Note: This article was first published in Stance on Dance’s fall/winter 2024 print issue. To learn more, visit stanceondance.com/print-publication.

It should not come as a surprise that, along with every other dance form, COVID has reshaped the world of Argentine tango. For a dance form that prioritizes physical connection and proximity, we should not wonder that there were bound to be some changes as the world shifted into the “new normal.” And yet, there is something of a reckoning happening, showing itself in waves over the past few years. Many dancers, teachers, and community leaders are having to grapple with the expedited ways in which Argentine tango interacts with American culture, perhaps as a result of the recent social movements, or perhaps as a result of the way that culture simply changes over time.

Argentine tango has been regarded as a vintage or vernacular dance form. An extremely short history: Argentine tango has roots in African dance forms such as candombe and canyengue and became a street dance of the lower classes in Argentina. Dancers invented this form by coming up with cool figures, and then elevated it by way of dance battles to see who could make the coolest figures. As Europeans learned of tango, they romanticized it, fixated on what they could authentically retain, and imported it into their own ballroom curriculums, where it remained kind of frozen in time. Back in Argentina, the dance continued to develop – not only in the streets but also in tandem with the development of the music, and became its own cultural heritage form. Tango was suppressed by the Argentinian government during the military dictatorship (junta) in the 1970s and 1980s, and since then, seems to have been regarded with semi-disdain by the government, despite being part of UNESCO’s Intangible Global Heritage list.

In the 1990s, tango was imported to the US by way of large shows, such as Forever Tango and Tango Argentino, and with it, the social dance. Dancers in the US took what they could absorb, and tried to capture those intangibles borrowed from Argentina – the way that masculinity and femininity were represented, the clothing, the outward display of physical surrender and passion, and the social codes (such as cabaceo – the way one dancer asks another to dance with a discrete nod of the head) – in an effort to be as authentic as possible.

Authenticity is a tricky thing to replicate, especially when one is trying to capture the essence of a dance form. It is easy to be swept up in the theatricality of the spaces that Argentine tango happens in, easy to be entranced by the clothing, the shoes, and the precision – and also mystique – of the social interactions. And to be honest, I personally love the theater of tango. But what I love most is the dance.

Argentine tango is a vintage dance form. And it has often been accompanied by “vintage” – also known as patriarchal – values. I’m fortunate to have witnessed a shift in these values during the time I have spent dancing this form, and proud to have been a contributor to that shift. I remember far too many disdainful looks from leading as a woman on the social floor, and possessing enough grit to not care enough to let it stop me, but I’m proud that my stubbornness helped pave the way for more people to do it. The “Me Too” movement is also finally beginning to happen in Argentine tango, although truthfully it has a long way to go. These, and other social shifts, have been expedited in tango the past few years, thanks to COVID. Where does it leave the social dance community?

A few observations over the past few years: The first reactions to COVID, and not being able to dance closely together, were frustration, sadness, and anger. People were isolated in general, and tango dancers seemed to feel that their isolation was at least double, or exponential. Many people use tango as a coping mechanism for their loneliness or therapy, and when that was taken away, there was a particularly negative spiral.

The world “reopened!” And while I’d like to say that dancers returned in droves, they largely did not. There were losses – deaths within the community, dancers who decided the toxic masculinity was beyond what they wanted to tolerate in a hobby, and then dancers who simply moved on. There were changes to the structure of various communities – teachers and organizers attempted to reopen, found the return untenable because of fewer dancers and fewer venues, and left. Other teachers moved more gradually in reopening classes and hosting events and stayed. And some in very large communities seem to be doing very well!

Politics became a major dividing factor in the Argentine tango community. Each “side” had or has their own views on masking (or not), vaccination status, and how they felt about holding a bigot or conversely a “libtard” in their arms.

And then a new divide started happening: the divide between experienced dancers and complete beginners. Now, for a tango community to be healthy and thrive, you need dancers of all ages and experience levels. And thanks to the culling effect of the pandemic, large gaps started showing. Dancers returned to the milongas (the socials), but experienced dancers had no interest in dancing with new dancers; they wanted to get their “fix” just like they remembered it to be. Nostalgia is a major element in the lore of Argentine tango, probably a large reason why change is so hard won in this community. But in the meantime, the world changed a lot. Also, how will new dancers get integrated into the dance community if experienced dancers aren’t at least a little bit generous with their time and expertise?

My partner Doruk and I notice the effects of this when we travel to teach, and we notice it in our own community. We see the gaps in level, and the gaps in generosity more egregiously. Unlike other times, when there was a constant flow of incoming dancers, the general numbers in communities held steady because there were always a few dancers who “stuck it out,” diving into the complexities of the dance form as well as the particular social dynamics. Now, the numbers at tango events are unpredictable – sometimes we see dancers in droves, hungry for more. At other times, just a handful – almost ready to quit.

We have a lot of questions about how the future of Argentine tango will look for the next generation, and ideas about presentation; do we really have to hold so dearly to older ideas about who can dance, how it can be danced, where it can be danced, to hold onto the essence of the dance form and the dance itself? Or can we find ways to be inclusive – not just of dancers in various demographics but also dancers from different movement forms, dancers with disabilities, and different kinds of learners? And can we find a way to encourage more generosity so that this beautiful and young developing dance form does not become a “historical” dance?

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Erin Malley (she/her) is a dance artist working in the fields of Argentine tango and dance film/video art. She tours the US and Europe, teaching tango and performing with her partner and husband Doruk Gölcü. They currently are based in West Michigan. Erin works on dance film projects on a freelance basis. 

For more information, visit erinanddoruktango.com (tango) and erinmalley.com (film and video).

References:

https://ich.unesco.org/en/RL/tango-00258

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tango

The post Argentine Tango in Flux appeared first on Stance on Dance.

I’ve been running Stance on Dance as an online publication for 12 years and publishing a print edition for three years now. In that time, I have never tired of discovering new corners of the dance world. I am honored to continue that vein in this issue.

In these pages, you’ll discover more of dance’s incredible richness as a practice and form of expression: Snowflake Calvert describes Queering Cultural Forms, a program of the Queering Dance Festival that provides a platform where traditional cultural dances are explored and enriched through a queer lens. Julia Allisson Cost details the process of painting a picture book, and how she experienced the process as similar to choreographing. Bonnie Eissner profiles Bobby “Pocket” Horner, a street-dancer turned Broadway star who asks difficult and important questions about the nature of working on Broadway. Erin Malley shares the ways in which the Argentine tango world is in flux after the pandemic. Jessie Nowak reflects on the agony of artmaking as she created the sci-fi dance film Emerging. And Donna Schoenherr makes the point for better aging in dance opportunities through her work at Ballet4Life and the nonprofit Move into Wellbeing®.

Additionally, I interviewed Zazel-Chavah O’Garra, director of ZCO/Dance Project, about how her brain tumor surgery catalyzed her passion for integrating dancers with disabilities, and Vicky Holt Takamine, master hula teacher of Pua Aliʻi ʻIlima and the executive director of PAʻI Foundation, about how she is working to preserve and perpetuate native Hawaiian arts and cultural traditions for future generations. Finally, Erica Wilson renders raw and surrealist moments in dance in her quest to capture gesture and flow.

I learn something new every time I edit a story or interview a dance artist, and I feel I’m just getting started understanding the breadth and depth of this field. If you have a stance on dance, please get in touch at emmaly@stanceondance.com. I look forward to learning from you too!

GET YOUR COPY OF THE Fall/Winter 2024 PRINT ISSUE NOW!

Illustration by Erica Wilson

The post The Fall/Winter 2024 Print Issue! appeared first on Stance on Dance.

The Fall/Winter 2024 print issue features the following:

Snowflake Calvert describes Queering Cultural Forms, a program of the Queering Dance Festival that provides a platform where traditional cultural dances are explored and enriched through a queer lens. Julia Allisson Cost details the process of painting a picture book, and how she experienced the process as similar to choreographing. Bonnie Eissner profiles Bobby “Pocket” Horner, a street-dancer turned Broadway star who asks difficult and important questions about the nature of working on Broadway. Erin Malley shares the ways in which the Argentine tango world is in flux after the pandemic. Jessie Nowak reflects on the agony of artmaking as she created the sci-fi dance film Emerging. And Donna Schoenherr makes the point for better aging in dance opportunities through her work at Ballet4Life and the nonprofit Move into Wellbeing®.

Additionally, Emmaly Wiederholt interviewed Zazel-Chavah O’Garra, director of ZCO/Dance Project, about how her brain tumor surgery catalyzed her passion for integrating dancers with disabilities, and Vicky Holt Takamine, master hula teacher of Pua Aliʻi ʻIlima and the executive director of PAʻI Foundation, about how she is working to preserve and perpetuate native Hawaiian arts and cultural traditions for future generations. Finally, visual artist Erica Wilson renders raw and surrealist moments in dance in her quest to capture gesture and flow.

If you donate $25 or more to support dance journalism, you will receive two issues of Stance on Dance’s print publication. Stance on Dance is a 501c3 and your donation is tax-deductible.

Get your copy now!

We will only be able to ship our print publication to readers within the United States. International donors will recieve a PDF of the print publication. However, all content in our print publications is eventually made available online. Follow us on  Facebook, Twitter, Instagram and LinkedIn to stay up to date on all the stances on dance!

Stance on Dance sends free copies of our twice-a-year print publication to college dance programs and other dance learning spaces. To date, we have partnered with dance faculty at Antioch University New England, Arizona State University, A:shiwi College, Austin Community College, Bennington College, California State University East Bay, California State University Long Beach, Colorado State University, Cuyahoga Community College, Davidson College, Florida International University, Keene State College, Kent State University, Loyola University Chicago, Old Dominion University, Ohio State University, Pittsburgh Ballet Theatre, Shawl-Anderson Dance Center, Skidmore College, Sonoma State University, Texas Christian University, Texas State University, Texas Tech University, University of Akron, University of Arizona, University of California Irvine, University of California San Diego, University of Florida, University of Illinois Chicago, University of Illinois – Urbana-Champaign, University of Kansas, University of Maryland, University of Nevada, Reno, University of New Mexico, University of Richmond, University of San Francisco, University of Silicon Andhra, University of South Florida, University of Southern Mississippi, University of Utah, University of Washington, and Utah Valley University. If you work in a dance department or other dance learning spaces and would like to learn more about this program, email emmaly@stanceondance.com.

The post Stance on Dance IN PRINT! appeared first on Stance on Dance.

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What does your current regular dance practice look like?

When I am on tour, I dance Argentine Tango anywhere from three to six hours a day. This might look like teaching, practicing, social dancing or performing. When not on tour, I usually practice tango at least one hour a day, but sometimes I might also have private lessons and classes, or just social dancing, that might get me dancing up to six hours a day as well.

Would you call yourself a professional dancer?

Definitely. While most of the time, I am not explicitly paid to dance with my partner, all my income is derived from dance and dance-related activities. Since I work with dance full time, I am a professional dancer!

What do you believe is necessary for a dancer to call themselves professional? Is part of being a professional getting paid?

It’s necessary that a dancer who wants to call themselves professional ask to be paid with money (and subsequently receive it) in exchange for their dance knowledge, expertise and service.

Merriam-Webster defines “amateur” as such: “one who engages in a pursuit, study, science or sport as a pastime rather than as a profession.” I think it is no less honorable to engage with dance as a pastime, and I myself have engaged with dance in this very manner until I became a part-time professional, and subsequently full-time. At every point in time as an artist/dancer, I have attempted to comport myself as a professional and have treated my work with professional attention and care because that was the direction I was pointing myself in.

Is there a certain amount of training involved in becoming a professional dancer?

Not necessarily; I think it’s a case-by-case basis. But largely, the people who have trained a lot and continue to interact with their field in rigorous ways do tend to be the most successful professionals. Being professional doesn’t necessarily mean that you are good as an artist. And similarly, being an amateur doesn’t mean that you can’t have world-class skill. To me, being part- or full-time professional means you derive income from your activities in dance (aka if you didn’t dance, you would not make a portion or all of your income). Full-time professionals tend to deliver better quality work with consistency and comport themselves well; if they didn’t, they would starve! Of course, it is entirely possible for an amateur to create equally good work on their own free time but, without the pressure, it is a bit rarer.

Do you consider project-based work or solo work to be professional?

If it is paid, it is professional.

Do you think the definition of a professional dancer is different than it was 25 or 50 years ago? If so, do you have any ideas why it might have changed?

I actually do not think that the definition of a professional dancer has changed; I still think that if dancers were paid to dance on a part- or full-time basis, this made and still makes them professional dancers. I recall there was more angst 20+ years ago around the idea that if you were not in a company, then you were not a professional dancer. But I still believe that if a part or all your income relies or relied on dancing, then you are/were a professional dancer – then as now.

Are there instances when people apply the term “professional” to a dancer or group dancers when you feel it shouldn’t be applied?

Of course, to amateur dancers. Also, I have seen situations in which professional companies and organizers “hire” dancers without paying them anything, but call the gig professional because there are other, more famous dancers and/or full-time company members, etc. who ARE being paid. It is sold to the unpaid dancers as “good” – for their resumes, to get “exposure,” etc. The entire field of dance is then negatively affected because these companies/organizers create situations in which skilled, trained dancers have literally no value in the market. If dancers accept these terms, then they are perpetuating and enabling a systemic problem which is never in their interest, wherein future dancers have more difficulty being seen as having value in the first place.

Vice versa, are there instances when people don’t apply the term “professional” to a dancer or group of dancers when you feel it should be applied?

This is a tricky question. I can’t think of an instance, since I personally am not bothered by the omission of the word “professional.” If someone called me an amateur, though, I would probably take offense!

How might your cultural perspective – where you live, where you’re from, what form of dance you practice – influence what you think of as professional?

I am originally from Kalamazoo, Michigan – a smallish Midwestern city that at the time contained one professional modern dance company, and a semi-professional (that is, containing a couple of full or part-time professional dancers in a largely amateur group of dancers) ballet company. Thus, I thought my dance options were limited to either ballet or modern. When I was training, independent artists were a rare breed, and that type of work interested me most. Regardless, I did feel a certain amount of pressure to want to be in a company because it seemed that successful choreographers did that prior to embarking on their choreographic careers. I did try it a few times, but the reality is that I am a very poor company dancer. I am overly opinionated about aesthetics, and I am bad at adopting others’ ideas in situations where I don’t feel I have input. Really, I’m a director by nature.

More than anything, I struggled with the multiplicity of being an artist – having a few different gigs and day jobs, and feeling an emotional tug of war when someone asked me what I did as a job. That, I feel, is a separate but related question. The reality is, I have been paid for dance-related work since I was about 16 years old, so I did not feel a sense of angst about whether or not I was professional. It was about being a full-time professional.

My biggest hurdle in becoming a full-time professional was believing that I could do it, and in taking the leap of faith to do it without a safety net. Now that I am a full-time professional, my attitude towards the definition of professional has shifted greatly, and I now see the question as black-and-white: If you are paid, it is professional; if you are not paid, it is not. If I can use this money to eat and live, that checks the box for me.

What do you wish people wouldn’t assume about the dance profession?

First, that because dance is a hobby for THEM, that it therefore must be a hobby for ME, and therefore I don’t deserve to be dealt with in a professional manner because this is something they are doing in their free time.

Second, that I must inevitably be having FUN all the time, because it is fun for them, or because I create the illusion that it is not a grind. Yes, I do enjoy my work most of the time on the average, but it is definitely work.

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For more information about Erin’s film/video work, visit erinmalley.com, and to learn more about her work in Argentine Tango, visit erinanddoruktango.com.

The post Dance is Definitely Work appeared first on Stance on Dance.

BY ERIN MALLEY

Part I.

Once upon a time, I was a young choreographer, full of talent and promise. And I decided to move to New York City. The goal I’d set out for myself when I first moved to NYC was “to see how far I could go as a choreographer.” Hold it right there. Did I mention anything to myself about artistry in that goal? I also had a fantasy of winning a Bessie award. I had no idea what a Bessie really was or what the honor meant.

While I was busy “trying to make it” as a young choreographer in NYC, I received a generous donation from the president of my Alma Mater (Western Michigan University), accompanied with a note that he felt confident that “mine was a name we would all know one day.” While a very well-intended compliment, mine is not a mind that readily accepts them, and I took this to mean that an enormous responsibility was now placed on me; I had to succeed.

A common rhetoric in my artistic youth was that dances and pieces had to be “successful” and “good,” and that once a “good” piece was identified, you had to perform the crap out of it until it became obsolete, and even for a while longer.  While I was always good at marching to the beat of my own drum, I had acquired the “successful?” “good?” thoughts in the mix. New York is a hard city for someone who didn’t enter via a major institution (Juilliard comes to mind), and it’s easy to get the impression that you live in a hamster wheel, artistic or otherwise. Logically, I wanted to feel I was getting somewhere for all the effort I was putting in. My subconscious inevitably stepped forward, and my creative pursuits became aimed towards what would be successful, what curators would like, and how I could best make that name known.

What about things like listening to my own voice? How about what was mine? Doesn’t that count for something?

Flash forward to a few years later. I was at a performance in San Francisco, but there in the role of video designer rather than as a choreographer. At the post-performance “schmooze,” I missed the feeling of importance that the idea of being a choreographer conveyed. Not being a choreographer. Not doing choreography – but the idea of having my self-worth defined by self-identifying as a choreographer.

Truthfully, I love the process of working with video at least five times as much as I do making live work. I love making films – every moment of it! And finally, I truly like the actual work that I make; instead of always seeing it fall short of a vision I was unable to articulate, I enjoy seeing my work manifest in the world.

Mine.

Part II.

Around the same time that I made the shift from choreography to dance film, I started working more rigorously as a dancer of Argentine Tango. I’ve danced this form consecutively the longest of any that I have studied (13 years), yet I was strangely resistant to pursuing it professionally, even though it is absolutely the dance for me. Let’s just say that I was fighting against both an inevitable problem I have of turning every hobby into a profession, and against a lot of rhetoric that I grew up with of a social dance form not being a “high art” or a “real dance form.”

A turbulent year happened, and the moment arrived when living in San Francisco became overpriced and unbearable in more ways than it was bearable. Factor in the death of a parent and the ensuing “what does it all mean?” and my husband (and dance partner) and I ran away and began teaching Argentine Tango all over the world.

It wasn’t completely sudden. We had been dancing together for many, many years, and developing as teachers and dancers quietly during that time. We were simply ready for the next step.

A few surprising (and completely unsurprising) things happened. My professional dance career – the one in which I am paid to dance and teach for the vast majority of my living – began at age 36. Surely that is far too late to begin dancing professionally, full-time, right?

The moment I surrendered to being a full-time touring professional dancer is the moment my dancing really changed. In the act of stepping into the role I wanted, I stepped up with my ability. It doesn’t hurt of course, that my partner is as relentless a perfectionist as I am, and believes in my abilities to no end.

I am fully focused on the doing of dance and my dance reflects this. Yes, of course – the organizing of gigs, bookings, travel, lodgings, sussing out which organizers are legitimately professional – this all takes a great deal of effort and headspace. But the dance I’m creating feels worlds apart from the dance I created when I was juggling a complex weekly grind. Dancing full out means going full in.

As with every dance form, the dance is constantly being created and in constant flux. Argentine Tango is in its nascent stages as a dance form, having arisen a little more than 125 years ago. There is no codification and no centralized school; as it developed in the streets, one of the core values is true individual expression.

In some ways, because there is no codification, no One True definition of what Argentine Tango is, there is tremendous freedom. That freedom can bring tremendous frustration. There literally is no Milonguero Authority to check in with, only people who have thought about it and danced more and, even then, not all of them have our best interests in mind. But some of them are supportive in unexpected ways. Recently, a teacher of ours told us that while he could teach us for the rest of our lives, it was time for us to experiment and to find our own dance.

We are now in the process of tailoring the dance for ourselves, eliminating old ideas, experimenting with technique, often failing and occasionally succeeding wildly. This will now be the rest of our dance lives – literally making the dance we want. That same teacher told us that he saw one of the most famous tangueros (Virulazo) the week he died – a final, finished version of his dance. That is the trajectory I’m looking for.

I won’t deny that I still look at my career path and compare it negatively to those of other dancers (and, most often, to those dancers who work at the top of the profession – why should I be easy on myself?). I sometimes think that because I’m not “on tour” 45 weeks a year, I haven’t truly “made it,” and I admit that although our career has had rapid growth, and that we’ve gotten steadily better gigs, I am reluctant to admit to myself my own pursuit of wanting more.

I’m sure there are those out there who think I’ll never truly “make it” since I’m not Argentinian – a notion as ridiculous as you not being able to make it as a ballet dancer if you are not Russian (this was actually a thing in the 1930s), or as a modern dancer if you are not American. And there is probably someone out there who thinks I’m a “sellout” because I’m working in social dance and not concert dance; that I am “wasting” my talent. And another someone who thinks because I’m a curvaceous lady that my body is “wrong” for dance, and I will thus never really “make it.”

Hopefully those people are all inside my head. As I drift further from caring about them, the closer I get to dancing my own dance and making the art I want to make (and combining these things in a way that makes my life a full one). I will always struggle with arbitrary external benchmarks, and with self-inflicted comparisons to other dancers and dance-makers. But, if I’m honest, “making it” is a combination of making the logistics of my career work, and making the work as much MINE as I possibly can.

P.S. A friend of mine says “You know, you can die of exposure…”

Photo by Robbie Sweeny

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Erin Malley has worked as a dancer, performer, choreographer, director, video designer and filmmaker. She graduated from Western Michigan University with a BFA in dance and French in 2001, and continued her studies for one year at the CCN of Montpellier in France. Erin also had a two-year, full-time residency with Education for the Arts in Kalamazoo, MI. She was a choreographer for and performer in independent theater & dance projects in NYC, and founded & directed Malleable Dance Theater as a non-profit organization during her time there (2004-2009). She relocated to San Francisco, and there deepened her inquiry and practice of projects involving video and film, both collaboratively and under her own direction. In 2015, she and her husband Doruk Golcu began teaching and performing Argentine Tango internationally, and Erin took her film projects on the road with her. For more information about her film/video work, visit erinmalley.com and to learn more about her work in Argentine Tango, visit erinanddoruktango.com.

The post Making It Mine appeared first on Stance on Dance.

Meet our director and editor:

Emmaly Wiederholt is a dance artist and arts journalist based in Albuquerque, NM. She founded Stance on Dance in 2012. Emmaly earned her MA in Arts Journalism from the University of Southern California and her BFA in Ballet and BS in Political Science from the University of Utah. She further trained at the San Francisco Conservatory of Dance and performed extensively around the Bay Area. Her first book, Beauty is Experience: Dancing 50 and Beyond, was published in 2017, and her second book, Breadth of Bodies: Discussing Disability in Dance, was published in 2022. Emmaly is also a master DanceAbility instructor and facilitates movement groups at the UNM Hospital adult psychiatric ward, as well as is a founding member of the dance advocacy nonprofit ABQ Dance Connect. She continues to perform throughout the Southwest.

Photo by Allen Winston

Our contributors have included:

Snowflake Arizmendi-Calvert, a performance artist and organizer in the Bay Area.

Gregory Bartning, a photographer in Portland, OR.

Liz Duran Boubion, the director of the Festival of Latin American Contemporary Choreographers in the Bay Area.

Liz Brent-Maldonado, an artist, writer, educator, and producer in San Francisco, CA.

Michelle Chaviano, a ballet dancer with Ballet North Texas.

Bradford Chin, a disabled dance artist and accessibility consultant in Chicago, IL, and San Francisco, CA.

Shebana Coelho, a writer and performer currently studying flamenco in Spain.

breana connor, an interdisciplinary artist, facilitator + healer in Albuquerque, NM.

Lauren Coons, an interdisciplinary artist, performer, healer and educator in Albuquerque, NM.

Julia Cost, a painter, textile designer, sewist, and dancer in Maui, HI.

Sophia Diehl, a dancer in New York City.

Bonnie Eissner, a writer in New York City.

Katie Flashner, a.k.a. The Girl with the Tree Tattoo, a World Champion ballroom dancer and author in ME.

Micaela Gardner, a dancer and choreographer in Baja, Mexico.

Sarah Groth, an interdisciplinary artist from Albuquerque, NM.

Cherie Hill, a dance educator and choreographer based in the Bay Area.

Lorie House, a dancer, choreographer, and lawyer in NM.

Silva Laukkanen, a dance educator and disability advocate in Austin, TX.

Mary Elizabeth Lenahan, the director of Dance Express in Fort Collins, CO.

Shannon Leypoldt, a dance artist, teacher, and sports massage therapist in Berlin.

Erin Malley, a dance artist and tango teacher based in West Michigan.

Julianna Massa, a dance artist in Albuquerque, NM.

Aiano Nakagawa, a dance artist, educator, facilitator, writer, and event producer in the Bay Area.

Jessie Nowak, a dance artist and filmmaker in Portland, OR.

Kevin O’Connor, a multidisciplinary artist in London, Ontario, and the San Francisco Bay Area.

Bhumi B Patel, an artist/activist based in the Bay Area.

Stephanie Potreck, a sports nutritionist and health advocate who currently resides in Germany.

Jill Randall, artistic director of Shawl-Anderson Dance Center in Berkeley, CA.

Kathryn Roszak, a choreographer, filmmaker, educator, and activist in the Bay Area.

Donna Schoenherr, director of Ballet4Life and Move into Wellbeing in London, UK.

Maggie Stack, a dancer and teacher in Reno, NV.

Camille Taft, a CO front range-based mover and visual artist.

Mary Trunk, a filmmaker, choreographer, and multimedia artist in Altadena, CA.

Diana Turner-Forte, a teaching artist, healing arts coach, and writer in NC.

Ana Vrbaski, a body music practitioner in Serbia.

Nikhita Winkler, a dancer, choreographer, and teacher from Namibia who currently resides in Spain.

Erica Pisarchuk Wilson, a dance artist, visual artist and poet in Albuquerque, NM.

Rebecca Zeh, an interdisciplinary artist in Sarasota Springs, NY.

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Our board:

Snowflake Arizmendi-Calvert

Cathy Intemann

Alana Isiguen

Courtney King

Malinda LaVelle

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The post People appeared first on Stance on Dance.