Teaching Silent Bodies

From my earliest dance classes at the age of three, I was introduced to an environment where silence was paramount, not just as a rule, but as a foundational aspect of how we were taught. The expectation was clear: be still, be quiet, and focus entirely on the teacher’s instructions. Silence, both external and internal, shaped my experience as a young dancer. This concept of silence wasn’t limited to avoiding conversation—it extended to the suppression of private speech and inner dialogue, which are often essential for self-regulation and learning. In this blog post, I reflect on how this culture of silence influenced my journey through the dance world, both as a student and as a teacher. From my early experiences of mimicking and coping to the more structured and fear-based teaching environments I encountered later, I explore how these silent practices shaped my understanding of dance technique, body awareness, and, ultimately, the way we learn to communicate through movement.

When I was about three years old, my Mum took me to my first dance classes. In these classes we stood or sat for what felt like an age, in a circle doing feet, leg and arm movements. This was very boring, but worth sticking out because afterwards we did free dancing and later, when I was older, traditional social dances such as “Strip the Willow”. I remember the teacher being firm but kind, although I don´t remember her being particularly enthusiastic or encouraging. We were not allowed to talk amongst ourselves and I would say that private speech, meaning, speaking to one´s self for self regulation of behaviour and guidance (Johnston, 2006) was suppressed, since utter concentration on the teacher and her demands was made, leaving no space for internal discourse. The concept of silence was paramount- not only were we not to talk, but we were not allowed to make any noise when we danced- "You should all be as silent as a feather floating to the ground. Right now, I feel like I'm at the circus with all the baby elephants I can hear!"  I don´t remember her asking us questions. I also do not remember making any friends there. We all changed at the back of the dance hall, so we also had to be quiet then in order not to disturb the other lessons. Looking back this must have further restrained social/private contact between the pupils.

At around age 8 I was taken to a different school. I remember my first lesson there very well. There were only two of us in the class and I had to stand at the barre, which I had never done before, and just copy the other girl. That was how I started “real” ballet, by copying, which I was good at, so I guess it was assumed that nothing needed to be explained. Only when learning to teach over 30 years later, did I come into contact with how one might explain the procedure of e.g. a tendu to a child. Certainly, how the anatomy was supposed to achieve anything was not explained. I remember being confused and frustrated about the mysteries of keeping my working hip down when lifting the leg to the side and stopping my knees from falling forwards when coming out of a grand-plié. My teacher would just show me how it should be done, but I couldn’t copy what her anatomy did, and I was often frustrated with my body for not doing what it was supposed to do. She was always very encouraging and kept telling me that with time it would come. I was definitely able to talk to this teacher, and although none of the pupils spoke in class, unless to ask or answer a question, the atmosphere was pleasant, and I made friends there.

 When I was 11 I was awarded a scholarship which meant going to a different school. Here, I was again copying and trying to catch-up, while never asking a single question about the information I was missing. Suddenly my 3rd position had to be a 5th position, my legs had to be over shoulder height and all pirouettes had to be more than just singles (just writing this, I find it crazy that I never had a build-up to pirouettes!). Pointe work, which I loved and thankfully found relatively easy, was started straight away. Anew, the concept of silence; the shoes had to be hammered into submission so that they could not be heard when we danced in them. The hardest thing however was the manner in which I was taught. The two women teachers at the new school were terrifying. I was in constant fear of doing something wrong. Although things were explained anatomically, the explanations didn't seem to align with my own body, and I often felt behind the other students. My lack of training was constantly pointed out, and I was frequently compared to my peers. How steps were constructed was explained, but I have no memories of the whole class learning a new step together since I copied what the others already knew. The training method was, as identified by Morris  (2003)  teacher-led, “giving little opportunity for dialogue or dissension” (p. 17); asking questions was a sign of stupidity as was answering questions from the teachers in a way that did not please the teacher. Favorites were singled out and used as examples, many negative comparisons were made. We were judged on how we dressed, inside and outside of the dance studio. We were not permitted to carry anything in a plastic carrier bag because this was deemed unstylish. The older teacher would make us sit around her chair on the floor for ages while she spoke about her opinions. These lectures were awful, she would pick on the children she didn´t like, complaining about the way they spoke or dressed, or about their parents. In these lectures we often had to tell her (and all the other children) what marks we had in our school exams, and of course our marks were compared. We were told that if we got injured it was our own fault because we were not using the correct technique, therefore I did not mention any pain I was experiencing, again I was silent. However, there were good things; in this school I learned about correct warm-up, (which was unusual for those times) and that too much passive stretching could take away the elasticity in the body, plus we also did a number of very beneficial co-ordination and supplemental exercises. Moreover, we learnt a lot of traditional classical repertoire which, looking back, taught me much about use of the head, weight transference, style and feeling for line. I think the repertoire was what preserved my love of dance, possibly because I was in someway expressing myself while also escaping the oppressive environment, if only for the few minutes while being immersed in a role. Looking back, this school achieved results mainly through fear and humiliation.

At 16 I went on to vocational education. In the first school anatomy was occasionally referred to and there was a physiotherapie department where reasons for pain were explained, and remedial exercises were given. Dialogue with the teachers was not actively encouraged nor discouraged. This was a very large school, where I had the feeling that some of the teachers didn´t know my name. No one spoke in class apart from the teacher, but this was probably because all the pupils had already learnt to be quiet in their former schools. Again, there was favoritism, and it was clear which students were expected to “make it” and those who were just paying to keep the school running (the school went bankrupt eventually).

In the second vocational school I was amazed by how nice the teachers were. Here there was also focus on contemporary dance and I feel that this positively affected the atmosphere of the school. We were expected be autonomous and to question and analyze what we did. Student welfare was significant and anatomy in relationship to dance and injury prevention was important. We were expected to call the teachers by their first names, and they always remembered the names of the students.

In summary I would say that many of my dance skills were gained through copying (and coping!) and that a sound technical basis was missing. In general, the teaching philosophies that I encountered were based on fear and ego-involving environments. The second school perhaps, and definitely the last school could be said to have had task-involving environments  (Nicholls, 1984).

The strict unspoken protocol in ballet that denotes that the teacher is God, that ballet is perfection, and only those who suffer will achieve, is, I feel, something that is learnt more through osmosis rather than obvious events. Through the forced silence, and the suppression of private speech, (Johnston, 2006) one becomes very watchful, the attention goes outwards, the antenna become highly tuned, and all available information is absorbed and internalized in order to survive the situation and to preserve a dream.

References

Johnston, D. (2006). Private speech in ballet. Research in Dance Education, 7(1), 3-14.

Morris, G. (2003). Problems with ballet: Steps, style and training. Research in Dance Education, 4(1), 17-30. doi:10.1080/14647890308308

Nicholls, J. (1984). Achievement Motivation: Conceptions of ability, subjective experience, task choice, and performance. Psychological Review, 91(3), 328-34. doi:10.1037/0033-295X.91.3.328