Lessons learned as a recent college grad on the audition circuit

When I graduated from New York University’s Tisch School of the Arts last May, I felt totally prepared to audition. I had listened to the faculty’s advice, gleaned insight from alum and visiting choreographers and learned everything from how to build my resumé to dressing the part. I felt ready, armed with all the tools to book the concert and commercial work I desired. Or so I thought. I quickly learned that nothing could replicate the experience of auditioning for professional work.

Redefining Success

One of the greatest—but most nerve-racking—things about auditioning is that I still see my classmates. Just as badly as I want that job, so do they. Sometimes, I make it to the next round. Other times, I watch my friends make the cut. Self-doubt can creep in quickly, and I wonder, Why not me? But I’ve learned that taking it personally gets me nowhere. As much as I’d like to think I know what choreographers or casting directors are looking for, I don’t. There are so many variables outside of my control, whether it’s height, body type or even where I was standing in the room.

In these moments, I try to define success for myself. Success is personal, not universal. Now, I measure it on how often I work and how much I love the process.

Burnout Is Real

Staying motivated can be hard when sometimes I feel more like a professional auditionee than a professional dancer. At first, I was ashamed that I felt burnt out on auditioning—wasn’t this my life’s purpose, what I paid to go to school for? After graduation, when I went to several large auditions and nothing stuck, I became frustrated and completely exhausted. I took some time off from auditioning to clear my head, and after talking with friends, I realized this feeling isn’t that uncommon.

I started to give myself permission to take a break when I get overwhelmed—there will always be more auditions. I try new fitness classes (anything from running to trampoline cardio), explore a neighborhood or dive into a good book. If I don’t give myself a breather, I become judgmental of myself and my movement—the opposite of what I want to present at an audition. Now I aim to attend two a week so I don’t feel stretched too thin.

Recently, I also pledged that I wouldn’t audition for work that didn’t compensate me well enough—financially or otherwise. There are gigs that might not pay much but will offer me high-quality rehearsal and performance clips, exposure to an artist I’m interested in working with or a flexible rehearsal schedule.

But if I’m feeling stagnant, I’ll mix it up and whip out my character heels for a musical theater audition. Or I’ll find a hip-hop audition to refresh myself with a great challenge and a good laugh.

Learning to Fail Better

Perhaps the biggest lesson I’ve learned is that if I’m not ready to fail—a lot—then the process will be brutal. A couple of months after I graduated, I had several callbacks for a promising opportunity. When I got cut, I shut down. I thought, If I didn’t book this one, there’s no way I’ll book the next one. For a time after that, I avoided auditions altogether. I feared failure. Slowly, I was able to let go of that fear, which allowed me to do better work and learn from my missteps. When I learned to fail better, my fear lost its power.

Each cut presents an opportunity to reevaluate my path, and each audition is a chance to collaborate with different artists. During recent auditions for immersive dance shows, I discovered a desire to create similar work. So I became rehearsal director for a new immersive project with Billy Bell called The God Complex. I’m grateful for what auditioning has taught me about myself as an artist. When I book my next job, I know I’ll be a better performer because of it. 

As summer draws near and the school year comes to a close, I got to catch up with the New York City Dance Alliance Foundation 2014 Dance Magazine College Scholarship Winner Paul Morland. He’s finishing up his first year at New York University. Between classes, finals, rehearsals and a student choreography showing, he shared some of the most important things he’s learned this year. Whether you're entering or exiting college, Morland offers some wonderful insight.

1. It’s totally up to you. “It’s your responsibility to get to class and do the work,” Morland says. Your college professors are there to push you technically and artistically, but it’s not their responsibility to wake you up and make sure you’re getting to class on time.

2. Keep an open mind. Morland found that composition classes and some technique classes were far different than what he had expected. Instead of backing away from new artistic territory, he went for it, head-on. “You have to approach class with the right mentality, and then you can get a lot out of it.”

3. Know when you’ve taken on too much. It’s easy to, especially your first year, say “yes” to everything. Take advantage of opportunities, but know your limit. Morland advises, “If you commit to something, you have to do it. When you’ve said enough 'yes,' don’t be afraid to say ‘no.' ”

4. Appreciate the artists around you. In the beginning, all of the new faces may be a little overwhelming, but trust that you’re with other dancers that want to be there and who want to pursue their passions, too. “Everyone is here for a reason. Everyone is here to create and to learn and to help people grow.”

5. Network from the beginning. “Don’t stress yourself out about it, but do it!” Morland says. Take a class outside of school every once in a while, meet students from different schools, establish positive relationships with your professors, and make good impressions right from the start. “It all begins as soon as you walk in the door!”

6. Have fun! “It’s supposed to be fun, too!” It’s your time to explore and play, both in the studio and out. Morland finds that, especially being in New York City, “there are so many opportunities and things to do. You have to remember that they’re there for you, so take advantage of them!” Stepping away from campus to visit a park, a museum, or a gallery is an easy way to refresh after a busy week of classes and rehearsals.

For more information about the NYCDA Foundation's scholarships and opportunities, click here!

Last week, dance great Bill T. Jones blogged about the question of preserving the past within the next generation of dancers. He commented on how refreshing the Martha Graham Dance Company's performance of its newest work—The Tempest Songbook—was, as it fused classical Graham movement and shapes with contemporary elements of film and design. For Jones, the event was "encouraging," perhaps because the company was able to maintain the formality of Graham technique within a more updated—dare I say contemporary—structure.

This, to me, presents a great challenge. As a young dancer, I'm frequently asked to generate my own material and set my own phrase work in both student and guest dances. I love this opportunity—to be able to move like myself—and I know my fellow dancers do, too. But if we're consistently encouraged to explore our own movement, even in technique classes, ​how do we maintain the rigor of classical techniques? Without many "classical" modern companies left, should we even care to infuse post-modern traditions and ideas (pertaining to the techniques of Cunningham, Limon, Graham and others) into our work?

Jones posed a similar question ​to some of my peers when he popped by Tisch Dance to coach a rehearsal for his Ravel: Portrait or Landscape?, which was set on the students by dance goddess Janet Wong. To Jones, Ravel was a response to post-modern greats, an attempt to preserve their legacy through a slicing-and-dicing of their signature styles. At Tisch, the work had changed. Unlike the Graham work he wrote about, which had maintained its signature structure and style even in a contemporary setting, Tisch's Ravel was a personal interpretation of the movement.

The question remains: Do we, as the next generation of dance artists, find it important to preserve and present classical traditions in our own work? In our interpretations of others' work? It's one that can't be answered generally, I think. Personally, it's not one I had even necessarily addressed until reading Jones' post—and I'm not sure my peers in his rehearsal had thought about it either. I appreciate that Jones opened up the floor for this type of discussion.

In the meantime, I'll continue to enjoy watching Ravel as part of our final concert. It's become one of my favorites of the evening, and it's exciting to see the influence that Jones' thoughts and comments have had on the way the dancers perform the work.

Nothing to do on a Friday night?

Think again.

For the ultimate post-rehearsal treat, grab the popcorn (and maybe an icepack) and head for the couch: Tonight, as part of its "Great Performances" program, PBS is bringing Mark Morris' masterpiece, L'Allegro, il Penseroso ed il Moderato to the screen for the first time—26 years after its premiere.

L'Allegro, set to the music of Handel and inspired by the writings of Milton, deals with action versus contemplation, mirrored beautifully by moments of pure kinetic energy and moments of complete stillness. The evening-length work will be introduced by none other than Baryshnikov—naturally—and will include interviews with Morris, several of his dancers and his music director, Colin Fowler.

Keep an eye out for MMDG member and Dance Magazine's February cover girl Laurel Lynch in tonight's showing of the modern dance classic—this time around, with brilliantly restored costumes and a few gender-reversed roles.

You can catch L'Allegro on your local PBS station at 9pm EST. For local listings, check here.