|
 Inspiration
Lost & Found
By Rhonda
Foote
Life changes lead to an emphasis on outreach for one school
owner
My earliest
memory is of watching my mom, Donna Foote, teach tap through
the netting of my playpen. She used to put plywood down on the
floor in the living room and teach two or three students at a
time. But when I went to college (where I minored in dance and
theater) I had every intention of removing myself from the
dance studio scene. The one thing I knew for sure was that I
would never operate a dance studio!
But fate
intervened. After two years in the work force, I got a call
from an old friend. A huge military population was moving into
the area I grew up in, and more dance education was needed in
the community. Would I consider returning? I had to admit that
I missed dancing every day, missed the creativity and energy
that runs so close to the surface in a successful studio,
missed my family. So I returned to northern
New York
and, in 1987, opened a studio, Rhonda’s FooteWorks, in
Watertown,
about an hour’s drive from my mother’s studio.
Together,
Mom and I traveled with our students to many competitions and
workshops. Our studios thrived, and we were having a
ball—loving the travel, the new friends we made, the master
class instructors we met. And of course, winning awards and
titles brought a unique thrill.
But after
ten years, life—and my priorities—started to change. In 1997 I
gave birth to my dau ghter,
Madison, who has severe congenital scoliosis. After more than
20 operations, the fact that she walks, let alone dances, is a
true miracle. Four years later, my mom died of a brain tumor.
While she was ill, I ran between her studio and mine,
determined to keep things as normal as possible. A divorced
mom, I soon discovered how much I had depended on my mother to
help with Madi. I had lost my best friend, my babysitter, and
my dance confidante. Winning accolades and awards no longer
seemed important.
I was not
alone. Students who had been with me since Madi’s birth and
who had studied with my mom were finding it difficult to focus
on competition. Ironically, I believe that I created some of
my best work during this time. I felt more creative and
driven. As a teacher, I was less demanding and more
empathetic. Indeed, the worst really does bring out the best
in some people. But the biggest change was yet to come.
In 2003, at
a Children’s Miracle Network fund-raiser, I met an old friend,
Kris, who became my life partner. He suggested a shift in
studio focus, and in 2004, the Dance Outreach Company of
Rhonda’s FooteWorks was born. Since its inception, the program
has done so much: opened for a Baha Men concert to benefit
Children’s Miracle Network; collected more than 100 pairs of
socks (“from our dancing feet to yours”) for the local
children’s home on Make a Difference Day; performed for a full
house to raise money for a family that had lost its wife and
stepmother to cancer; filled boxes with scrapbooking materials
to help a 6-year-old who was hospitalized with leukemia pass
the time; raised $3,000 by giving a benefit performance for
Mothers Against Drunk Driving; and raised money for juvenile
diabetes research with a holiday performance. Through our most
recent project, Bridge Over Troubled Water, we are
assisting dancers who are trying to reopen their studio after
it was devastated by Hurricane Katrina.
The shift
in focus has raised some issues with a few students, who have
opted to study with studios that are more involved with
competitions. (We do still attend a few regional competitions,
but we don’t place such a strong focus on competition
anymore.) Ho wever,
the benefits have far outweighed the negatives. The studio’s
relationship with the community has never been stronger.
(Inadvertently, it is receiving a lot more local press
coverage.) I notice a change in my dancers, too. They are
happier and less stressed, and they truly care about the
issues we perform for. We take time to delve deeper into the
emotional inspiration of a piece than ever before. They aren’t
merely centered in a technical way; they are centered
emotionally, too.
For me, the
greatest joy came when the influence of our outreach program
led to success at a competition. I had written a poem called
Lost and Found, based on experiences stemming from the
loss of my mother. I choreographed a modern dance for my
senior company, setting it to the sound of a heartbeat and
Kris’ recitation of the poem. The students performed the piece
at Access Broadway in Syracuse, NY. I had explained that they
should expect a difficult road with such an artsy approach,
and we had even questioned whether we should take the piece to
competition. But the dancers felt that it had to be danced.
After their performance, the room was quiet and grown men were
in tears. Lost and Found won the Grand Champion title
in its category, an award that I treasure.
Comparing a
studio that focuses on competition with one that focuses on a
dance outreach program is like comparing mothers who work with
those who opt to stay at home. Both jobs are important and
rewarding. If I had never been involved in the competition
scene, I doubt that I would derive as much joy from this
outreach program as I do now. But the program began because of
where life had led me. Now, as I enter my 20th year as a
studio owner, I continue to love watching my students grow
into better dancers and, without doubt, better people. I can’t
wait to see what the future holds.
Send
Page To a Friend
|
