Teresa Reichlen: A Life in Dance
Itās funny, looking back, how everything feels like it was meant to be. Iād never say that life is neatly mapped out, that youāre simply following a script. But thereās a certain undeniable magic in how things unfold. Like the time I, a wide-eyed six-year-old in a too-big pink tutu, saw my first ballet, the very moment my love affair with this art form began.
Growing up in sunny Southern California, ballet wasnāt exactly the norm. Surfers and beach bums, sure. But ballerinas? Not so much. So it was, however, that I landed in the studio of a fiery, formidable woman named Mrs. Edwards, the only ballet teacher in town. She instilled in me a love of discipline, an unyielding devotion to perfection, and, perhaps most importantly, the raw, essential joy of movement.
Looking back, my youth was a whirlwind of pliƩs, arabesques, and tireless hours in the studio. Each day, my passion for dance grew, alongside my dedication to my craft. I devoured every ballet, my feet echoing the rhythms of Tchaikovsky and Stravinsky on the hardwood floor of my bedroom, my imagination conjuring the magical worlds of Petipa and Balanchine. Ballet became my refuge, my obsession, my whole world.
As a teenager, the world of professional ballet became more concrete. My time with Mrs. Edwards led me to The Joffrey Ballet School, a haven for aspiring young dancers in the heart of Los Angeles. Here, the competitive fire within me ignited. I learned the demands of true professionalism: the discipline, the artistry, the unwavering drive to reach the highest levels. This period marked a period of profound transformation. The youthful exuberance was replaced with a maturity borne of intense dedication and endless hours of practice. The stage became my battlefield, the footlights my guiding star.
My heart beat fast as I received an invitation to audition for the New York City Ballet. Stepping onto the stage, the legendary space of the legendary Lincoln Center, I was a whirlwind of nerves. But it was during that audition, during that electric, tense moment, I knew that the world of the New York City Ballet was where I was meant to be.
A World of Elegance and Power
Joining the New York City Ballet was a life-altering experience. It was a baptism by fire. Stepping into the world of Balanchine and Robbins, it felt as though Iād entered another dimension, a world of sheer elegance and power, where every movement was meticulously crafted, every step carried with intention. It was a ballet world unlike any I had ever known.
As a corps de ballet member, I was the backbone, the foundation of every performance. The synchronicity and precision were an endless challenge, but it forged in me a deep understanding of ensemble work. There was magic in those precise, perfectly executed steps, in the united energy that brought each piece to life.
But it was more than the routines and rehearsals, more than the grueling schedules and performances. It was the camaraderie. We were more than dancers; we were a family. From the experienced, inspiring veterans to the raw energy of the younger generation, the shared dedication created a tight-knit, fiercely supportive community.
And within that community, I blossomed. I honed my craft, embraced the challenge, and relentlessly sought to improve. I learned from some of the most brilliant and celebrated dancers of our time: Lorin Mata, Wendy Whelan, Ashley Bouder ā these were more than names; they were inspirations, beacons of excellence. I observed, I learned, I absorbed their brilliance into my own dancing. I grew as an artist.
I was never meant to simply blend in. There was a fire within me, a drive to stand out, to reach for those principal roles, the solos that demanded virtuosity and storytelling, the moments where a dancerās presence transcends mere movement and transforms into art. And so, after years of rigorous dedication, my hard work started to bear fruit. I was chosen for small soloist roles, glimpses of that other side of ballet, a taste of that dazzling world that had once seemed so far away.
My moment, that moment that would truly catapult me into the spotlight, came in a new production of āThe Nutcracker.ā It wasnāt a solo role, not a star turn, but my role as Clara, a pivotal figure in the narrative, resonated with a quiet intensity, an understated power. And within the confines of this cherished classic, I found the chance to leave my mark, to move beyond technical skill to become a fully embodied performer, to truly touch the audience with the story. Thatās when I knew ā Iād found my niche.
Beyond the Stage: My Path to Storytelling
The transition to performing principal roles came organically, gradually. Thereās no single moment of revelation, no big reveal, simply a natural evolution as an artist. It came with more auditions, more intense preparation, a constant hunger to push the boundaries, to discover the depths of my artistic potential.
Stepping out onto the stage in a starring role for the first time wasā¦ electrifying. I was the focal point, the center of attention, the embodiment of the character. This was balletās highest form, storytelling at its most visceral. Iād always loved ballet as an escape, a window into magical worlds. Now, as I performed these roles, I was creating those worlds. The joy of dance was a shared experience, an offering to the audience. It was during these moments, dancing the likes of Giselle, Aurora in Sleeping Beauty, the fiery heroine of āFirebird,ā that I felt most fully alive.
However, within the ballet world, it became clear that my calling lay not solely within the rigorous demands of a professional ballerina, but rather in exploring new avenues, in telling stories beyond the stage.
I began to delve into the written world. Writing wasn't just a way to relax between rehearsals. It was a channel to process emotions, explore ideas, and build stories that transcended the physical constraints of the ballet stage. My dancer's intuition allowed me to translate movement into words. Each stroke of my pen became a leap, each comma a graceful extension. I became consumed by a world of prose, and it became a parallel passion.
I had my first essay published in The New York Times, a poignant exploration of the complexities of dance. This sparked something inside me ā I felt the hunger for a wider platform. It was as if Iād awakened a new side to my art, an evolution beyond the pointe shoes and the spotlight. My journey in dance was not an endpoint, but a springboard. And so, after a period of thoughtful introspection and soul-searching, I made a choice.
It wasnāt an easy decision to step back from the stage, to say goodbye to the demanding beauty of the world I had built my life upon. But, like all good endings, this chapter opened new possibilities.
I am now living a different, yet complementary, dance. It is a dance with language, with ideas, with the delicate intricacies of storytelling. My background as a ballerina shapes my words, informing my writing with a unique perspective. I strive to imbue every sentence, every paragraph, with the grace, power, and lyrical essence that ballet has ingrained within me.
Today, my world is less about tutus and stage lights, and more about the written word and the stories I long to tell. Iām exploring themes of grace under pressure, finding beauty in the midst of lifeās complexities, the transformative power of perseverance. Each project is an opportunity to dance anew. This is my latest step, a foray into the world of literature, a path born from my love for the magic of dance. And like all of the steps Iāve taken before, this one is exciting, unexpected, and deeply fulfilling.
For me, ballet isn't simply a discipline; itās a philosophy. It's the discipline of the mind, the dedication of the heart, and the unrelenting pursuit of perfection, whatever form it may take. So, as I continue to find new ways to tell stories, to move and inspire, I do so with the spirit of the ballerina ā an artist forever seeking new frontiers. This is Teresa Reichlen, and this is my dance.