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An Interview with Lucia Verzola
In Dance Guest Editor Rowena Richie sat down with Lucia Verzola, Dancers’ Group new staff member and recent MFA in Creative Writing graduate. We talked about how she got into dance journalism, what questions are being asked by artists, and advice from her 80-year-old self.
The full 48 minute interview can be listened to and contains additional content. The published interview has been edited for a more streamlined read.
Rowena Richie: Hi Lucia! Introduce yourself and tell me your connection to dance.
Lucia Verzola: My name is Lucia Verzola. I don’t think my introduction is very uncommon: my mom put me in class and I really liked it and ballet quickly became the favorite.
I think I was twelve when I told myself, I want to become a professional ballet dancer. And then when I was a senior in high school, I moved away from my family to go to Central Pennsylvania Youth Ballet year-round. I was 17, and I was like, this is where it gets serious. I’m gonna really make this goal of mine happen. And in my two years at the program I actually realized I don’t want to be a professional ballet dancer.
RR: Wow.
LV: I realized if I can’t dance with a certain caliber company, the sacrifice that comes with a professional ballet career was not worth it. There are physical limitations I can’t change about my body and I know where I stand within the talent pools. There are a lot of super, super talented kids who start this serious training from a young age, or they’re just gifted with more natural ability. I was always someone who worked really hard. I really wanted to be there. I love to move my body. I love to listen to music but it was not ultimately in the cards for me.
My older brother, Durante Verzola, is a choreographer. He teaches at Miami City Ballet School. So I have that connection which is really special. And I just feel like “once a dancer, always a dancer.” I still have such a deep appreciation for the movement, not just ballet, the art form in general. And it makes me happy to go watch it, and be around dancers and talk about dance.
RR: I didn’t realize how deeply you had pursued dance. So now tell me about your creative writing formative experiences.
LV: For the longest time when professional ballet was the goal, I was like, I’m not going to college. And then when I realized I’m not gonna dance professionally, I was like, I guess college is what makes sense. And I was just so overwhelmed. What the hell am I gonna study? I don’t wanna be a dance major but what is something that I can still express myself, that feels creative to some degree? But then the practical side of me took over and a family friend was studying communications and they were like, “It’s gonna get you the job after you graduate.” And so I tried it for like a year and some change. And it was not for me.
RR: Communications?
LV: Yeah, communication studies was not my forte. So, my mom was actually an English major. For one of my pre-requisites, I took a Jane Austen English course and I really liked the professor and talking about the book and my mom was like, “Why don’t you switch your major? Do something that makes you excited.” There was a creative writing focus. And I thought, that sounds really fun. And simultaneously I was also a journalism minor.
RR: OK!
LV: I wrote for the school paper about things that interested me and joined the staff and eventually made my way up to Editor in Chief of The San Francisco Foghorn which is the name of the student run newspaper at the University of San Francisco.
And so those two: the creative writing and the journalism were kind of happening at the same time, but always felt super separate. Dance journalism had not occurred to me till I went to get my graduate degree at Saint Mary’s studying creative writing where I had the good fortune of meeting Rachel Howard who actually does both. I was like, wow, that is something that could happen.
RR: Rachel was your grad school professor.
LV: She was my professor. I had stalked her bio before class and casually slipped it in that I used to dance, and she was so encouraging from the get go: “Dance journalism needs more writers.” I was like, well that couldn’t be me. I could never do that.
RR: Now look at you.
LV: It just takes one person sometimes.
RR: Yay! That’s wonderful.
Do you feel like your dance experience, the experience of moving your body through time and space influences the way you write?
LV: As a dancer you have to have such razor sharp attention to detail. In my writing I like to focus on the physicality of a space, or the physicality of a face, or what they were wearing. And I think that has followed me from my dance background. You’re so aware of the small tiny things.
RR: What sort of dances do you love to watch?
LV: I’d be lying if I didn’t say neoclassical and contemporary ballet is what really gets me excited. But also just any dance that feels fresh and energized, and not trying to do something new for the sake of doing something new.
I want to feel a certain kind of connection to the movement, both in terms of the dancer working as an instrument, and a beautiful collaborative process, because it’s also the job of the choreographer to make the dancer shine on stage.
I just got to see Ballet 22 perform. Continuing to see works that challenge expectations within traditional dance norms, especially classical ballet. Let’s have men, non-binary and trans men en pointe. I wanna continue to see dancers—artists—finding ways to express themselves to the fullest degree. As a human being, can it be less about these binaries, man, woman? What can a dancer be?
RR: I love that.
So dance, journalism, creative writing, your dance background. What do you want to do with all of this?
LV: Such a good question.
RR: (Laughs).
LV: Going back to the gender binary thing, I think that exists in art too. How do we blur the lines? How do we combine these different interests? Find new formats to express ourselves? So, finding publications, like zines. I think there’s a lot of power in the ability to self-publish these days.
I went to the SF Art Book Fair a couple weekends ago. It was just happenstance that I walked up and was flipping through this book, a family archival project of photographs. It was just really organic and felt exciting to touch. I write about my family a lot in my creative work. And I was like, wow, I wish I could do this. I told the man at the booth, “I want to get published. It can feel like there are so many barriers…” And he was like, “Publish yourself. Yes, it takes time and energy and obviously financial resources, but what’s stopping you?” It can be overwhelming but also really exciting that the possibilities feel endless to a degree. It’s as much as you wanna take on.
RR: That’s awesome. Okay, so some kind of dance journalism, potentially through a zine, or other self-published channel.
LV: Right.
RR: Who do you imagine your audience is?
LV: There are so many of us dancers who almost get there and don’t quite. Maybe we auditioned and couldn’t get in, or only got offered a job at a company that paid nothing and we have to make money, or we had a career-ending injury. I have been trying to tackle writing about that because I think as human beings, at one point or another, you learn that lesson of something that wasn’t meant to be, the acceptance and what it feels like to fail. I see this part of myself in this art, in this writing, helping engage and open up those conversations and dialogues.
RR: People can have such baggage around their dancer self. Personally, when I’m dancing, I feel like a dancer, and if I’m not, I’m not a dancer, I have imposter syndrome. Maybe your zine will rekindle some dance-adjacent affection or participation in the dance community for those who have shut themselves out.
What is a favorite article that you’ve published?
LV: I had the pleasure of meeting Alyssa Mitchel. She did a project called Endure. It was a marathon multimedia piece that was inspired by her entering her running journey. She invited me to sit in on a rehearsal the week before they went to Dance Mission Theater. That was a moment that I really started to feel like, wow, this is dance journalism.
Sitting in the studio and watching the rehearsal and hearing them breathing really hard and sweating and stopping the music: “Let’s try that again.” Chatting with the dancers after the rehearsal, knowing these artists as people, individuals, too, feeling that excitement and passion. And then seeing how the performance had changed since that rehearsal, and seeing it with the backdrop, with the multimedia element. It was really cool and it was fun to write that, having that very full experience.
RR: Yeah, it’s really fun to read that article, too. I feel like we become more invested or have deeper engagement with the dance piece when we know a little bit more about it.
LV: Right.
RR: Was it a review?
LV: It was just a preview.
RR: Have you written any reviews?
LV: A couple weeks ago I wrote a review for Tether Dance Project. That is also a rush I hadn’t felt in a while: I have to finish this tonight, send it off to go to print… which is scary but exciting. To digest what you’ve watched in real time, at a quicker speed. It worked a different part of my brain for sure.
RR: What did you want this review to do?
LV: There’s so much privilege and power that comes with getting to cover dance journalism. You have a voice and you get to share it with whoever happens to read the article. To bring more attention to what Tether is doing was really important to me. But also to challenge myself: what was memorable, what were those moments where they really shined as a group? It was hard.
You have your little notes that you write in the dark. Then try to write a cohesive review that will make sense to both someone who is familiar with dance and the layman who happened to just stumble across it. What is gonna encourage them, pique their interest to say, “This is something I want to go see and spend money on.”
RR: Sounds anxiety producing, writing a review, both the time pressure and representing what you thought as a voice of “authority.” And, at the end of the day, I personally want to read a review that’s championing…
LV: Great word.
RR: Yeah, championing culture in general, and specifically getting people out to see dance. Living in the Bay Area and being a guest editor for In Dance has really exploded my conception of how much dance there is, including all of the festivals, all the non-presceinium spaces, dance happening in gymnasiums and in the street. I’m really glad you’re finding ways to make a career for yourself in this art space, marrying these things that you are fascinated with. And I hope you keep falling in love with them.
LV: We’re champions for the dance world! And, I might have some feedback that’s not positive but I hope this doesn’t destroy their dreams as a dancer.
Having been on the receiving side of someone saying something critical or negative about your dance or your movement can be hard.
RR: We put ourselves out there, but some performances we make are duds. Some articles you write might be duds, some of the performances you see might be duds, and hopefully we’re not so fragile and the economy isn’t so cutthroat that one false move is the end of your dreams.
What is your idea of happiness?
LV: I think the first thing that comes to mind is being in community. For me it’s my siblings, my partner, my closest friends. That just brings a smile to my face, even thinking about that group that I have to fall back on, and hope they can do the same with me. But also the larger community: folks that you are aligned with in terms of your values, you’re working towards the same thing, your artistic community, those that feed my soul. And then in terms of simpler things, sharing a good meal with people you love. That makes me so happy.
RR: What’s a good meal?
LV: I just went to Zuni Cafe for the first time in a long time. That chicken. Come on, that’s a great meal.
RR: I can smell it.
LV: Yeah, it’s so good. It’s worth the hour or 70 minute wait. I have a huge sweet tooth. I like a scoop of vanilla ice cream with hot fudge.
RR: Favorite writers?
LV: This is such a stereotypical answer for a creative nonfiction or essayist out there, but Jo Ann Beard is a favorite. The Boys of My Youth is her very famous essay collection about growing up in the Midwest. She’s really good about returning to childhood and playing with POV shifts.
Marilyn Abildskov, I had her at St. Mary’s. She’s also an essayist and an incredible human being. I feel honored that I’ve not only gotten to read her work, but also she’s read my work and given me feedback.
And then Carvell Wallace, he’s based in Oakland, and his book, Another Word for Love, just blew my mind.
And all of these writers, I think, again, it goes back to being observant and detail oriented. The little things that they’re able to sprinkle into their writing. I think that’s key as a dance writer too. You can’t miss the details.
Their voice is so distinctly theirs on the page. And I think as a writer, both in dance journalism and creative writing, that is something you’re constantly striving for. It’s so easy to have a conversation with someone and be like, yes, that is what Rowena sounds like. That is what Lucia sounds like, but how do you capture that on the page? There’s magic to it. And they’ve got it down.
RR: Thank you for those recommendations.
Do you have a favorite performance?
LV: The day before Valentine’s Day, 2019. Doris Andre and Joseph Walsh of San Francisco Ballet performed Justin Peck’s Hurry Up We’re Dreaming, which is also the name of the album by M83 that the song they danced to came from. The song is called “Splendor.” This ballet all takes place in sneakers, very Jerome Robbins-esque. So, strong ballet foundation, but to this French pop song. And it’s a slow, slow pas de deux. The chemistry was just so good. The movement was so precise but dynamic.
People ask me, do you ever miss dancing? I don’t really miss it a lot. But that performance, I was like, wow, I do wish I could learn that.
RR: What questions are artists asking right now?
LV: I think “How?” is a big one that’s coming up. How can I continue to pursue my art? Is this gonna pay the bills? Are audiences going to come to these performances? Is what I’m saying, does what I’m doing matter? In the larger landscape that we exist in today where there is so much happening—AI, social media, funding is being cut—is there going to be space for us to come together and create even? And that is such a scary question.
I also think artists are thinking about “Why?” Does this even matter in the grand scheme of things? This story I’m trying to write about my family is very personal to me and feels special, but is it gonna even make a difference? With social media we’re so consumed with the immediacy of things happening. Art that takes time and energy and years and years to create, once I make the thing, will it have even been worth it? And will there be anyone to listen or watch the show, or read, or engage with what I created?
RR: One of my heroines is Susan O’Malley, who wrote a book called Advice From My 80-Year-Old Self in which she interviewed people of all ages asking them: what advice would your eighty-year-old self give you? Especially in response to what you were just saying—Why? Does it even matter?—what do you think your eighty-year-old self would tell you?
LV: Life’s too short not to. If this is something that brings you joy, brings you happiness, feels important to you, that’s enough.
We can get so consumed with the reaction from others. Am I gonna be liked? Will they like this thing that I created? And yes, of course, that’s a human thing to feel but also it’s enough that it matters to you. And you only get one life to do these things. So don’t waste your time and don’t get caught up in what other people are telling you is important: making money, having a big house, driving a fancy car. Those things all go away. But art is what will outlive you. If someone picks something up that I wrote after I’m gone and it means something to them or moves them in some way that is enough.
