Mikhail Baryshnikov began studying ballet at age nine in his native Riga, Latvia, then part of the Soviet Union. By his early twenties, he had been described by one critic as “the most perfect dancer I have ever seen” and was the star of the famed Kirov Ballet. In 1974 he defected to Canada, then settled in the U.S. at the American Ballet Theatre, where he later became artistic director. He left in 1989 to cofound a modern dance company and take on film, theater, and TV roles. He is now the artistic director of the Baryshnikov Arts Center and, at age 63, still performs. Interviewed by Alison Beard
HBR: Your career has been all about reinvention—classical to modern dance, stage to film to TV, performing to managing and back again. Why?
Baryshnikov: It’s instinctive. There’s an internal clock that dictates what interests me at any given time. Change in any person’s life is propelled by an almost primal need to explore, to test boundaries. I just follow that urge. In some cases, I look at what others are doing and stubbornly go in the opposite direction. Sometimes it works, sometimes I fail. There are no guarantees.
How hard was the transition to management?
I’ve had the good fortune to work with very structured dance companies, and I could see early on what a huge responsibility managing one would be. When I took it on, it was a growing-up experience. It forced me to make artistic decisions unrelated to my own career and to think more seriously about creating opportunities for others. I think what I’ve been best at is sticking to a vision for whatever group I’m leading, making the tough decisions that might not favor the people I like but that make sense for the organization as a whole. When I’m working with other artists I can be an obedient puppy, but in an office situation I like to think I’m the big dog. I don’t want to take direction. I haven’t always been as patient as I should have been, expecting too much, too fast, and getting frustrated with how long it can take to build support for new ideas. But I’m still learning.
You’ve worked with the legends of dance—Alexander Pushkin, George Balanchine, Twyla Tharp, Jerome Robbins, Alvin Ailey. What can you tell us about effective mentoring?
I don’t consider myself a mentor; I’m more of a cheerleader. But the best lesson from all the people I’ve worked with is to understand who you are as a person on stage. Whatever new craft you learn has to go through your own psychology, your own body and mind, in order to come out as something revealing and interesting for the audience.
How about effective teamwork?
I’ve always liked the camaraderie of group performance. To really collaborate, you have to figure out how to work with anyone and give 100%. It’s about spitting out your ego and becoming a foot soldier when necessary. The creative process isn’t a human rights march. Some things aren’t fair. Creators can be temperamental, but they have to be forgiven in this business. If you can’t deal with that, you should step out.
You learned 26 new roles in your first two years as principal dancer at the ABT. At the New York City Ballet it was 20 in a year. What’s the key to mastering new roles quickly?
There is no one secret. It takes positive energy, talent, a lot of hard work, and a willingness to absorb everything possible from the people you’re working with. And some luck surely helps. I don’t think I always mastered everything. Sometimes I took on too much. But it was a young person’s appetite. In retrospect, I think the failures might have been the most important experiences.
Can you give me an example?
Why are you trying to make me remember things I’ve worked so hard to forget? Seriously though, failures are the best school you can get. But let’s not go into details.
How do you handle pre-performance jitters?
There’s no magic pill, but by the time those nerves hit, there’s nowhere to go but forward.
You’ve hinted at retirement. But at 63 you’re still dancing. Have you gotten better with age?
I don’t know how much longer I’ll dance, but I’ve certainly learned how to pace myself. I’m not sure it’s up to me to decide what, if anything, has improved. I can only say that age forces you to pare things down to what’s essential.
I’ve read that you hate critics.
Well, that’s an exaggeration. It’s just that there’s no easy way to be completely objective as a critic. And most artists don’t want to be subjected to someone else’s opinion of their work anyway.