JACK London Contemporary Dance Academy
JACK
London Contemporary Dance Academy
The journey from Soho to Euston only takes about half an hour, between the Tube and the walk, and I’ve done it a few times already to sort out all the admin stuff, but today it feels like it’s dragging on forever.
Maybe because this time, I’m not just visiting.
Today, I’m stepping through the doors of LCDA as an actual student.
And even though I got in on my first try, even though I landed a scholarship and I know exactly how many years I’ve poured into training and pushing myself to improve… there’s still this gnawing doubt in the back of my head that maybe, just maybe, I’ve ended up here by mistake.
Impostor syndrome really is the worst kind of travel companion, unpleasant, clingy, and nearly impossible to shake off.
And even though I only had a light breakfast, just yoghurt with some fruit and oats, by the time I reach the square in front of the academy, my stomach is tying itself in knots.
The sleek glass-and-steel building that houses the London Contemporary Dance Academy is tucked between old Victorian blocks, and as I stop to take in the facade of what’s about to become my new school, I hear the soft shuffle of footsteps and suddenly find myself surrounded by a whole swarm of dancers.
Wide-eyed, I look around and can’t help feeling like everyone else is just… more. More graceful, more striking, more polished than me.
Boys and girls from all kinds of backgrounds, long-limbed like gazelles, casually wearing black leggings or trackies and cropped hoodies that reveal flat stomachs and carved abs.
Everyone looks impossibly graceful, polished, perfect… and I feel so completely out of place that a fresh wave of nausea rolls through me, worse than before.
I try to steady myself, thinking for the hundredth time about all the sacrifices, not just mine, but my whole family’s, that got me here.
With a deep breath, I square my shoulders and walk through the heavy automatic doors of the building, right beneath the academy’s logo.
As I step into the main entrance hall, clutching my backpack to my chest, I glance around in awe. The ceiling stretches high above me, sunlight streaming through massive glass panels, and the pale wooden walls are covered in framed photos and posters from past performances.
I’m still staring open-mouthed when a guy with tousled ash-blond hair and a ridiculously infectious smile appears beside me.
“Hey! First day too?” he asks brightly. “You here for the course? I’m Ludovico Visconti!”
He sticks out a hand, nails a bit chewed up at the edges, and after a beat of hesitation, I shake it, quickly, and then just sort of freeze, not entirely sure what I’m supposed to say next.
In the end, I manage to smile back, grateful that his hasn’t faltered for even a second, and I nod, already feeling slightly better just from hearing his warm voice and that unmistakably strong Italian accent.
His name, on the other hand, feels like a nightmare to pronounce.
“Uh… Nice to meet you, Lu… Ludovi…”
“Just call me Ludo!” he cuts in, grinning. “No need to break your tongue over the full version, everyone calls me that anyway.”
He gives a casual shrug and gestures for me to keep going.
“Okay… um, Ludo. I’m Jack. Jack McAvoy.”
“You’re Scottish? That’s so cool! I’m Italian!”
As if I hadn’t worked that out already… My polite smile somehow stays in place, even though part of me wants to make a quick, silent exit from my new friend.
“I’m… only part Scottish,” I explain patiently, taking advantage of the brief moment of silence he finally offers.“My dad’s from Glasgow,” I go on, “but my mum’s from Stratford-upon-Avon. That’s where I was born and raised.”
“I’m from Milan, northern Italy,” he adds proudly.
“Wait…” I interrupt, suddenly wide-eyed, “Don’t tell me you trained at La Scala!”
“Uh… yeah!” he replies, instantly lighting up with pride. “I actually just graduated from there.”
“Watching a performance in that theatre has always been my dream, you know?” I say, genuinely in awe.
Of course. Just as I feared, everyone here has some insane background and I’m the one who trained in a tiny provincial academy. How the hell am I supposed to keep up?
Luckily, Ludo pulls me back just in time, before I spiral too far down that familiar rabbit hole.
“Hey, Jack, you still with me? You kind of zoned out there…”
Great. First person I meet and I’m already coming across as the weird one. Off to a brilliant start…
“No, no…” I say quickly, a little embarrassed. “I was just wondering… I mean, why did you choose to specialise here after graduating from La Scala? I trained in a pretty traditional environment too, and I know how contemporary dance is often seen as... you know, a rung or two below classical.”
Oops. There I go again. Can I please learn to keep my big mouth shut?
But thankfully, Ludo doesn’t look remotely offended. In fact, he seems kind of amused as he answers, “I like you, Jack! You’re straight to the point, no filter, just like me. I think we’re going to get along.”
Yeah… if we don’t kill each other first, I think silently, shaking my head.
Just then, the gentle buzz of nervous chatter in the lobby is interrupted by a firm, elegant voice calling for attention: “Good morning, everyone. Could all new students please gather round?”
She appears from above like a vision, gliding down the steel staircase in the centre of the entrance hall with fluid, effortless movements.
Up until now, I’ve only ever seen this woman on stage, as part of the audience, and I can hardly believe I’m standing here in front of her: the legendary Claire Donovan, one of the most renowned contemporary dancers in the world.
A hugely respected artist who’s left an indelible mark on the history of our discipline, and who now happens to be the Course Leader here at the London Contemporary Dance Academy, as well as the head teacher for Contemporary Technique.
The moment she comes into view, the entire room falls silent. Her presence speaks louder than any words, this tiny woman manages to command a room full of chattering students with nothing more than a single glance.
She radiates a quiet strength that fills the space without her ever needing to raise her voice. She’s not wearing any makeup, and yet I find myself unable to guess her age. There’s something completely timeless about her.
I know she must be somewhere between forty and fifty, but her sharp, defined features carry a kind of beauty that’s entirely her own.
Her brown hair is swept neatly into a bun at the crown of her head, leaving exposed a pair of large green eyes, impossible to read, and yet utterly commanding.
Like most of us here, she’s wearing soft black leggings, but unlike her future students, she’s paired them not with a hoodie, but with a cosy cashmere jumper in a delicate shade of blush pink.
And yet, despite the softness of the colour, there is nothing soft about her. When she starts speaking again, it’s impossible not to listen.
“I’m Claire Donovan, Course Leader here at LCDA. Please follow me, in an orderly fashion, to the theatre studio, where I’ll introduce you to your teachers and future mentors.”
Without another word, she starts walking, with the entire group of first-years trailing after her like a silent procession.
Unfortunately, that’s exactly when the image of a mother goose followed by her ducklings pops into my head, completely uninvited.
I let out a tiny, involuntary snort of laughter.
She whips around immediately, her green eyes slicing through me with something that feels very close to contempt.
“And by the way,” she says icily, “just call me Claire. First names only here, we prefer it that way. But don’t ever interrupt me unless it’s truly important. I hate being disturbed while I’m working.”
With that, she turns on her heel and marches toward the theatre, leaving behind a silence so heavy it could crush you.
I’m mortified, practically wishing the floor would open up and swallow me whole.
Ludo tugs at my sleeve gently, urging me to move.
He winks at me, like I’d just been caught getting up to mischief, which, to be fair, isn’t entirely wrong.
When we finally step into the empty theatre and take our seats in the front rows with the rest of the group, Ludo leans in close and whispers in my ear, “You’re quite the character, McAvoy. I have a feeling I’m going to have fun with you...”
I press my lips together and give him a small smile, even though I kind of want to strangle him.
Luckily for him, everyone’s attention is quickly pulled away as the entire teaching staff makes their entrance, stepping on stage to join Claire at the centre with such coordinated precision it looks almost choreographed.
“These are the esteemed colleagues who will be working alongside me throughout the academic year. I’m sure most of you already know them by name, but even so, it’s an honour for me to introduce them properly…”
With an elegant sweep of her hand, she gestures to the three teachers standing to her left.
As you know, I’m the Course Leader, which is to say the Artistic Director, and I also cover Contemporary Technique.
Etienne Moreau runs Contact Improvisation and Partnering, Sofia Lindgren leads Improvisation and Somatic Practices, and Camila Alves is responsible for the Choreographic Composition module. ”
After a brief, theatrical pause, Claire turns slightly to introduce the remaining two teachers on her right.
“And over here we have Hiroshi Tanaka, our expert in Performance Practice and Stage Presence, and Daniel O’Connor, who teaches Dance Theory and Critical Studies.”
Around me, a soft murmur of admiration spreads through the group, and honestly, I’m right there with them. The idea of learning from these incredible professionals makes something flutter wildly in my chest. I can hardly believe I’m actually here.
Claire, however, silences the room with one of those looks that, I’ve already gathered, could make even her fellow tutors quake in their boots.
Then she continues, in a tone that clearly isn’t up for debate: “I’ll now hand over to my colleagues.
Each of them will briefly outline their course syllabus.
Then, after a short lunch break, we’ll reconvene here for a… getting-to-know-you session.”
Ludo and I turn to each other at the exact same time, equally caught off guard by this unexpected announcement, and judging by the wide-eyed expressions around us, we’re not the only ones.
“What does she mean by… getting-to-know-you session?” I whisper, unable to hide my curiosity.
“Aren’t we supposed to be split into groups and start classes?”
Ludo shrugs and shakes his head, then leans in and replies in a low voice, “No idea, Jack… but I guess we’re about to find out.”
Right on cue, Claire clears her throat. Clearly aware of the confusion spreading through the room, she goes on: “This year, we’ve decided to introduce a new way of welcoming our first-years.
After the lunch break, each of you will take the stage one by one, in alphabetical order, and perform a short improvisation with our own Etienne.
This will allow the entire faculty to get an early sense of your individual qualities, your strengths and… ” she pauses, “…your weaknesses.”
Beside me, Ludo lets out a dramatic sigh and mutters, “Shit!” under his breath. Around us, the other freshers are visibly panicking, wide eyes, tense shoulders, whispering frantically.
I plaster a nervous smile on my face and, without even realising it, my hands go up to my neck, fiddling anxiously with my bandana.
Claire finishes her announcement and, for the first time since she arrived, I see her smile.
I can’t decide whether that’s a good omen… or the calm before the storm.