This time of year at The Australian Ballet marks the dancers’ annual performance review. Naturally, it’s a time most dancers dread. Not because of what issues might be confronted in our reviews, because, let’s face it, to have made it this far in our careers means we must be doing something right, and dancers, as perennial pursuers of perfection, find discussing one’s career and areas for development really valuable. The cause for this dread, rather, lies in the dancers’ self-appraisal form, where there is a space for us to fill in about our strengths as a dancer.

Allow me to explain. I hear you asking, “Surely that wouldn’t be so hard?” but the talk in the dressing rooms at this time of year always seems to be punctuated with exasperated cries of, “I could fill out the ‘weaknesses’ space ‘til the cows come home, but ’strengths’?”.

There is something about the mentality of the dancer, or perhaps any artist, that makes it very difficult to praise oneself. ‘Give yourself a pat on the back’ comes as a foreign concept.  A dancer will rarely concede satisfaction at the end of a gruelling rehearsal – there is always room for improvement, perhaps a sequence that feels ‘out of body’ that you can only feel on top of if you repeat it over and over; struggling to connect with the music (my personal least-favourite scenario); or struggling with getting into character, or the style of the piece. These are just some of the hurdles we encounter, but the learning curve doesn’t end at the final rehearsal. Even when it’s finally time to step out onstage and perform, we continue to tweak and not just maintain a standard but, ideally, improve each subsequent performance.

This constant tweaking and perfecting of the final product is something unique to live performers. It’s not like a thesis, that, after months or even years of preparation and research, you can edit and print out and hand in a final product, all perfected and to your satisfaction. It’s not like retail, where a budget, all conveniently quantified, is set and hopefully made at the end of a day’s work. Of course, after all the preparation, a dancer will feel more on top of things and well-prepared to perform, but still can’t just step out on stage and blindly go through the moves. Every movement requires focus on the thought processes that you have exercised in the studio, along with 100% commitment and energy for every single show.

And the most maddening thing about live performance? There is no pause and rewind button! You get one chance in each show and that’s it, which makes for a cruel path to perfection. Even a dancer at the top of their game will struggle to recount a ‘perfect show’ – yes, there are sublime moments one experiences onstage where your body feels in blissful harmony with the music and the audience vibe is electric – but to expect this every show, with 120-150 shows per year, would be an impossible feat. There’s bound to be at least a handful of shows in which you’re disappointed.

It’s no wonder then that the profession of ballet breeds such harsh critics. And as the old adage goes, we’re all our own worst critics. This isn’t to say of course that we’re standing around all day bashing our heads against the wall in frustration. We don’t dwell on the prospect of failure so much that we lose perspective, nor forget the very reason we perform – to share this wonderful art form with our audiences. And hell, we are being paid to do what we love! How many people are in that privileged circumstance?

It’s times like these that we dancers need to step back from all the arduous grit and remember this privilege and acknowledge our achievements and – oh how it pains me to say it – our strengths. I came to this section on my self-appraisal form, and after all the self-scrutiny of the last two pages (which I had no trouble filling out), I experienced a sort of writer’s block with that dreaded ‘strengths’ box. Half an A4 page’s worth of blank paper seemed to magnify itself the longer I stared at it.  Then I remembered something I learned in media training, which I undertook as part of my Telstra Ballet Dancer Award nomination along with my fellow nominees. After observing that we were all “too modest” and “downplaying the significance of our achievements”, the course leader gave us some advice: “think more like your Mum”. I imagined myself in my next TV interview rabbiting on about how wonderful and how proud of myself I am and, after baulking at the idea of this vulgar display, realised that actually this was sage advice indeed.  I thought back over the past year particularly in my career and, instead of falling into my usual habit of self-deprecation and obsessing over the buts and what-ifs, thought like Mum and saw some incredible milestones achieved. Fears conquered. Ambitions realised. I had to admit to myself, I was even feeling just a little bit satisfied about everything.
And so I took to that ’strengths’ box with gusto. But not without adding at the end: “but there’s always room for improvement”.