I was beaten with a stick at the dance school

I did not complain, I was afraid that it would get worse. Stories of people who have experienced violence in music and artists

Dancing, music, painting are often not only creative and disclosure of talents, but also huge loads, pain, humiliation and burnout in creative schools and schools with a creative slope. For example, in a Moscow school for gifted children for more than 25 years, teachers applied violence towards students. “Cold” talked with people who faced psychological and physical violence in creative schools about how this influenced their attitude towards themselves and the chosen lesson.

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According to UNESCO, annually about 246 million children around the world are faced with violence in schools. For example, the former doctor of the US national gymnastics team Larry Nassarapplied sexualized violence to more than 330 wards . Subsequently, he was sentenced to several lifelong terms.

In Russia, several years ago, former students of the Moscow Central Art School under Rah accused the teacher Viktor Elizarov of violence and harassment. And a music teacher from Moscowbeat and insulted an eight -year -old student - he was given a suspended sentence: the teacher beaten and insulted the student on the piano twice a week for six months.

Often, children do not tell parents about such problems. According to the family psychologist Marina Kozina, “the first reason is how the psyche perceives violence . It is arranged in such a way that she is trying in every possible way to protect herself from him, so a person does not always realize that he has experienced something bad. The second - for children, the norm is set by an adult. It is difficult for a child to question what an adult does, and even more so a teacher. ”

Violence in schools affects psychological and physical health: the risk of anxiety, depression and even suicidal inclinations increases, so it is extremely important for parents not to ignore the child’s problems, but to listen when he talks about them.

"Fear was on a subcutaneous level"

Tatyana, 31 years old, Yekaterinburg. She was engaged in classic dances

I was given to classes in which children from the age of three understand that they did not have fun, but to plow diligently and for a long time - you don’t want or cannot, then goodbye: outside the door, a heap of those who want to get into your place.

One of my teachers was an imperious woman, at the sight of which everyone became quieter than water below the grass. She did not limit herself in expressions when she said that you could not cope. If you were mistaken and they stopped the music because of you, you disappeared: in the order of things it was possible to report you to all, moving to persons, evaluating your intellectual abilities or a “thick ass”.

Physical punishments were also applied. For example, slap on a non -lost foot, an unstoppted stomach, a lowered chin. Or slap on the hips so that there were traces. There was a choreographer that walked with a stick and poked or beat it into the "imperfect" parts of the body. If your shoulders were not straightened, you received between the shoulder blades. But these were gentle stroking compared to how much she could hit with this stick on the leg.

More children were constantly compared with each other. On the fitting of the costume, the teacher could say: “No, so she cannot be released on stage, she will ruin everything.” I often heard that I have a beautiful top, and the bottom is better not to show anyone. After such words, you think that you look worse than others, and try to fix it in any way: you sit on diets or on the same water, you torture yourself, and with great physical exertion, this affects the psychological state. You are nervous all the time, your head is only clogged with thoughts of weight.

If there were “roosters” on the head, it was in the order of things to pull the hair so that the sparks from the eyes flew. Once my hairstyle did not arrange a teacher, and she decided to correct her. She began to weave me, but did not expect that it would not be easy: the hair was long and constantly got confused. As a result, all her anger poured into the frenzied jerking of my head andtearing my hair . A few cloves even broke in the comb. It was wildly painful, to tears.

Fear was on a subcutaneous level. Once on tour, I forgot part of the costume and was afraid to say about it because I understood that she would fly to me. You are alone in a foreign city, you have no support, there is only a teacher on whom you depend. And he can spread the slap, remove you from the room, yell. It was necessary to be perfect.

We were not praised when we did something well, but if we were mistaken, we yelled at us. But we never complained: we believed that, firstly, we earned, and secondly, we were afraid that the teacher would learn about our complaints and everything would get worse.

I studied there for about 13 years. To some extent, this experience hardened me, but I have developed my beauty standards: I still follow my parameters and always find “problem areas”, which I try to adjust meals and sports. But the good is now a competent approach, and not thoughtless torture.

Gradually, I learned to share dancing as a big sport and dancing as a hobby. I understood that for a serious career I did not have outstanding physical data, and I did not want to be a mediocre dancer in numerous mass groups. Therefore, I have not connected life with dancing, although I still love them.

At one time, I taught choreography and noticed that my methods are largely similar to those who taught me. I did not beat and oppressed the children, but I had too much expectations: I was very demanding in the early days, until I realized that the children were engaged in pleasure, and not for the result.

"I did not have other motivation, except for fear"

Danil, 27 years old, Naberezhnye Chelny. He was engaged in music

My grandmother and aunt took me to the music school so that I would become a professional guitarist. Whether I wanted to become them - no one asked. The problems began because I am left -handed, and the teachers said that it was necessary to retrain. In addition to the guitar, I also had to learn to play cello, violin and piano so that the brain works in both directions.

In this school, I had two disgusting teachers. The piano was taught by a woman under 80, and in the first lesson, when I sat down at the keys for the first time in my life, she said to play notes. And I had no idea what to do. And I am looking for the desired note, she sees that I was mistaken, immediately takes a plastic pointer from the table and beats me in the hands with the words: "So we will do nonsense?" I’m five, it’s scary to answer her, I don’t understand what I was mistaken and how to play correctly.

On that day, she refused to teach me until I "will not understand what I should do here." She could pull my hand very much, raise it from my chair and drive out of the class if she didn’t like something. She beat systematically, while I did not understand why. I still have traces of blows in my arms.

It was painful, but over the years you get used to it and begin to treat it as something ordinary. Then I often dreamed of me, so bad I treated her. Her face dreamed, hairstyle, as she spoke with me through her teeth. I remember I told my grandmother about this, to which she said that I was stupid and apparently deserved.

I had the same guitar teacher. She certainly needed me to retrain with my right hand, because she could not perceive the instrument mirror and did not understand how to teach me if I was a left -handed manner. When we were left alone with her in the lesson, she just gave me notes, did not explain anything and left. And then she returned and scolded me for putting my hand or leg wrongly, angry. I began to skip, because there was no result from classes.

I remember very well my first exam at the end of the year. A bunch of teachers, including mine, sat in the assembly hall. It was necessary to prepare three songs. I studied for six months, taught songs at home, came in a jacket. He went on stage, and in the hall there was a grave silence. I felt wildly scared , I hesitated, and my teacher began to report to everyone for the fact that the ignoramus, that I was “again for my”, asked: “Why did you come here at all?!” And I began to roar.

As a result, they sent me to the retake, and my grandmother was told that everything was terrible. They scolded me at home, shouted obscenities, beat me on the forehead. No one thought that a six -year -old child in the first exam could have stress.

I continued to engage, as it grew into routine, like brushing your teeth. I just walked and did not feel any feelings. Only sometimes there was fear that they would punish me. At the same time, I did not always successfully pass the exams, because there was no other motivation, except for fear. Once again, when I did not pass, I was transferred to another musician. There I was met by a teacher who at first seemed cool to me. He saw in me the potential and even took a quartet. This was an incredible achievement for me: it seemed to me that the rest of the guys from the quartet was much better than me, it inspired me so much. But relations with him quickly deteriorated.

If earlier I was beaten with a poisoning hand, then this one could kick me under the ass for a mistake. He explained well, but if you suddenly did not understand something, he lost his temper as a teacher from the film “Obsession” ( a drama about a brilliant but ruthless conductor and his ward drummer.-Approx. “Cold” . ). If you were stirring, he began to freak out, sweat, changed in his face. He adjusted his glasses and repeated through his teeth: "Once again, again, again." And what is wrong - did not explain. If you have not guessed and did not improve, he could give a slap or somehow hit. Constantly yelling, clapped the door and left the lesson. I wanted to prove to him that you can do everything, but the more he shouted, the worse it turned out. I began to hate him. Then he died, and I imagined how he probably raged, and his heart stopped.

I finished music, but these were continuous torment, and it was impossible to leave, because at home they were very well at the same. I graduated and felt relieved - I did not want to even think about music anymore. After this school, I began to be afraid of exams, I am afraid in principle to touch the instrument publicly, I'm afraid to establish.

“I constantly heard“ again, again ”and got slaps on the arms or head”

Victoria, 28 years old, Moscow. She was engaged in drawing

It always seemed to me that painting is a flight of creativity when you see the beautiful and interpret it in your own way. But the art school showed that this is not so. We had a teacher, whose presence seemed to suck a joy from the room: she went into class, and we all lowered his eyes. Her facial features were sharp, her voice tall, sonorous, twisted movements, and she constantly broke into a cry.

I don’t know if she wanted to do only with future great artists or simply hated work and children, but she did not endure any mistakes, even the slightest. She explained everything very fluently and always said that in the drawing the rules there are rules and who we are in order to violate them. It was normal for her to say that we are squinted and crooked -hugged ostents that spend her time, and nothing would come of us.

Sometimes I wanted to try something of my own in the drawing, but the teacher was very angry. I remember several such cases. Once I decided to play a little with details and shadows. She saw this, took my work and, shaking her in front of her class, began to yell that she would not tolerate gag. “Why did you imagine yourself a great artist? I don’t need to arrange a daub here with my chicken paws, ”she shouted.

I remember that I was offended to tears, but I did not dare to cry. I did not fully understood that it was I who did wrong and what so terribly angered her, but I didn’t dare to ask either: I was afraid, firstly, to look stupid, and secondly, to cause even more anger. She threw my work and shook her hands so, as if holding some muck. She said that there is nothing to fix there and I have to start again, and if I do not have time to hand over for the deadline, then it is to blame.

Another time, she remained unhappy with proportions and perspective. She began to scream how to do, why I was only lost more and did not understand anything. Then the teacher gave me a slap, and then grabbed my hand with a pencil, tightly squeezed and began to drive her according to the drawing. The pencil dug into his hand and eventually broke, and traces remained in his arms. After that, it was no longer possible to fix the error and I had to start the drawing first.

Sketches systematically torn, ridiculed and thrown out. Sometimes the teacher said that these pieces of paper can be used only to support them of the table's leg. I constantly heard “again, again” and got slaps on the arms or head. But still, I tried to be allocated, took work at the exhibition or told my parents that I managed well. She said only to mine that I was incapable and I have no future. I didn’t particularly complain about the slap and screams, because, apparently, I thought that I was not trying enough.

I was taken from this school due to moving to another city. In the end, the teacher said that I should not be an artist and take up a place for talented children. Then I cried.

I didn’t go to any artist anymore, probably from fear that there will be the same. For a long time she did not even draw anything at home, then she grew up and began to do it again for the soul. I became an illustrator, but I learned everything myself, by trial and error. I still have a impostor syndrome, and at first it was even a shame to take money for orders, but I work on it.

“When I get tired, her words sound in my head:“ What are you like a boiled sausage! ””

Anastasia, 21 years old, Novotroitsk. She was engaged in dancing

We had a very strict classic teacher, and I came up with a thousand reasons to miss her classes. She always distinguished some girl and said that she was well done, and the rest were mediocre. It was a shame that another student was reaching higher, her twist is better, and in general she is a star, and I did not sew the mare tail. Even the teacher constantly said that we are fat and do not fit for choreography. If suddenly some part of the body protruded for someone, she beat her and said: "She blocked here, like a mother-utteue."

One case crashed into my memory. We were all tired, and the teacher gave us exercises and said that we were like boiled sausages that have been pasted. Until now, when I get tired, her words sound in my head: “What are you like a boiled sausage!”

The choreography has strong competition, you need to be better all the time, and sometimes there is no strength for this or physical data interferes. For example, I was quite high, and I was reluctant to put me in the first line. More often I danced behind where I was not visible. And there was constantly no shoes of my size - either less or much larger. Therefore, I danced in huge shoes two sizes larger, laying cotton wools there to fix my leg: no one was going to buy shoes for me.

At 13-14, I had a turning point: I began to pay even more attention to choreography, lost 10 kilograms by 10. It affected my health, but the teacher began to notice me and I achieved a certain success. At the same time, I still thought that I was not reaching. Even if someone tells you that you are dancing well, it seems that you are doing it the worst in the world.

At the end of their studies, we were constantly scared that there is a teacher who beats the students with a stick to tears. They said that they would do the same at the school. As a result, I decided that hard loads, performances under painkillers and a pension of 30 are not for me, so I did not continue my career.

I did not complain to my parents: they would say that it was OK, that there is no need to pour tears here. They rarely stood up for me, probably that's why I did not go for help and tried to adapt to the situation. In addition, it seemed to me that everything that was happening was normal. Now I understand that this strongly influenced my relationship with my body, because I began to think that I could be hit, and my body is not a temple at all.

When you are criticized everywhere, they say that your teeth are not like that, then your legs are not the same, then you do something wrong, compare with someone, you begin to believe in it. I had so many complexes then formed - that I have a pyld and my legs like skis. I am now shy of my legs - it seems to me that the caviar is thick, and I try not to call anyone the size of the shoes. Naturally, I can’t do anything with him, so I'm learning to accept myself. All the time I want to lose weight, to be fit, with good stretching and durability. And then I catch up and think: why is it all?