I once drove home in full costume and make-up with my pointe shoes still on, firmly tucked in my sneakers to which I hadn’t even bothered to tie the laces and only a jacket covering my upper half. Why? A brief moment of psychosis where I completely forgot that I had in fact already given my teacher my music for my solo – thinking that I had left the tape at home instead. I wasn’t zapped with the memory of handing it over to her until I got into my house and then by then I was swearing with frustration because the prime parking spot I had claimed at the theatre could well have disappeared by the time I got back. Luckily – I reclaimed my car park, unluckily – my neighbours and street witnessed a bizarre woman entering and exiting my home without shutting or locking the door behind her and driving off wearing what appeared to be a puffy gypsy costume and drag-queen make-up.
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Performing in a group was always fun ~ a golden oldie circa 2002
(I was the one second to the left) |
Oh! – the excitement and madness that is the eisteddfods, where students get over-excited, parents lose their minds and teachers go a little bit more grey. That episode I described occurred during the time that I was both teaching and dancing, so not only had I the responsibility to put myself on, but I had all these girls I had to tend to as well. That particular evening I had four kids to put on stage as well as myself. So I guess I can be forgiven for having that lapse in memory and reacting like a loony when I experienced unnecessary shock. Needless to say, it makes a great stage story and it never fails to make me giggle. I write this with the Launceston Festival of Dance in mind, as some of my girls will be preparing to hit the stage in the coming week and they will be sure to have pre-performance nerves coupled with excitement.
As a kid, eisteddfods were great fun and I loved performing in groups. I didn’t begin my first solo until I was 11 and in a way I am so glad I wasn’t thrust on stage alone in my nappies like some of my friends were. At least I had some time to watch my peers who were already performing solos and to observe how everyone else prepared. For a time as a teenager I became really competitive and I believe I did have a few unglamorous moments (mostly at home or backstage where no one could see me and when I was very alone) - mostly spurred on by feelings of inadequacy and disappointment that I didn’t execute those pirouettes on stage that I had been able to perform at the studio without too many issues. In general however, I had adopted the mentality that the eisteddfod was just another opportunity to get on stage. Whilst the trophies and medals were icing on the cake and a welcomed reward for hard work, I wasn’t overly concerned like some other girls about winning. I can count on one hand how many times I was overly concerned with winning – and I’m glad it’s just one hand.
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| My last championship |
Competition isn’t a bad thing and I think children need to experience a bit of that whilst they are growing up because there is a lot of it out there in the “real world” in many different forms. Healthy competition is especially beneficial as (usually) it gives a child perspective on their abilities but also a bit of motivation to rise to the challenge. It’s a great form of character building. There is however, it’s ugly twin-sister, unhealthy competition albeit the cutthroat nasty side that does in an eisteddfod atmosphere rear its head from time to time. I remember a long time ago when competing for groups my fellow peers and I would make an effort to stay away from one particular dance school because their girls had a reputation for not being all that forthcoming, or friendly to say the least. Bitching and backstabbing between schools and sometimes between dancers representing the same school was not uncommon and I believe it probably still happens today in varying degrees. At the end of the day poor behaviour like this is a product of one of two things (or sometimes both): ignorance – a lack of knowledge, understanding or empathy of the other party and/or jealousy – formed from personal insecurities. I remember the only times I ever became consumed with winning came out of the primal need to dismiss my insecurities and to prove myself, to assert myself on stage and publicly. I wanted to show that “Jacquelyne France” was here! Most of my negative feelings were self-centred and whilst I did experience jealousy of my peers it was because I felt inadequate and I wanted to do what they could do, or exude the confidence they had. I am still to this day an insecure and anxious person. I was particularly insecure about my abilities as a dancer and I don’t think I’d be alone with that statement – no matter how technically proficient, artistically attuned or physically gifted a dancer may be, they will always be insecure about one or more aspects of themselves and their abilities as a dancer. Sylvie Guillem who is GOD would have insecurities and I am confident with that assumption because she is despite being a physically and artistically gifted dancer - is still a human being (even though we’d like to think she is an alien sent to earth just to perform on stage). Feelings of insecurity and inadequacy, I think stems from the fact that dancing is an art-form that strives for perfection and no human can be perfect. That was my major attraction to ballet, the fact that it was an art that was built on the premise of looking ethereal and not of this world – something that was beyond an ordinary human.
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| The incomparable Sylvie Guillem |
Nevertheless, the older I got, the less and less I became so concerned with the “rewards”. I think being 19, 20, 21, 22, I had already achieved what I needed to achieve at a local eisteddfod so it became less about proving and asserting myself and more about feeding that addiction of being on stage. A three-minute solo was my performance. An eisteddfod became a week long Gala instead of a competition. By that time I had students to be responsible for and so a performance on stage became a miniature dedication to my kids, to show them what their teacher was capable of and to show them that they can do that too with a lot of hard work and discipline. I remember sharing the stage with my teacher and watching her dance, that feeling was truly incredible and served as inspiration. It is an indescribable feeling watching someone you admire and look up to performing on stage in front of you. I hoped that my kids would share that wonderful experience that I had when I saw my teacher dance, because despite all the glitter, hairspray and eyelashes that comes with eisteddfods, they are also a place of inspiration. You will see some amazing performances and some very talented kids – sometimes you see some very talented adults. It was always a place where I could renew that motivation and to fuel that drive to work. Sometimes the positive aspects of eisteddfods gets lost on some people and it just becomes all about that prize, which really...whilst yes there is nothing wrong with striving to be the best on the day, there is more to that experience than just a gold medal. I feel that if you are unable to see beyond just that superficial side, then you are missing out entirely on a whole other dimension – and that is sad.
I will forever cherish my time participating in the world of the eisteddfod and well, maybe one day I’ll be back, if not as a teacher or a dancer, but as a mother. Having gone through that world and come out the other end okay (I think I’ve done okay) I believe I’m equipped with the knowledge and experience that may be helpful for my daughter/son/student if they choose to enter this world too, because it can be a whole lot of fun – especially if drag queen make-up and lots of sequins are involved!
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| As a kid with a whole lotta drag-queen make-up! |
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