Men’s Stories

A year in the life:

What I wanted most in the world was to do the hard physical work of daily classes and rehearsals, and to dance side-by-side with friends who were outstanding at what they did. When I arrived at Sacramento Ballet I believed I had found what I wanted. I’ll never forget the feelings of camaraderie and joy that came with the company classes in Sacramento. And I’ll never forget the friends who helped me get there.

Years before, while launching her New York dance career, my friend Marta had stayed in my Jersey apartment, and the bond we’d formed had grown into an iron-clad loyalty. Now, with ten dollars to my name, I’d ridden down to California with her in her trusty pick-up. She helped me move my few small possessions into the apartment, bought me a cheap taco at a kiosk nearby, hugged me with a vigorous “Merde!” and headed north on the interstate. Though I’d barely realized it at the time, with all my money committed to a deposit on the apartment, and no paycheck to my name, I’d eaten my last meal for two days.

Just prior to the start of rehearsals, an east-coast friend wired me forty dollars for groceries so I could dance strong on the first day. I was nervous that I would not be able to perform well in class..but the body has its animal resources, and the first day of dancing somehow restored me, heart and soul. In the mystical fog and shining sun of Northern California, intense performances, wild times, and deeply made friendships rounded out the year. But that spring, due to political dynamics, money problems within the company, and controversy over whether I was a fit, my contract was not renewed.

Fearing eviction from my apartment on the eve of traveling for a job in Connecticut, I made the snap decision to quit my room and pocket the rent. By the time the clock ran out on my east coast gig, I vowed to myself, I would have housing and long term work. As with so many dancers, audition after audition left me empty handed. And yet I scraped together enough money to fly out to Seattle for a workshop with Donald Byrd. A friend in Donald’s company who’d recommended I audition there hosted me in her apartment, and with only a week of work remaining, I gave the audition everything I had.

Once I was hired, the practical challenges I’d faced paled in comparison to the artistic trial-by-fire of dancing for Donald. He demanded total honesty, total authenticity. There was no holding back; not physically, not emotionally.

It is said among dancers that we leave everything at the studio door. But in fact we bring everything with us, and leave it on the floor. It’s what we call soul, and with Donald, soul was our daily bread. The art form, he taught us, was worthy of nothing less.

During my first winter season in that rainy city I got a call from a friend and mentor who was battling cancer and would not be able to guarantee her performance for a special event in honor of Matthew Shepard. Could I make a solo in his honor and stand in? Yes I’ll do it, I’d told her. But privately I asked myself what I could possibly offer from my own experience as a man. While men faced barriers of entry to the dance profession due to a few petty gender stereotypes, those stereotypes were small in view of the male privilege and special status conferred to male dancers within the profession. I’d faced some challenges, sure, but nothing like the adversity of being gay in the rural United States. I was alive, wasn’t I?

On reflection, however, I realized what life proves true again and again: we do nothing alone. Without friends and colleagues reaching out to me, I would not have had a career; I would not have made it. Nor would any of us. So in my solo for Matthew I reached out to him, and I did so by putting myself in his shoes.

While I never met Matthew, his mother told me after the performance that she’d seen him in me as I danced that day. Other audience members thanked me, confessed to me, told me they were spellbound. Through Matthew, I was delivering back what I had learned from Donald Byrd. For me, on stage, it felt as if I were simply a bridge, a human link, a conduit for a connection that needed to be made, one that had nothing to do with me. And in the moment I performed that piece I returned everything I owed to the friends who’d helped me along the way, by sharing with the public everything that their generosity had allowed me to share.

If I can offer a message for aspiring male dancers, it is to have faith, and reach out. Your people are here; your network is here. Your skills and talents are needed. And making the connection is more than worth it. Making the connection is everything.

Peter de Grasse is a teacher, solo performer, and choreographer who trained at Juilliard and the San Francisco Ballet School. He collected company credits at American Repertory Ballet, Sacramento Ballet, BalletX, and Spectrum Dance Theater before becoming a soloist and choreographic collaborator at Staatstheater Darmstadt in Germany, where he closed his company career in 2012. Tracing his roots to the rave scene of the late 90s and early 2000s, and working with popping and West Coast street styles as his daily practice, Peter continues to dance and present work at various festivals, jams, and events in Europe, the United States, and Asia. Built on a platform of hybrid movement vocabulary, his choreographic practice grafts spiritual esoterica, Tanztheater, and text into psychic collages designed for intimate venues. He currently serves as

Senior Adjunct Assistant Professor of Dance at Whitman College. He holds a BFA in Dance from Juilliard and an MFA in Choreography from Jacksonville University.

Alex