Misty Copeland on how to ‘keep dancing’ through challenges
September 21, 2024
Misty Copeland on how to ‘keep dancing’ through challenges
World-renowned ballerina Misty Copeland discusses following your intuition, evolving your purpose, and why it’s always been “bigger than ballet.”
BY Jenna Abdou
Before the curtain rises, you’ll find world-renowned ballerina Misty Copeland alone on the stage. She may be acclaimed for creating transcendent experiences for audiences over the past 25 years. Still, these moments are her favorite. She orients her body to the space and quietly moves through parts of the ballet.
“It’s a way to get grounded,” she says. “It’s almost like going back to my beginnings—in that the stage was always that place where I could forget about my problems and things at home. It’s like going back to that innocence and vulnerability. To be able to go back and tap into that before you go on stage and perform is so, so special.”
Copeland took her first ballet class on a basketball court at the Boys and Girls Club when she was 13 while living with her mom and five siblings in a motel. Sixteen years later, she became the first African American woman to be promoted to principal dancer in American Ballet Theatre’s 75-year history and continues to make a transformative difference as an artist, author, and activist.
The stage is sacred for Copeland. Still, the impact she makes off it fulfills her even more, most recently with the launch of The Misty Copeland Foundation in 2022. Inspired by her own experience, they created BE BOLD: an afterschool program for children of color that not only makes ballet and other dance forms accessible but offers mentoring, tutoring, music, and well-being education.
Here, Copeland discusses finding beauty in the journey, how she “keeps dancing” through challenges, and why her purpose has always been “bigger than ballet.”
This interview has been edited for length and clarity.
Fast Company: You described the deep internal knowing you felt when you began ballet when you said: “I don’t think I really understood, but I knew there was no way I could go another day without doing it.” First, what do you consider that feeling to be and have you felt it again? Then, how do you stay connected to your intuition and what role does it play in your art and life?
Misty Copeland: Intuition has been what has led me and been the driving force for me. You talked about me being a young girl and feeling like: I have no idea what this world is. I don’t know what a career looks like [or] what issues and problems could be ahead. But, I knew deep down inside that I’d never experienced anything like it in terms of freedom, creativity, and safety. So, I’ve always followed that intuition throughout my career.
I’ve been talking about this more recently, that I never thought I would find anything else in my life that gave me that same sense of belonging and love—something that you give so much of yourself [to] and hopefully other people will receive something from it as well. I’ve been given that feeling through the foundation and program I started. It’s seeing an opportunity that’s given to people who come from similar backgrounds as me—who wouldn’t have the access or opportunity otherwise—that [is] giving them joy in their lives, [where] maybe there might not be any.
That’s what I’ve always felt; Even with all the work, I’ve always held onto the joy it brings me. Of course, I’m not saying every day is this bright and amazing experience. But, when you have that at the root of the why—and you can remind or ask yourself that every day—you find a way to get to that place during the day. I always said to myself: If there ever comes a day where I’m no longer feeling that same type of joy, then why am I doing it? I shouldn’t be on stage anymore.
Again, going back to that intuition, I’m still a principal dancer at ABT. I haven’t been on stage for four years. Right before the pandemic, I got to that point where I was dealing with an injury and wanted to grow my family, but it was also, like: There’s something else I need to do, because there’s something that’s shifted for me in stepping onto the stage. I will be on stage again. I know it, and it will probably look very different from what my career has been for almost 25 years. Right now, that joy is still in ballet—and it’s still connected to giving, young people, and telling stories—but it’s just in a different way.
To discuss a different form of storytelling, you often underscore that storytelling is the heart of your art form and asked a powerful question: “How do you tell a story when you’re not able to use voice, dialogue, or words—all through [a] technique that a majority of the people don’t know?” How do you answer that question and then become your characters in a way that feels ethereal?
It’s all rooted in honesty . . . To me, it’s always been [about] being as human as possible, which might seem easy for any person (we are human, of course, that’s easy). But, it takes skill and honesty, a groundedness and a commitment, to use this incredible technique and art form—with the history, baggage, [and] tradition that comes with it—and bring it back to humanity. Also, bringing it back to where we are in society today because this art form is very old.
So, how do you get people to connect to it today? To me, it’s about bringing yourself into it, and your experiences, and making it feel really real. That’s always been the most fun and interesting; to take something that is so not human—when you might be a swan or firebird—and you’re trying to let people connect to it. That’s a challenge. It’s also a beautiful thing to be able to dive into and get people to see themselves in the characters that you’re portraying.
Do you have an example of a role where you felt like you infused yourself and that honesty into it? What does that look like?
I attempt to do that with every role. Of course, it’s going to look different because it’s through the eyes of whatever the character is. I would say the one I connected with the most—and I guess it’s easier because it’s a human being—but through Juliet [in] Romeo and Juliet . . . One of the first times I did it with La Scala in Milan was one of the first times it caught me by surprise. I remember Prince had recently passed. I’m on the stage and it was the first moment that—for whatever reason, I don’t know if it’s because I was open and vulnerable—it was like I was processing and mourning. I was like: What is happening right now? It’s at this moment where Juliet just sits. She doesn’t do anything, but she’s supposed to be emoting so many emotions and feelings . . . It was in that moment that I started bawling my eyes out. It’s such a beautiful thing, again, to be so present and in the moment that you can access those human emotions and have it come through to the audience.
In an interview at MLK Library, you shared that being a dancer is one of the most grounding and humbling experiences you’ve ever had and said: “There’s no faking it. You are raw, naked, and exposed every single day. Every single day we go to ballet class and repeat the same movements over and over again because that’s what you have to do to have the stamina to get through a ballet. It’s this nonstop commitment to performance, the stage, and these characters you’re portraying. But, it’s the most fulfilling thing as well to know that you’re giving so much of yourself to something and seeing this incredible outcome.” Tell us more about the experience of giving yourself to your vocation and what it gives you back.
We’re having these conversations [with the students in the BE BOLD program and my foundation] right now—understanding why they’re there putting [in] the repetition, commitment, and sacrifice. It’s nice to go back and remind yourself that there’s so much beauty in that journey as well. You have so much more appreciation when you put so much time, work, and effort into it. There’s so much you get back. It’s such a beautiful thing to commit your life—your body and spirit—to this craft. Then, to be on stage—and completely let go and not think about any of those things—and have it overtake you and bring you fulfillment, joy, and happiness. And, then to have other people feel that too from your performance.
Even bigger, in my case, because I’m a minority in this field—I’m a Black woman—I have this responsibility, I feel, to carry these legacies of so many that either had an incredible impact on ballet in a very public way, but whose stories aren’t being contributed to the European ballet history, or for those who made an impact in ways that may seem small because they weren’t professionals, but were examples for a community. I see that as so fulfilling for me, to be able to look at my career as not just getting up on this stage and producing a performance after hours and hours of rehearsal. But, that it’s setting an example or it’s allowing for someone to see themselves through me, this experience, and being on stage.
Being able to go and speak in different communities—where they might not ever think they would meet a ballerina or be in a theater—those things, to me, are even more important and impactful than traveling the world and performing on all these stages. Every time I can go to the Bronx and speak to these young people who never imagined that they would be in a ballet class and that these are life skills that they’re learning—it’s bigger than ballet. It’s all bigger than ballet.
When you talk about getting on stage and the movement overtaking you, it reminds me that you often share that presence is the most foundational part of your process. What contributes to the quality of your presence? Equally, what detracts from it that you’ve learned to manage?
I think preparation. Sometimes, it’s been out of my control. You are thrust into a role that you’re not truly prepared to do—you haven’t put in the rehearsal hours—or a piece comes together quickly. Sometimes, that’s a little bit harder to be as grounded and present when you’re thinking about the physicality or the steps.
The best way for me is to have put in the repetition so that you can literally be free and at the mercy of whatever happens in live theater. I think that’s when you feel the most empowered, because, again, the conductor might do whatever he wants to do during a show. It may not be anything like you rehearsed—the tempos might be changing, your partner forgets the choreography, or someone falls.
There are so many things that can be a distraction. The more prepared you are, the more easily you can adjust and play off things that happen, and, your body just follows. I’ve had those moments too, where I’ve been jet-lagged, exhausted, and forgotten what comes next. Then, you move your body and it takes over. Your body has muscle memory. The more that you train it, it has a mind of its own. Then, you can have the freedom to put the icing on the cake with the artistic stuff that happens on stage.
I was struck when you shared that one of your favorite parts of performing is the question—What is going to happen?—and that you’ve learned to love improvising. When challenges ensue on stage—when the conductor decides “I’m going to do something different”—how do you respond in a way that is not only graceful, but often makes the piece more beautiful? What are you thinking in the moment?
To me, it’s really exciting and I think could be exciting for the audience, too, even if they’re noticeable mistakes. It’s exciting for an audience to not feel the anxiety of a mistake or fall and that you keep them with you. I’ve had those moments where I’ve literally heard the audience gasp because something has gone wrong or someone’s fallen. My job now is to get them to enjoy themselves, to not be on edge thinking: Oh my gosh, is the floor too slippery? Is someone going to fall again? What’s going to happen?
As you said with the conductor, it’s really about keeping eyes on them. They may not have eyes on you, but anticipating what they might do and being really alert and aware. For me, it’s always important to see [and] acknowledge everyone who’s on the stage with me, know what their character is, and how it relates to my character. So, it feels, again, real. Especially in a full-length or story ballet, so much of the work I’ve done with stage, acting, and theater coaches is understanding where this takes place, who these characters are, and how they’re connected to telling this full story. It’s not an individual thing. You don’t just show up and do your part.
So, that’s always been really valuable for me [and] kept me grounded and present—just being open and connecting. Then, you don’t feel that jittery energy, too, when you can look someone in the eye and say: You’re here with me. We’re in this together. It means so much, and it meant so much to me when there were those few artists who would do that when I was that young person on the side.
As you reflect on your career as a dancer, jazz musician Miles Davis beautifully said: “Sometimes it takes you a long time to sound like yourself.” I’m curious whether you’ve had that experience as a dancer. If so, what was your journey to dance like yourself? What was pivotal in that process?
I’ve had moments of going in and out of that. I feel like the first time I stepped into a ballet class—the first time I stepped on the stage—I was dancing like myself. I really do. Then, I think there were moments where I was lost and figuring out who I was as a person—as a young adult, then as an adult, and now. We’re ever-changing and evolving. So, you have to continue to adjust, change, and grow with that—on the stage, within yourself, and in your body.
I probably went for 10 years where I was like: Who am I as a dancer? Then, a year or two before I was promoted to principal dancer, I really started to feel like who I wanted to be as an artist and understand the process that it takes to get to that place. It’s a huge commitment and sacrifice.
I’ve been so fortunate to have my husband—we didn’t get married until after I was promoted to principal dancer because he was like: I am not getting in the way of any of this—[and] people who understand how much it takes of yourself to get to that point. But, as a young person, I was so innocent and so free—and it was so natural—that I think I was definitely myself in those first years.
A through-line I noticed in your interviews is that you are unwavering in choosing to be positive and generative when navigating hardship—whether it was getting injured your first year as a principal dancer or facing adversity as significant as racism. When you spoke about your injury, you said: “I had to keep dancing in my mind.” In ballet and beyond, what allows you to keep dancing when facing challenges? What conversations do you have with yourself to stay generative?
You have to go outside of yourself. I mentor a lot of dancers or have my colleagues and friends, [and] we have these types of discussions. The best thing for you to do is [to] have people around you. What’s been important for me is to not be in that atmosphere where you’re seeing everything you’re missing out on, which can be hard because some companies require that you’re there, sitting and watching rehearsals. I think it’s so unhealthy.
I’ve fought back on a lot of those things within these institutions that I need to be, for myself, doing the work outside of this building and have people around me who are positive influences that I can talk [to]. So, those have been my teachers.
I’ve changed teachers a lot throughout my career, but that injury in particular, I met a woman named Marjorie Liebert, who was doing floor barre and she became like a second mom to me. We’d spend every day together; Not only were we doing these floor bar classes, but she was like my therapist. Some days were really, really hard. We wouldn’t even do class. We would just sit and talk, cry, or do whatever.
It’s trying, again, to be honest with yourself, let your ego go, and think about: What’s the next step? Put that foot right in front of the next. Just keep moving forward. Sometimes, that would mean I’m sitting on the floor with Marjorie and we’re just doing port de bras, like: How am I improving my port de bras? It’s keeping moving and dancing in that way. You have to be ready to make adjustments and listen to your body because some days it was, like Marjorie, I’m in so much pain. I can’t get out of bed. She’s like—Great, I’m coming over—and we would do what we could with what I was capable of that day.
You said: “I have always seen ballet and the stage as this platform for me to grow. I have always looked at it that way since I was a little girl, and it’s become that.” What lesson is it teaching you now?
There’s no straight, linear path for anyone. I’ve always loved dance and, again, seen it as a way to tell a bigger story—that’s been at the core of what my goal has always been. It’s not about the journey and how I’m getting there, but staying really flexible as to how I’m going to achieve what my goal is. But then, not saying that’s the end.
There is no end until it’s over—[when] we can no longer do anymore. Even this idea that ballet dancers have an expiration date or women, there’s so much you can do with the things that you learn. You just have to stay open. You have to make connections with people and it can lead you in so many different directions.
My best friend, Leyla—we met in ABT Studio Company when she was 16 and I was 17—and remained close friends. Then, she came to me with this idea to start a production company seven years ago. At the time, it was like: What am I going to do with this? It’s grown into something that I never imagined. It’s to stay open and see that there are other possibilities—that it doesn’t have to be so concrete.
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