José Mateo Ballet Theatre troupe dances “Vanished Verses” in May, 2015 at Cambridge’s Sanctuary Theatre. Gary Sloan photography
Of all the artists devastated by the pandemic, dancers may suffer the most.
“It’s hard for all performers,” says José Mateo, choreographer and founder of the José Mateo Ballet Theatre. “Musicians can make recordings. They can still practice. Composers can still write. But dancers cannot work. They need choreography, collaboration, partnerships.
“To be out just one year could be the end of it all,” he says. “The life span of a dancer—if you don’t know what you want by the time you’re 27 or 28, it’s over. The majority of dancers were probably already vulnerable, and a good percentage will not make it.”
Mateo founded his troupe more than three decades ago, and performed his own neo-classical choreography—hundreds of original works—in the troupe’s Cambridge home, Harvard Square’s Sanctuary Theatre. Two years ago he suspended his new work, and focused his energies on the ballet school that has also thrived for decades. At the same time JMBT became a presenter, hosting Dance Saturdays, a rotating series of diverse styles and visiting companies.
In addition, Mateo’s ambitious Dance for World Community—a one-day event every June, with dance troupes and organizations committed to promoting social justice—has grown into massive enterprise that brings nearly 15,000 people each June to Harvard Square. This year’s gathering has already been postponed.
“We’ll do the next Dance for World Community in June, 2021,” he says. “It’s a way to put some optimism out there. We’ll take the time to think about it—maybe it will be completely outdoors.”
The social shutdown has jolted expectations of what the next phase of JMBT might be like. Mateo, along with his life and business partner, JMBT’s executive director Scott Fraser, have been in isolation in their Gloucester home.
“I’ve been in transition for some time,” Mateo says. “I let go of the company two years ago—well, not completely. We still do the ‘Nutcracker.’ And with Dance Saturdays, we’ve been working with many different artists. But I’ve been dealing with change the last couple of years. It’s been a multi-dimensional shedding of all these different pieces, not just performance.”
He still has his students, although online ballet training is a poor approximation of real studio work.
“I don’t expect Zoom to ever replace the classroom,” he says. “But what can I do under these conditions? How does one use this technology to take advantage?
“I have to write out barres for our students, rather than give a class that they follow,” he says. “They get a printed copy of barre they have to study. They make up their own movement to it, and we ask them to send back the videos. I have to imagine movement that is more prescriptive.
“So I get to watch how students create on their own. Creating combinations—ten-, twelve-, sixteen-year-olds—when ballet dancers are never asked to do that. Watching amateur videos by young people, I’m learning something from them.”
Online lessons are one thing—a way to keep connected, to progress, if even at an uncertain pace. Performance has always stood apart.
“We all learn from continuity—and now all of that is shot out the window.” Photograph of José Mateo by Michael Basu
“Dance is a unique medium,” he says, “it separates itself from the other arts. Video of an art form like ballet is no replacement whatsoever—it’s just a tool for judgment, and criticism. Dancers usually don’t even like to see themselves on video.”
So now, when online connections seem like the only choice, compromise and change become necessities.
“There is a certain amount of art that is lonely,” he says. “In other art forms—you paint, or sculpt. Choreography is like that. I can conceive of a piece—but then it’s brought to rehearsal. For those who rely on audience, there has to be a new culture that evolves.
“We are also confronting the reasons for why we do what we do,” he says. “We all learn from continuity—and now all of that is shot out the window. What contributions we can hold on to, and where does the value really lie?
“You’re a critical part of a particular ecosystem, and that ecosystem is not going to come back in an instant,” he says. “It will evolve into something quite different.”
Keith Powers covers music and the arts for Gannett New England, Opera News and Leonore Overture. Follow @PowersKeith; email to keithmichaelpowers@gmail.com.