Kay Mazzo: A Life in Dance
It’s a funny thing, isn’t it? The way the world just seems to revolve around this thing called “dance.” It’s something that you either understand innately, or you just never quite get. I happen to belong to the former group. From the first time my mum put on a ballet record, I was hooked. The delicate leaps, the expressive gestures, the sheer athleticism – it felt like my own soul dancing on the stage. My childhood in suburban America was anything but balletic, but somewhere deep inside, I knew that dance was my destiny.
Growing up in the 1950s, my world was a universe of petticoats, bobby socks and swing sets. However, even amidst the innocent naivety of youth, a yearning for artistry pulsed within me. Our tiny living room became my makeshift stage, where I'd spin and pirouette in the afternoons, the dusty beams of sunlight serving as my spotlight. This was where my story truly began, where my dreams took flight and the spark of my passion for dance ignited.
It wasn’t easy finding a school in our tiny town. A dedicated ballet teacher, a Mrs. O’Reilly, appeared out of nowhere. It’s amazing how you can encounter these vital people when you least expect them. I knew I was in good hands when, after our first class, she held me back, gently asking about my ambition. I said I wanted to be a professional dancer, to which Mrs. O’Reilly simply smiled. “I believe you will, my dear. But remember, dancing requires more than just grace and skill. You need a strong foundation. We'll build that together.” And we did. Those long afternoons, painstakingly practicing tendus, plies, and eleves, built a foundation so strong, it carried me through some of the most demanding stages of my career. Those early years were a period of fierce learning and self-discovery. It was about refining the innate passion within me. Even at that young age, it wasn’t simply about executing perfect steps. It was about telling a story through movement, imbuing every turn, every arabesque with raw emotion, my own personal stamp. I wanted the audience not only to see me dance but to truly feel my artistry. At sixteen, Mrs. O’Reilly believed I was ready for the next stage. So I said goodbye to my tiny town and, with a suitcase full of dreams and a heart overflowing with hope, embarked on the ultimate pilgrimage—a move to New York City. There, I found the School of American Ballet, and suddenly the world of dance seemed to widen before me, encompassing everything I’d ever dreamed of and more. I quickly realised it wasn’t about my youth, it was about how my potential could be unlocked and shaped by the right guidance. This is where I met my first true mentors, those individuals who went beyond technical instruction, giving me insights that resonated long after my training days. It was there I felt like a seed growing, being nurtured in the rich soil of ballet, ready to bloom into something incredible.
The early 1960s was a golden age for American ballet, and it was electrifying to be at the heart of this movement. I immersed myself in every aspect of dance – the classical ballets, the experimental works, even the daring avant-garde. In the classrooms of the School of American Ballet, I learnt from some of the greats—George Balanchine, a legendary choreographer who revolutionized dance with his abstract and modern style. His vision transcended mere steps; it was a quest to redefine the human form through dance, making every gesture meaningful, every move evocative. I soaked in his energy, the intensity with which he viewed each detail, and the passion that fuelled every project. It was an experience I still treasure to this day. He truly gave us tools that empowered us not just as dancers, but as storytellers. He brought a modern perspective to the art, stripping away traditional constraints to explore a dynamic range of emotions and aesthetics. For me, he taught a level of freedom. No step was simply a step, it had meaning. There were no rigid traditions that constrained our natural movements. You could be the epitome of grace but at the same time be powerfully explosive. His work felt like breathing a new life into the art form itself. It resonated so profoundly with me, not just with its aesthetics, but its ability to reflect our world, in all its complexity and dynamism. We learned about the subtle variations of timing, weight shifting, the nuanced ways a simple arm movement could convey emotions that no dialogue could articulate. There was a poetry in his ballets that captivated my imagination. He wanted the audience to experience dance not just as visual spectacle, but to dive into a universe where emotions pulsed through every arabesque, every leap. It was a truly thrilling moment when he started using me in his company. It was truly an honor.
But dance is more than just about the physical. The ballet world was an entire microcosm. I thrived on this challenge. The camaraderie of my fellow dancers, the fierce competition (not the bad kind) – we challenged each other and elevated the art form to a level none of us would have been able to achieve on our own. Ballet taught me a different type of communication, one without spoken words. The physical vocabulary of dance was an international language. After graduating from the School of American Ballet, my career took off like a rocket, each year more thrilling than the last. I performed in legendary productions alongside legendary dancers and felt the thrill of countless premieres. It was like my body was in an ecstatic trance, executing turns with a power I never knew I had, yet there was always room for finesse, the most delicate nuance, the flick of an eyebrow that spoke volumes about the characters I inhabited. To truly dance well, to embody a character with authenticity, required a complete mental shift. This, for me, became a process of exploration. Studying art, literature, psychology, - all these played a role. It was a way of immersing myself into the world I was portraying, learning the motivations behind each step and gesture, finding the emotional core of each role I took on. The stories unfolded before my eyes not only on the stage, but also within my heart and mind. I had to feel it, to be the story I was trying to tell. And each role gave me a new understanding, of myself, of my own world. The stages that once seemed so far off became my new reality. Of course, the years weren’t all glamour. My career took a heavy toll. I learned about the discipline needed, the rigorous daily workouts that stretched my body beyond its limits, the sacrifices that came with devoting my life to the art. It wasn't just my physical prowess I had to focus on, but mental strength. Ballet dancers are often under an incredible amount of pressure. They’re judged so meticulously – on the strength, grace and athleticism they embody. The toll on my body was undeniable, there were injuries, both small and severe. Yet, as demanding as the training was, as intense the rehearsals and performances, the sheer joy of expressing myself through dance was a constant reward. I’m reminded of one unforgettable incident: it was during a particularly demanding ballet. The choreography involved a seemingly effortless sequence of leaps and turns, but beneath that surface, my body was screaming. An unseen knot of pain began to bloom in my hamstring, threatening to unravel the entire performance. But I’ve learnt that as dancers, we develop an uncanny ability to push through the pain. The stage has its own power. You don't simply act, you inhabit the world around you. And then, right before my solo, something shifted within me. As the lights dimmed, I felt a rush of adrenaline. It was as if the music itself had a pulse, I knew in that moment, I had to become one with the role I was portraying, merge my pain with the characters emotion and transform that discomfort into pure artistry. That moment taught me so much. I remember feeling the tears of relief mixed with my own sweat, when the final note echoed through the hall. That night, I knew I had crossed some kind of invisible line, an important threshold, both within the dance world, and in my own personal growth. Throughout my career, there have been some truly inspiring highlights. A personal favorite was performing alongside Mikhail Baryshnikov in The Nutcracker. That was an incredible experience, witnessing his raw talent and graceful agility in action, the stage literally becoming alive through his performance. But more than any particular performance, it’s the profound effect that dance has had on my life that remains most deeply ingrained in me. Dance has always been my outlet. A way to articulate what words simply could not.
Looking back now, I see my life as a series of interconnected moments, every turn, every leap, a stepping stone to something greater, to who I’m meant to be. A testament to this journey is my passion for sharing my experience with the next generation. Today, I'm deeply involved in nurturing young talent, offering the kind of guidance and inspiration that my mentors bestowed upon me.
A dance instructor, choreographer, and even a writer! But this journey began with that initial spark, that desire to simply move. Through my decades on stage, I realised that what matters is not the number of performances you do or the awards you receive. Dance, true dance, goes far beyond accolades, applause, or technical perfection. You might be wondering what lies beyond these stages? But the beauty of it is – this journey never ends. The music will always play, and for those of us who truly feel it – we will always continue to dance, always strive to perfect ourselves, to communicate with the audience not just through movement but through the depth of our emotions. It's the essence of dance – this beautiful, ever-evolving journey.”