Breaking the Mold

This article is from the inaugural Spring 2000 issue of Pointe.

These days, we are more than a little uneasy with what seems like a cultural obsession with the perfect body. It’s not that perfection is not a desirable goal; after all, ideals are the fuel of inspiration. But it means walking that narrow line between love and truth—and no one is objective when it comes to their own body. What does it feel like to not be perfect and still have to dance? Beauty sometimes gets mixed with aspiration to make a deadly combination. Part of the beauty in ballet is its perfection, but even perfection has fashions, as writer Suki John explains as she gives us a glimpse of three dancers who have succeeded in defining their own perfection. 

It may come as some surprise that the great ballerinas of the past wouldn’t make it past the audition door today. What we take for granted as the perfect ballet body is not at all what the balletomanes worshipped at the height of the Romantic era. Petite, curvy heroines captured our predecessors’ hearts. Taglioni, the great icon of Romantic ballet, was considered beautiful despite the fact “her arms were thin and entirely too long,” according to one viewer. Today, one never hears of a ballerina being too thin! Instead, we have internalized a vision of the perfect ballet body: lean, long-legged, tall but not too tall, well-formed but certainly not round.

George Balanchine, who had his pick of the finest dancers of his time, codified the standard of balletic beauty. In the 1950s dancers of all shapes and sizes worked with “Mr. B.” But as his school and company grew, Balanchine chiseled his concept of the ideal dancer into the psyche of American ballet.

Seeing that ideal, many fine young dancers face hard realities in the mirror every day. Even as they struggle to master ballet’s difficult technique, their bodies grow and change, making more important the question: How will those bodies measure up against the tough standards of professional ballet?

But as this new century dawns, we see more and more individuals celebrating their differences instead of trying to iron them out. On the ballet stage, excellent dancing is breaking the stereotype of the “perfect body.”

Tina LeBlanc

“We like to say vertically challenged,” laughs the diminutive Tina LeBlanc, principal dancer with San Francisco Ballet. As a young girl, LeBlanc dreamed only of dancing with American Ballet Theatre “because I was trained to dance the classics.” In 1981, when LeBlanc was ready to audition for ABT, she was told “Misha [Baryshnikov] wanted taller girls.” She was devastated. Luckily for LeBlanc, she was invited to join Joffrey II. Though she’d never seen the company perform live, LeBlanc accepted the position and went on to have a stellar career there. “They were always known not to have ideal bodies: odds and ends, but really good dancers.” Because the company was small, LeBlanc notes, “I could work my way to the top quickly and not get stuck in the corps for years.”

LeBlanc didn’t find many drawbacks to being 5′ 1″ during those years. But that old demon, weight, haunted her. “Mr. Joffrey was always on me for losing weight, saying that it would elongate my line. But from 18 to 22 years old that was very hard with my hormones raging.” Fortunately, she adds, “I didn’t have it in me to get weird about my eating habits. It helps that I come from a well-grounded family. But that didn’t stop me from wishing I could be super skinny!”

LeBlanc has kept her good attitude, balancing the roles of mother and wife with those of Giselle, Aurora, Juliet and Odette/Odile. She is happy at San Francisco Ballet, which she joined in 1992, dancing the classics she was groomed for. Reflecting on the advantages of being “vertically challenged,” LeBlanc says: “With no length to work with, I was probably in control of my faculties much sooner than anyone tall. I have small feet, so there’s no lag time between flex and pointe. Jumping comes easily because I’m muscular.” Indeed, LeBlanc is known for her powerhouse jump. “I have decent extension, but it’s not stretchy. The muscles that keep that from happening are the ones that make me jump!”

LeBlanc thoughtfully offers this advice: “You have to look at talent. Proportion is important, but height doesn’t make a dancer. The most important thing is to not limit yourself. Now there are shorter dancers everywhere. If you really want to dance, there’s a place out there for you.”

Ariana Lallone

“Way too tall!” is what one judge scrawled across Ariana Lallone’s ABT audition sheet. Laughing now, the 5′ 11″ principal dancer with Pacific Northwest Ballet says, “I didn’t let it bother me because I knew I wasn’t their type.” After growing seven inches in two years, Lallone recalls that being sixteen was not pretty and not fun. “My limbs grew, but my torso didn’t.” Still, Lallone was lucky: “My teachers wouldn’t give up.”

Lallone had the kind of support that can make or, without it, break an artist: “My mom is amazing, extremely intelligent. She helped keep me centered and realistic.” Lallone also found that jazz class helped “me get control of my arms, work very quickly and find my center.” When she auditioned for PNB, “the first thing they said was ‘don’t be afraid, we like tall dancers.’ And the rest was history!”

Of course, it wasn’t always easy. That statuesque Lallone didn’t fit seamlessly into the corps. Hired first as an apprentice, she danced in pieces like Symphony in C, where her height wasn’t problematic. “They knew I needed to get out of the corps quickly, but you can’t do that just because you’re tall and pretty. You have to merit it, to be ready.”

Sometimes, during this interim period, Lallone would sit in the audience “watching the repertory. I took extra classes and gained experience without being onstage.” She worked alone in the studio, encouraged by Artistic Directors Kent Stowell and Francia Russell. “They were so willing to work with me and they had a lot of insight.”

It was five years before Lallone was promoted to soloist, but the next year they promoted her to principal. “They saw something in me that I didn’t even know I had,” she says. Sinuous and powerful, she now has choreographers clamoring to work with her, but insists that it isn’t size that matters. “They don’t come in saying, ‘I need a tall person.’ We are dancers. It’s about how I dance.”

Aesha Ash

“My body wants to be curvy,” says New York City Ballet dancer Aesha Ash, who is currently the only African-American female in the company. “Even the structure of my legs is naturally more round. I’m always trying to lengthen my muscles.”

Ash admits that she’s never let her weight get to a point where teachers or choreographers have bothered her about it: “I’m not a fanatic; I don’t starve myself. But I know it’s something I have to be aware of. I’m not one of those girls who are just little twigs and can eat what they want all day long.” Asked if she ever feels like celebrating her curviness, Ash laughs, “No! I have very high expectations of myself. I don’t have 180 rotation, and I may not have the technique of some other person, but I won’t limit myself. I constantly try to perfect what I have to the best of my ability—without going nuts.”

Ash has started dancing featured roles in The Nutcracker, Who Cares? and Angelin Preljocaj’s La Stravaganza. “City Ballet is a wonderful company,” she says. “I love the rep and I never take for granted being there. Part of me loves being different. I am who I am and God made me this way; he put me there for a reason. I feel like it’s almost my responsibility to be here. Not just for myself, but for other little black girls in the future, to make some sort of point.”