#8. 763 8th Avenue

Mr. Corvino created a forcefield of attention. Every one of us in that small studio on the 2nd floor of 763 Eighth Avenue knew the instant he was ready to begin class. What I remember is that there was no anxiety coming from him. He had no agenda except to see us dance better. There was no lurking bitterness or comparison of any of us to some favorite. Nothing except focus on what we were doing and how to help us do it better. He would say: Practice makes better. Perfection was not the point, even though what he pointed out was based on there being a perfection – but it was a perfection of intention. So although no one can actually do anything perfectly we could still get on the pathway.

That was the point. Get on the pathway. Once he said to me: When did you get a Vagonava back?

Gradually. It was the exploration of taking what he said as far as I could, every day. And then one day, there I was. Also, I was studying my body through Feldenkrais and Alexander, and with Nancy Topf, founder of Dynamic Anatomy/Topf Technique. So that, when he said something about how a tendu worked, I had hours of somatic experience to apply to the formal event he was talking about.

I couldn’t do that in every ballet class. What was special about Alfredo was the time inside the exercises. Because how he approached movement was as music, as rhythm, as expand and release. So there was always time because it was an internal experience of each movement. Not a doing so much as a being.

Unfortunately I still couldn’t pirouette. And that made me believe, always, that I was not a very good dancer. And my fear of that inevitable moment – those many inevitable moments—when I would be asked to turn around and then keep going… That poisoned every class.

So – I was a pretty good dancer. Sometimes a very good dancer. But I was a lousy dancer when I was afraid. And I was afraid a lot.