The Muse Is Heard
(Note: this piece was written in 2001, shortly after the events of 9/11. The article never ran.)

F. Scott Fitzgerald, who knew a thing or two about stardom, once famously said that there are no second acts in American celebrity, but he obviously never envisioned a talent as versatile and resourceful as Suzanne Farrell, former “etoile” of the New York City Ballet. Her extraordinary beauty as an artist went far beyond mere style and form. She exuded an ethereal grace, an other-worldliness of vulnerability and strength. And burned with a passion that defied physical boundaries. Even taking into account her above average height (for a ballerina) and elegantly elongated features, she was larger than life. The dazzling aura she gave off radiated from the stage straight into the audience. It was impossible not to be swept up by the sheer force of her energy.

As her former dance partner Jacques d’Amboise recalls: “Her talent was a combination of extreme intelligence and dedicated work. She had a love for and a natural gift for dance. She had a fire in her that I first noticed when I was the Prince in Swan Lake and she was just a 17 year old girl dancing the part of one of the swans. I’d watch her from behind the curtain before making my entrance. She was the furthest from the center, closest to the wings, but she danced as if every spotlight were on her, giving it everything she’s got.”

Throughout her long career – she danced for nearly thirty years, 17 of them with City Ballet — Farrell was universally recognized as George Balanchine’s muse, the model for the choreographer’s genius who spurred him on to even greater feats of accomplishment and inspiration. And yet she was also the thorn in his side, the one he respected and yearned for above all others, and ultimately, the one that got away when she ran off and married a young dancer (they have since divorced), rather than her older mentor. She was banished from the company then, and pursued new dimensions as a soloist with the Maurice Bejart troupe in Belgium as well as other dance companies. Then in 1973, she quietly returned to New York City Ballet and went on to even greater glories. She finally retired in 1989, after a hip replacement made it impossible to go on. For an entire generation of dance lovers, she was their queen.

But since her retirement, Farrell has been a queen in exile. Unwelcome at the New York City Ballet under director Peter Martin’s rule, for reasons that still mystify critics and fans, she has forged a new life for herself, teaching, staging ballets around the world, and furthering the legacy of “Mr. B.” outside the realm of his and her former home. For Farrell, at 56, it is more than a way to make a living, it is a calling – one she claims is part of her destiny. This past year, when others her age might consider taking a year long cruise on the QE2, she launched her own company, the Suzanne Farrell Ballet, at the Kennedy Center in Washington D.C., then took the act on the road. And she did it with the same intensity and flair that marked all her previous successes.

As fate would have it, she was rehearsing her dance troupe in Times Square in New York City during the tragic events of September 11th, and afterwards amid frequent bomb scares, which greatly impacted her company’s ability to rehearse and took its toll on various emotional levels. She was forced to move the group down to Washington where they could rehearse in peace. But with less than four frantic weeks to pull it all together, Suzanne Farrell managed a small miracle. The opening went off without any major glitches, and was greeted with a fanfare of mostly glowing reviews. Bob Gottleib, the dance critic for the New York Observer and former editor of the New Yorker, summed up the effect of her group’s appearance: “It was a testament to knowledge, determination and hard work that things looked as good as they did on opening night…What Ms. Farrell understands completely is how energy at the service of music is the source of the Balanchine look.”

Perhaps because of her relentless work schedule, finding time to sit down with Suzanne Farrell and engage in a verbal pas de deux was not an easy prospect. While tracking her down, I kept thinking of the title of an award-winning documentary about her, “The Elusive Muse,” for like the character Terpsichore she danced in the famous Balanchine ballet “Apollo”, she seemed at first to be remote and unattainable. In October, I went down to Washington to see the two opening night performances of her fledgling ballet troupe. And to sit in on some rehearsals. But I didn’t actually get to meet her until a week later when I finally caught up with Suzanne Farrell in Utica, New York where she was giving a master class to students in the area and bringing her company to perform.

“Isn’t it unusual to stage a program with only four weeks rehearsal, let alone a debut season?” I asked her, when we sat down for a cup of coffee at the Best Western where she was staying, a far cry from the glamorous enclaves one would expect a former star to frequent, but which is par for the course when taking a dance troupe on the road. “To do eight ballets in four weeks is pretty wild,” Farrell admits, sitting very still and upright in a banquette, looking closer to 36 than 56, the result of continuing to take dance class despite ongoing problems with her hips. “And if you have been in ballet as long as I have, you become accustomed to what these ballets look like. A couple were done for me, so you know that whole world of ballet and you are familiar with the music. But a majority of these dancers had never seen these ballets, let alone heard the music or danced to them. It was quite challenging. But I like challenges.”

Her choice of programs pulled no punches – she offered such classics as Scotch Symphony, Apollo and Afternoon Of A Faun all in the same evening. “I don’t think of things as being ambitious until I’ve done it,” she says with a modest laugh. “And then I say, ‘Oh gee! That was really a lot.’ When you know all the things that could go wrong in an evening, it is amazing that so few things do. There is nothing like live performances. The edge of the now. Everyone’s living in whatever day it is. But we all are at different points in our lives. You don’t want to bring your own emotions into a performance, but on the other hand you do. They change the tone and color of how you dance.”

Farrell has an uncanny, innate sense of the drama lurking within music. “Music is important to me,” she says carefully, in the slow, measured cadence that is in keeping with her whole persona. Some have called her cold or unapproachable, but it’s clear upon meeting Farrell that she is essentially just very shy, and very focused. “Music makes me want to dance,” she continues. “Although I don’t have a musical background, my sister is a fine pianist and we had classical music in my home. I was very much a tomboy when I was young. But there was a side of me that would put on music and dance in the living room. I wouldn’t want anyone to see me or watch me. But music made me feel different and made me feel like me. We used to put on little shows in the neighborhood. We didn’t have that much TV back then. And couldn’t afford to go to the movies. So in a small town, we put on shows which I suppose was the beginning of my theatrical desires, of being a ham.”

Farrell grew up on the outskirts of Cincinnati in Ohio. Her mother, who was devoted to the arts, was a single mom. Farrell’s father left after his divorce when she was ten. She didn’t see much of him after that. Was her mom a powerful role model? “Absolutely. She is a great lady. She wasn’t well enough to come to Washington. [She did however make it to a later performance in Princeton.] She’s been in the hospital for quite a while. She thought her daughters, well, she thought we could do anything, everything. I had no talent for art but she always said, ‘That’s great.’ It’s important to be positive and let a child decide what they feel best to do. She also gave me the tenacity, that capability. I never thought about this before, because I’ve always been in dance. But not everyone can run a company. Not everyone wants to. But when this possibility was mentioned, I am sure some of those qualities of my mother’s came into play.”

Is it more difficult being a manager than an artist? “When you are a dancer, all you have to do is dance,” she says. “It’s more singularly focused. But someone did these things for me when I was a dancer. Nor should a dancer be preoccupied with these things. What you want to do is give them the best atmosphere possible so they can become the best dancer that they can be. Those things were provided for me by Mr. Balanchine and Lincoln Kirstein. Now it is my turn to give these things back. I like that. The way ballet is passed on. What it is to dance. I am the beneficiary of every dancer who came before me. And I am grateful for that. There are very few professions that exist that have that kind of human concern, to impart this kind of knowledge.”

Most people would find the transition hopelessly daunting. “It was never in my plan,” she admits, with a modest smile. “Really. When I danced, I danced. And I didn’t worry about what I’d do when I didn’t dance, because it would take away from my now, what I was doing. Then when I retired, I had to do something. I had staged Scotch Symphony [by Mendelssohn] at the Kirov in St. Petersburg. And had a taste of what it’s like teaching other dancers. I liked that. I like dancers. They are a wonderful breed of people. I enjoyed taking Balanchine to other places and seeing the results and learning ballets inside and out in a way I hadn’t known when I was just a component. And I marveled again at Mr. Balanchine’s genius. So it was a natural progression for me to stage his ballets.”

Farrell first got involved with the Kennedy Center in 1993 when she was asked to give a series of guest master classes. James Wolfensohn, the head of the World Bank and then Chairman of the Center, who had invited her, next suggested she start her own troupe. At first she continued with the classes and staged a few works. Then in 1995 at the Center’s 25th Anniversary celebration, her contribution, “Suzanne Farrell Stages Balanchine,” stole the show. The concept of starting her own company moved forward. Michael Kaiser, the new president of the Kennedy Center who previously scored a dramatic success by rescuing the Royal Opera House in London from insolvency, is deeply committed to Farrell’s dance company. The Center invested roughly $1 million last year in order to put on the series. A quarter of that was for the orchestra alone, but it was a decision Kennedy himself made. “You can’t create something of importance or quality without a real orchestra,” he says. Kennedy is struck by Farrell’s facility in shedding the role of past diva. “She has a remarkable combination of strength of vision and the ability to not be a dancer anymore. She doesn’t live through her dancers. You never have the sense it’s her ego on the stage. She’s a marvelous teacher and a gifted manager. Everyone has been gratified with the results so far. We’ve committed to another season next year, perhaps with a longer tour.”

Was there any hesitation on Farrell’s part about naming the company after herself? “I would have preferred another name,” she answers softly, then laughs. “It’s hard to get a name for something. If you can think of something else, I would certainly appreciate it! At least the dancers know that I am always there. I give everything I have to them. That goes a long way in how a dancer relates to the company they are in. Mr. Balanchine was always there. Which isn’t always the case nowadays with larger companies or choreographers who freelance. It is important to belong. Even though I have been out there alone, I like being part of a family. You are never more of an individual than when you are a team player and don’t get lost in the crowd.”

One of the most talented of these team players is Chan Hon Goh, a principal soloist with the National Ballet of Canada who tackled many of the most prominent and difficult roles in Suzanne Farrell’s program in Washington. Exuding a delicate simplicity, she danced the title role in Balanchine’s La Sonnambula (The Sleepwalker), a part that Farrell had once made her own. For Chan, who was born in Vancouver, British Columbia, working with Farrell has been “A dream come true. I’ve been a sponge, absorbing every detail.” Farrell had always been the ideal role model for her. “The first time I saw her dance, it was in 1985, and I was visiting New York with my mother. I saw Suzanne dance ‘Mozartiana’. It made a big impression on me. The hallmark of her dancing was a certain kind of mystery. Something unattainable. Balanchine was known for making ballets without a lot of story and there was a lot of substance in Suzanne that set her apart from others…She is very quiet in rehearsal. She will let you find things out to the best of your own ability. She is not quick to judge. But there’s no getting by those eyes. She helps dancers overcome fears by giving them something they may not have thought of, a rhythm, accent or attack, things only great ballerinas have. She trusts her dancers. It makes me go that extra mile.”

“You learn about your dancers in class,” Farrell adds. “Their work ethic, what they prefer doing. What they perceive of themselves. The more knowledge I can glean of what makes them dance, the better I can teach them and explore their potential. I want to nurture dancers also, not just bring in guest artists and have a back up company. That wasn’t really the way Mr. Balanchine had his company and it stunts a dancer’s growth. That is not positive. Mr. Balanchine put me out there at a young age in everything.”

Did she ever wonder why Balanchine singled her out, chose her as his favorite dancer? “I don’t know. I asked him on several occasions what he saw in me and he just sort of smiled and said I can’t answer that.” Then after a moment’s reflection, she adds, “I never really thought of myself as his muse until I was called that. I was just an instrument, this person. Yes, I realized he was inspired by me. We were just working together. I was dancing and doing what I was supposed to do. And he was choreographing. That was just normal for us. I think if I had allowed myself to think that much it might have destroyed everything.”

Why the long delay from her retirement in 1989 to starting over now? “You can’t force something to happen. Things happen when they happen. I have a little summer place upstate [in the Adirondacks]. Each June and July, I had students. I tried to write a children’s book. based on Balanchine’s ‘Midsummer Night’s Dream.’ That didn’t happen. I did guest teaching, and staged ballets for the Balanchine Trust which I continue to do. That was good preparation for this also. It allowed me to meet some of these dancers and bring them back.”

She pauses, sips her coffee, looks out the window and smiles nervously. The stress of the last two months could not have been easy to deal with, but she looks determined to move forward. “I think it is good to start small and honest and in a way not planning for what could eventually happen,” she says. “I live in the now. When I am working with a group of dancers they are the most important people in my life. That allows me to get all their energy and to have them know that I don’t want them to be like me. I give them all the information I’d learned in 17 years from Mr. Balanchine. I’d be remiss as a teacher if I didn’t. But at the same time I don’t expect them to bring 17 years worth of information to their performances. They are not computers. They need to have it for when the time comes they have the knowledge. It is an ongoing process. Especially if you want the ballet to be memorable and not just a memory. The only way to make a performance grow is to be out there. That is the only breath you have and it is the most important breath you take as a dancer. I am not frightened by mystery. Mystery on stage is very fascinating. That is one thing I try to make my dancers feel. Give them some kind of feeling of being vulnerable and mysterious. Changeable. All the things that life is. Maybe that is why the arts were invented. Because life is less than perfect.”

“Ballet has been good to me,” she says warmly, before excusing herself. She has to leave for another master class. “I love ballet and I just want to continue. The nice thing about retiring as a dancer is that I meet so many people who have seen me dance and they come out. Even their children have seen me. It’s wonderful to make all these people happy. I never wanted to be a ballerina, I just wanted to dance. They are two dramatically different focuses. It happened that I became a ballerina. But I would have been happy just dancing. Even if nobody saw me.”

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