The Cost of Ego in Storytelling and Ballet
"Art made for fame or fortune is neither art nor fortune worth having."
In the age of blockbuster movies and celebrity-driven culture, it’s easy to see how ego and the pursuit of profit distort storytelling. But this isn’t just a problem for Hollywood. Ballet, too, has its pitfalls—moments when the art form itself has been sacrificed for the allure of fame or financial gain.
The pitfalls aren’t always obvious. Ballet, with its elegance and discipline, often hides the compromises behind a polished exterior. Yet the cracks show when you look closely: a production mounted not for its artistic value but because it will sell tickets, choreography crafted to impress rather than to move, or dancers drawn more to the spotlight than the story.
True ballet, like any art form, is not about ego. It’s about serving something greater—the narrative, the music, and the audience’s connection to both.
Ego in Ballet: The Glittering Trap
Ego whispers the same lies to ballet artists as it does to filmmakers and writers: that success is measured by how many curtain calls you receive, how much applause you draw, or how prominently your name appears on a poster.
Some of the most brilliant dancers in history have been consumed by the pursuit of fame. Their performances, though technically flawless, lacked soul. They moved with precision but without vulnerability. In their quest to be admired, they lost the ability to connect.
Choreographers, too, are not immune. How often have we seen works designed to dazzle with pyrotechnics and acrobatics but devoid of heart? These ballets impress but do not endure. They are spectacles, not stories.
Art for the Sake of the Story
The greatest ballets endure not because of their technical difficulty but because they resonate on a deeper level. Giselle, Swan Lake, The Rite of Spring—these works have stood the test of time because they tell stories that matter.
But storytelling in ballet requires humility. It demands that both the choreographer and the dancer subordinate themselves to the narrative. The artist is not the star; the story is.
When ballet becomes about ego, it loses its soul. This doesn’t mean dancers or choreographers shouldn’t take pride in their work or make a living from it. But when the pursuit of wealth or fame becomes the primary goal, the art suffers.
Lessons from the Past
Ballet history is filled with cautionary tales of artists who prioritized fame over substance. Dancers who burned brightly for a few years but left no lasting legacy. Productions that dazzled in the moment but faded quickly because they lacked depth.
In contrast, look at the work of George Balanchine. Balanchine didn’t choreograph to showcase himself or his dancers; he created ballets that gave music a voice. His work endures because it serves something greater than ego. It serves the story embedded in the score.
Mikhail Baryshnikov, though one of the most famous dancers of all time, is another example. His fame wasn’t his goal; it was a byproduct of his artistry. He poured himself into his craft, always searching for truth in movement.
The False Promises of Wealth and Fame
There’s a reason so many artists, after achieving wealth and fame, speak of feeling empty. The pursuit of these things can leave you running in circles, forever chasing validation that never truly satisfies.
Art made for wealth and fame is art made with a shallow foundation. It might glitter, but it won’t stand. The ballets that endure are those built on a deeper purpose—on the desire to communicate something true and lasting.
The Role of the Ballet Artist
As ballet artists—dancers, choreographers, and even directors—our role is to be stewards of the story. This doesn’t mean ignoring practical concerns. We need to make a living. We can—and should—be proud of our work. But these things must always be secondary to the art itself.
When we focus on fame or fortune, we risk losing the essence of what makes ballet powerful. But when we create with humility, with a desire to serve the story, ballet can transcend its own form.
Art is at its most powerful when it asks us to step outside of ourselves—both as creators and as audiences. It’s not about glorifying the artist but about revealing the truths that connect us all.
The question we must ask ourselves is simple: Why do we dance? Why do we choreograph? Why do we create?
If the answer is anything other than to serve the story, we may need to rethink our priorities. Because in the end, ballet isn’t about us. It’s about something much bigger.
What do you think defines a true ballet artist? Let’s start the conversation.