A Portrait of the Dancer as a Young Man (in Pain)



A Portrait of the Dancer as a Young Man (in Pain)

By SYLVIANE GOLD

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Published: September 5, 2004

In lots of ways, Jordan Cohen is a typical 14-year-old. One of his favorite bands, the Red Hot Chili Peppers, is on his cellphone. After dinner, he watches Conan O'Brien reruns on Comedy Central. He's given to hyperbole: "That was the best pasta I've ever had in my whole life."

But this summer, instead of hanging at the beach or going to camp with other San Diego ninth-graders, Jordan packed 4 pairs of black tights, 6 pairs of ballet shoes and 14 T-shirts and came to New York.

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|Ruby Washington/The New York Times |

|Jordan Cohen of San Diego came to American |

|Ballet Theater's Summer Intensive training |

|program to learn technique, and to learn where |

|he stood in the intensely competitive world of |

|dance. |

| |

He had won a scholarship to American Ballet Theater's Summer Intensive, which auditions young dancers nationwide and sends the best to study in Texas, California, Alabama, Michigan and New York. Officially, the programs are equivalent; unofficially, New York's is considered the place to be. After doing programs at the Pittsburgh Ballet and at Ballet Theater's Orange County, Calif., location last summer, Jordan was moving up in class, and the next six weeks might tell him if he belonged there.

Like a lot of ballet boys, he started because of an older sister. A phenom who could do 32 fouettés - the whipped turns that are one measure of a ballerina's skill - when she was 11, Yve Laris Cohen, now 18, has turned her attention to theater. But, Jordan says: "She's very supportive of me and my dancing. She's like a coach. She really prepared me for my audition."

Their parents, Alan H. Cohen, a rheumatologist, and Georgia Laris, an artist, supported their children's artistic inclinations as well. Jordan took his first class at 4, performed several times in the local "Nutcracker" and at 9 appeared in Ballet Theater's "Corsaire" at the Orange County Performing Arts Center. At 10, he says, he "needed a little break" - that's when his beloved ballet teachers left San Diego and, by coincidence, his parents' marriage fell apart. He began concentrating on tennis, and excelled at that too. Ballet, he says, gave him "a huge advantage" in sports. "It's so vigorous, it puts you in unsurpassed shape." A couple of years ago, he says, his teachers returned, and so did he: "I made the choice to come back. I started pushing really hard."

He knew going into the program that he was better at jumps than at turns; but he had confidence in other facets of his technique, and high hopes for the summer. "This is going to be a good way to push it to the next level, and become part of the ballet world per se," he said. (If he thought he'd be rubbing shoulders with his Ballet Theater favorites in the elevator, he would be quickly disappointed: The dancers' base of operations in June is the Metropolitan Opera House, and in any case, students are required to use the stairs.)

The day before the program was to begin, he flew to New York with Ashley Stringfield, a 14-year-old he knew from the Pittsburgh program, and her mother, Christy, who had rented a furnished apartment a few blocks from Ballet Theater's Flatiron district headquarters and procured two additional roommates. (Jordan's share of the cost was $1,900, plus contributions to the weekly dinner kitty.) I followed Jordan's up-and-down pursuit of mastery from "placement day," June 21, to the summer session's two performances on July 30. Here is a week-by-week account of Jordan's summer.

WEEK ONE Nothing is quite as he expected. He'd visited New York in the spring with his school class, but he's not prepared for the summer heat. He's surprised that the Ballet Theater studios are neither huge nor opulent. He's shocked at "how good everyone else is," though he's pleased that the atmosphere is relaxed, not as cutthroat as he had anticipated. And finally, the one-bedroom with sleeping loft is much smaller than it looked in the photograph. The three girls have the bedroom, Christy Stringfield is sleeping on the sofa bed, and Jordan gets the platform. "It's pretty intimate," he says.

On the first day, the 227 participants are split into groups, given numbers and put through their paces. Members of the faculty - many of them former Ballet Theater dancers - scrutinize every move, making little notes on their clipboards. It's organized like a standard ballet class, with exercises emphasizing footwork and flexibility at the barre, followed by unsupported jumping and turning in the center of the studio, and ending with traveling leaps and turns that take the dancers diagonally across the space. By day's end, the staff will have scored all the students, without knowing their names or ages.

There's an attempt to mask the brutal facts of the seven-grade system by assigning each rank a color rather than an adjective. But the kids know that the reds are the bottom, the indigos the top. Jordan places in the yellow group, one step up from red. But there are no boys in the reds.

Jordan is realistic but upbeat . "At the barre," he says, "a lot of people stood out - good feet, good turnout. But it was different when we were doing turns and jumps. I might be about middle of the course. Maybe." But by the time the week is done, his mood has darkened, and he's very aware of his shortcomings. "In terms of my spirit, I just sort of got crushed," he says. "I lean towards the lower half of the skill level." There are "yellow" boys who can execute - however crudely - some of the flying turns that win Ballet Theater's male stars their bravos. Jordan's not there yet. "At times," he says, "it seems so far away it's not really attainable. Other times, I feel like it's more a matter of working harder."

He feels better after we go to see American Ballet Theater's "Coppélia" and one of the company's principals, Ethan Stiefel, takes a seat in front of us. Jordan introduces himself and says, "I saw your locker today." The show, and the brush with stardom, give Jordan a lift. But, he laments a few days later, the high didn't last. And he has a nickel-size blister on the sole of each foot.

WEEK TWO The jazz teacher, Roberta Mathes, rolls her eyes as the class, in bare feet, follows her through some sweeping side-to-side steps to fast-paced guitars. "Look alive!" she tells them. "Push the floor away! Dance!" Jazz, like modern and yoga, provides a once-a-week break from the daily diet of ballet, ballet, ballet. In the pas de deux class, Jordan does double duty, repeating each combination with two partners, since the girls outnumber the boys. He works with them matter-of-factly, finding the right spot at the waist for the easiest lift, the right grip for the smoothest turn. He's surprisingly strong, and, like the other students, he's focused entirely on the task, not on its hormonal possibilities. "It seems easier for men," he says of partnering. "But if it's not going well, you don't know what you're doing wrong." Still, he's feeling definite progress in some areas, including his turns. "I think in general my dancing's going up," he says. "But I've been getting extremely bad pain in my calf muscles. Today I could barely walk." He thinks it's shin splints, which he's had before, and he's applying ice, doing stretches and taking ibuprofen.

Over the weekend, we take in Ballet Theater's "Romeo and Juliet" - he loves it, it's "the best ballet I've ever seen!" - and a modern dance program by Pilobolus. He loves that too, especially the piece with music by Radiohead, another of his favorite bands

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|Ruby Washington/The New York Times |

|At the final performance, Paulina Bracone|

|and Jordan Cohen danced in "At the |

|Shore." |

WEEK THREE The French nomenclature of ballet can be intimidating to outsiders. But in pirouettes class, Johan Renvall speaks standard English and he's still incomprehensible to a non-dancer. "Pull up from the hip, not the shoulders," he tells one girl. "Tuck your bottom two ribs underneath," he tells another. When they practice fouettés, he says, "Feel the leg pulling you around." When he gets to Jordan, he gently adjusts his arms and shoulders. But gentleness is not always Mr. Renvall's method. When a girl topples to the floor, he mockingly holds up two fingers. She protests: "I didn't fall before! It's not my second time!"

Failure is an ever present companion in the studio. You can learn a little about each dancer by how he or she reacts to messing up. Others giggle, wince or shrug, but Jordan mutters to himself and sets his jaw. When class is over, Jordan comes up for the traditional thank-you handshake, and Mr. Renvall uses his left hand to lift Jordan's right elbow.

By week's end, Jordan has other concerns. The blisters are callused, but the shin splints haven't gone away. And brushing his right leg backward in class, he's somehow snagged the nail of his big toe, bending it nearly in half and driving it into the nailbed. The pain is excruciating - he can't dance and is afraid to ask the staff for help. "I don't want to seem prone to injury," he says. "I'm just going to have to deal with it." Meanwhile, he's sitting out classes. "You always can get things from observing," he says. But he'd rather be dancing, and maybe that's contributing to the twinges of homesickness he's experiencing. A Yankee game is meant as a distraction, but the bleacher seats are a mistake. The sun gets to him, and the next day, he can't even get out of bed.

WEEK FOUR In modern class, the bare feet reveal many bandages - it's an assembly of the footsore. But Jordan's toenail has healed, and he's back in action. There's a solidity to his movements that hadn't been there a few weeks ago. "Lengthen, lengthen," urges Karla Wolfangle. Jordan lengthens. He's learning more than dance skills. "Teachers tell you that if you really want something and you work really hard, you can get it," he says. "But at some point you begin to realize that's not always true."

The yellows - 6 boys and 25 girls - will dance Mr. Renvall's "At the Shore," a sweetly comic ballet, for the final performance. Jordan finally gets a role - a little boy - briefly partnering Paulina Bracone, a diminutive 15-year-old, in a jump and a lift. He'll also be in an ensemble excerpt from "Coppélia." The parts are small, and not solos.

"I'm disappointed," he says. "But for me, it's not really about the performance. That's for the parents. For me, this is about the training." And that, he's convinced, is beginning to pay off. Periodically, he asks me about college dance programs or about what life is like for professional dancers.

Meanwhile, he says, the boys in the program "have become sort of a community. Everybody's getting to know each other." As for the roommates, they are beginning to wear on him. "Not Ashley," he says. "But the rest of my apartment is very into shopping."

WEEK FIVE "I had some news about my performance today," he announces. Has his part changed? "No," he says, "I have to shave my legs. Mr. Renvall says I'm supposed to look like a 7-year-old, and I'm too hairy."

As for the piece itself, "that's really gotten better." At first, Jordan was having to bend down to catch Paulina when she jumped. But, he says, "It's really solid now." With the end in sight, he finds himself "in a kind of disequilibrium," he says. "I miss my home and my sister, and I want to get back. But it's gone so fast, and I feel I'm really just starting to get better at finding out what I need to work on. I'm also starting to solidify some relationships. I'm disappointed we didn't have dorm rooms, because that's how you get friends."

WEEK SIX The daily schedule of classes has given way to daylong rehearsal after the morning technique class. All the students will be in at least one of the shows. This week, parents are invited to observe the technique class. Jordan says he's not worried about being watched by his parents. "The only thing I'm nervous about is my sister being here," he says. "It's sort of like having your teacher come and watch."

On Wednesday night, Jordan goes to the drugstore to buy a razor. The girls warn him to be careful shaving around the knees. As it turns out, he's very careful, and it takes him an hour and a half. What will his friends back home think when they see his shaved legs? "I'll just tell people I had to do it for a part at A.B.T.," he replies. "There's no better excuse in the world."

At the final technique class on Friday morning, Jordan's face contorts when he jumps. At the barre, he slumps over in pain. After class, he shows me his left foot. "I have a stone bruise," he says. I can't see a thing, and I've never heard of stone bruises. "It's a really deep bruise," he tells me. Asked if he'll be able to perform, he answers without hesitation: "Oh, yeah."

And he does, looking spiffy in his sailor suit, nicely miming a bratty child, competently doing his little leap and catching Paulina without a hitch. With its humor, bright costumes and clear story line, "At the Shore" is a decided hit with the audience.

Jordan arrived home on Sunday, Aug. 1, with some edible souvenirs from his favorite bagel place and a deeper understanding of how much more work he had to do. Overall, he said, the six weeks had improved his technique and expanded his range. He was expected on Monday morning at his regular studio, but the stone bruise was agony and the shin splints were unrelenting. He skipped three days of class. Still, his teachers, he said, were impressed by his progress. When I asked if he would do ballet again next summer, he said two words: "Of course."

Copyright 2004 The New York Times Company

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