in the back of the rehearsal space. We had to tiptoe through it to get to the bathroom. When I wasn't rehearsing, I rented out the space for $1.25 an hour. The Sunday Times had asked for a picture of my dance group. Pictures could be picked up with a check for $50. I didn't have $50. Rent was due, other bills were pending. We needed groceries. We'd been eating rice, chuck steak and apples, a dish I'd invented.

Mrs. M. said, "I've sent you a Proof of Insurance form. You need to file it within ten days."

I remember the tenth day. The phone ringing. I didn't want to get up. I wanted to lay in bed, snuggled in, safe, in my house of sheets, blanket, and JC's arms.

I don't remember how the problems were solved. I just remember Moglia -- that authoritative voice -- the feeling in my stomach. Even now, when too many things to do pile up, I get the Moglies.