Nina Finds a Gem

Dancers! Nina sings out. The room goes still. Everyone turns to her with a touch of trepidation. This new step has been coming slowly, and Nina is exacting….


Of all the things I love about Nina, this is the One: You are a dancer. She is a teacher. Tango is an art. By the strength of her passion, by her devotion to technique, she redefines every place she teaches as a studio space. In her class gather we not only to learn but to respect the dance, the tango tradition.

The way this looks in practice is rigorous, demanding. Nina is a teacher in the style of a Russian ballet master. You will leave better than you came, but you may not always enjoy getting there. She can be demanding and critical, and she’s been known to use mockery and sarcasm as teaching tools. I have been the brunt of it all, and I find it’s all good. In the hands of anyone else it would sting without purpose. Nina makes the sting worthwhile.

What does that mean? There’s mockery meant to hurt. And there’s instructional mockery, which shows in an exaggerated way what you are doing wrong. Nina once accused an entire class of cross-country skiing. I felt embarrassed and cheated: I was doing exactly what she had asked!

She demonstrated what she saw in a silly, gross fashion, complete with schussing sound effects. Dancers exchanged looks. Her parody made clear what was wrong and how it was wrong. When the music resumed, we had something to work against, something to do and something to guard against doing.

For a few moments we anti-schussed in silence. And then Nina blessed us: “Good. Dancers!” Relief. Smiles. Pride. Just shy of giddy. When Nina says “Good!” we know we did well by the standards of the dance, not standards for beginners.



… So the air of trepidation as we await her judgment is natural and useful. Couples break to face her, to get the verdict, and there it is: Nina clasping her hands before her heart, rocking them in her excitement.

“I see beautiful things!” she exclaims. She is transported, as anyone is who sees beauty blossom under their hand.

We are befuddled. Which of us did those beautiful things? Each couple had a few good moments, but we are struggling and we know it and we know she knows it. We’re better than we were, but we’re a long way from proficient. We don’t expect to get it right in the space of one class. We’re here to learn; later we’ll practice, and much later we’ll be passable.

So where is the beauty?

Nina explains: “When you dance, beauty comes in small increments. It is a very small change.” She holds up her thumb and forefinger.

“When you do it well, it is a gem. This is what I want for you.” She looks well into each of our skeptical faces. There is love in that look, not for us but for the little gems we created.

We drop our eyes. This doesn’t happen in tango, this barefaced joy, this glimpse into what matters deeply. Nina is the instructor, we are the students, this is the studio. This moment is a gem in itself, but it upsets the balance. Someone must set it right.

Somebody does.

“How will we know when we get it?” He is only half-joking. We half-laugh, half-anxious for the answer.

Nina answers crisply: “I will tell you!”