BY EMMALY WIEDERHOLT

Talia Bailes is the founder and director of Ballet and Books, a national nonprofit organization striving to reduce the literacy gap through the hybrid storytelling of dance and reading. Talia founded Ballet and Books in 2017 with a belief that dance can be used as a connector across differences and as a way to build literacy. Here, she shares the impetus for the organization and how she’s seen Ballet and Books make a difference.

All photos courtesy Ballet and Books Instagram.

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Can you first share a little about yourself and your relationship with dance to give a sense of where you’re coming from?

I grew up doing ballet. I started at age three and danced until I was 18. I decided I wanted to explore the world before going to college, so I went to rural Ecuador through a bridge year program. I lived in an Amazonian town in Ecuador with a host family and danced with a traditional Indigenous dance group. We did folkloric dances local to the area. My dance worldview expanded. When I came back, I kept dancing but did more contemporary. I am now pursuing medicine, but I kept dancing through college and have done a lot of research on dance in the Americas.

How did Ballet and Books get started?

The initial idea came after the gap year. While I was in Ecuador, I taught English at a school and worked at a health clinic. I found the kids I was teaching were excellent storytellers but not great readers. When I came back to the US, I was interested in how kids learn to learn, how the environment influences learning. I worked with a pediatrician at Cincinnati Children’s Hospital who looked at when kids fall off track with reading. He was looking at kids’ brains through MRIs and what nerve pathways are connected when kids hear stories or are read to, as well as how primary care can be an avenue to track literacy rates.

Because of these two experiences in Ecuador and with the pediatrician, along with my own dance background, I wondered how these experiences could come together. The goal was never for it to be a giant national nonprofit. I started small in the community I was in as a student at Cornell University in Ithaca, New York. But then I started getting interest across the country with people wanting to start their own programs in their own communities bringing together literacy and dance.

How is Ballet and Books organized?

The format of the program is driven by the community partners we work with. We work out of university campuses, so college students basically run their own mini nonprofit. The college students partner with a community organization, like a community center, library, Head Start program etc. to put on a free dance and literacy program once a week. We train the college students, and the college students put on the programming on a semester basis. We have a three-to-five-year-old class, and a six-to-nine-year-old class. The structure of the class is an hour and a half long and is divided into 45 minutes of dance followed by 45 minutes of one-on-one mentorship using our integrated dance literacy curriculum that we’ve worked with different experts on over the years to finesse. The children have the same college student mentor each week during that mentorship component. The reason we work with college students is because we feel we can empower the next generation to make a difference in their communities by teaching them how to engage directly with children.

Can you share more about the curriculum?

The curriculum we developed integrates both dance and literacy. It’s trying to teach literacy through dance. For example, we can clap to poems or clap to syllables. We do jumping, clapping, and stomping to the beats of a songs. We read books and then make up dances to the story. We basically bring in movement when we’re language learning. It helps kids who learn in different ways and gets them excited about reading.

It doesn’t sound like Ballet and Books focuses specifically on ballet.

We call it Ballet and Books, but we’re not limited to ballet. Our classes do start with first position and second position. Ballet is typically an exclusionary artform, and we’re trying to open it up, so children everywhere are welcome in our program.

Can you share the profile of the average child who engages with Ballet and Books?

Our population is traditionally children who do not have access to typical dance programs or literacy engagement opportunities, and that can be for a variety of reasons: socioeconomic, learning abilities, physical abilities, etc. Our program is entirely free. We provide leotards, tights, or dancewear that is appropriate for each child who participates. Our typical child is from the lower income bracket. We know there’s this literacy gap that exists where children in lower income families hear far fewer words than their affluent peers.

How does Ballet and Books recruit families to participate?

Critical to the program is community engagement. The local community partner is doing the recruiting of the children. They know the children and families best. We intentionally partner with community organizations who can help bring in a diverse array of children.

How is it funded?

It’s funded through individual donors, grants, fundraising, and support from universities.

Do you have a favorite anecdote to share about Ballet and Books’ work with children?

A little girl came to us when she was three in the process of getting adopted out of the foster care system. She was so shy and nervous. She came wearing a full princess dress and didn’t want to dance. She would sit in the corner with her parent. Slowly she started sitting by herself. Then she would stand next to us but wouldn’t dance during the class. When it came time for the final performance, her parents were worried she wouldn’t get onstage. It was a huge beautiful stage at Cornell with 800 people in the audience. She ended up getting onstage and performed the whole dance. Her parents sent me an email later that her new family was sitting in the audience crying. They went after and got a dancing Barbie, and the little girl named it Talia after me. I still talk to the mom, and the little girl is still dancing. She’s found her thing. And it was incredible that we were able to offer that opportunity.

Do you have any metrics on how successful Ballet and Books is?

We’re in the middle of doing an evaluation with pediatricians at the University of Michigan, so we don’t have quantitative data. But we have a lot of qualitative data, mostly feedback from parents. For example, one parent had a daughter with selective mutism. The parent told us that she saw her daughter develop over the semester she was involved with Ballet and Books, she came out of her shell and started talking more to people at home and at school. That tells us that the curriculum is age appropriate and working. Beyond that, we have data from mentors showing this program is impactful. Really the best indicator is whether people return. So many of our children return, as well as our mentors. So we think we’re doing something right.

What’s next for you or for Ballet and Books?

We’re always starting new chapters out of universities. We just started a new program out of the University of Michigan’s dance program, so their students get credit for participating. We’re also expanding our board. Finally, we’re working on this research project to show impact. Data should be finalized in the spring 2025.

What’s next for me is graduating from medical school soon. I am interested in becoming a pediatrician. Obviously, I’m interested in community health. I think medicine has a unique opportunity and plays a unique role in the health of the community. And personally, I’ll always be a dancing doc.

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To learn more, visit www.balletandbooks.org.

The post Where Dance and Literacy Meet appeared first on Stance on Dance.

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.

BY EMMALY WIEDERHOLT

Vicky Holt Takamine is the kumu hula, or master hula teacher, of Pua Aliʻi ʻIlima, and the executive director of PAʻI Foundation, which serves to preserve and perpetuate native Hawaiian arts and cultural traditions for future generations. She reflects on how hula has expanded outside of Hawaiʻi, how hula has evolved, and how her hula practice and native Hawaiian activism go hand in hand.

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

Pua Aliʻi ʻIlima performs in front of the Iolani Palace, Photo courtesy Vicky Holt Takamine

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What was the impetus for founding PAʻI Foundation?

I had been dancing hula for my kumu, Maiki Aiu Lake, since I was 12 and my sister was 10. We both had our ʻūniki graduation ritual in 1975. Two years later in 1977 I started my own hālau (or school), Pua Aliʻi ʻIlima. We participated in several hula festivals: Prince Lot Hula Festival, Merrie Monarch Festival, King Kamehameha Hula Competition.

In 1997, the state legislature introduced a bill that would restrict native Hawaiian gathering rights, which meant that all native Hawaiian practitioners would have to go the Hawaiʻi Department of Land and Natural Resources, have a list of all the ferns, flowers, fish, shells, etc. they gathered for cultural practices, and have a clear preponderance of evidence that their great-great-grandparents had practiced gathering those materials prior to 1893. I went to the state legislature and testified against the bill because it would restrict our cultural practices. I wanted to understand who was introducing these bills. It ended up being large developers who wanted a clear title to their land. All land in Hawaiʻi is subject to the rights of native Hawaiians to exercise their traditional customary practices. Hula is part of that. Some of our ʻūniki graduation rituals require the presence of natural materials from our forests and oceans. If that’s not present, how do we comply with the requirements of our traditional customary practices? I organized a large gathering of kumu hula and cultural practitioners, and we literally shut down the capitol building by chanting for 24 hours so they couldn’t answer phones or have a vote. After 20 years of being a kumu, I became labeled as a native Hawaiian activist in the news. I was okay with that. I became an advocate for the protection of our native Hawaiian resources and our sacred sites.

Around that same time, the state convention center was built. The state legislature commissioned almost two million dollars’ worth of artwork from people who were not Hawaiian. Not one penny went to a native Hawaiian artist. They said, “Oh, we have some artifacts from the Bishop Museum.” I responded, “So no contemporary native Hawaiian artist was commissioned from two million of my tax dollars?” I concluded that the state didn’t support native Hawaiian artists, so I lobbied the state legislature for two years and petitioned them to help me create an Office of Native Hawaiian Arts and Culture. I got turned down, so I decided to start a nonprofit to fill that void. That was the impetus behind PAʻI Foundation.

Pua Aliʻi ʻIlima performs in front of the Iolani Palace, Photo courtesy Vicky Holt Takamine

PAʻI Foundation is a large organization with many facets. Are there some parts of its programming you’d like to share more about?

When we started in 2001, one of the first things we did was partner with the Bishop Museum – which houses one of the largest collections of archival documents and artifacts pertaining to the history and culture of our people from hundreds of years – to create a Native Hawaiian Arts Festival – MAMo. As part of that event we held a marketplace and art exhibit in the Bishop Museum. It got me thinking: Art is not just what we frame and put on a wall, it’s what we wear, our tattoos, our lei-making, our costuming. I wanted to celebrate that facet, so we started the MAMo Wearable Art Show. We wear our art. Part of the wearable art show evolved from traditional to contemporary fashion design. That started in 2006.

Last year we did our first Māhū Madness where we celebrated our LGBTQ+ community by doing a drag show. Many of my friends in the hula business are māhū, but they don’t get a chance to be māhū in the way they want to be represented. We provided the same venue as our fashion show with the best lighting, sound, technology, and staging. It was an elegant affair for the māhū community, and we sold out.

MAMo Wearable Art show, Photo courtesy Mahina Choy-Ellis

Now I want to change gears to discuss hula. How has appreciation and access to hula changed since you started practicing hula in the 1960s?

Hula has grown and expanded outside of Hawaiʻi. We have hula practitioners all over the world. I see it as an opportunity to educate people about Hawaiian culture, caring for our land, our natural resources, and our sacred sites. I’m fine with hula being practiced beyond Hawaiʻi as long as they provide a platform for us to share. Hula as a hobby is one thing, but for me, hula is resistance. It’s been one of the key cultural practices that has helped us retain our language, our traditional practices, our history, and our genealogy, because it’s all buried in the chants that were composed a long time ago. Hula has been responsible for reclaiming lost traditions. We can dig into our Hawaiian history and pull out the stories to share with the next generation.

Hula is an Indigenous dance form. Do you see it as a good thing that more and more people without Hawaiian heritage are practicing and learning hula, or is something lost when non-Indigenous people have access to an Indigenous form?

I hope they become advocates for the protection of the things I’m passionate about. If you’re taking hula in Albuquerque, or Norway, or Japan, when it comes to the rights of native Hawaiians to exercise our traditional customary practices, I hope you become an advocate in your own community and become part of that mission.

I don’t really teach outside of Hawaiʻi because my fight is here as an activist. The people I teach here are going to be on the front lines with me. Those on the fringes can better educate about our community and why that fight is so important to native Hawaiians. I’m fine with other people doing hula, but I want them to understand they have a responsibility to the native people to be an advocate and a protector.

Pua Aliʻi ʻIlima, Photo courtesy The Merrie Monarch Festival, Photo by Cody Yamaguchi

I understand that there are two types of hula: hula kahiko (ancient hula) and hula ‘auana (hula that evolved from hula kahiko in response to Western influences in the 1800s). I’m curious if you can share more about these distinctions. Do these two categories ever overlap or blur?

I’ve been a judge for Merrie Monarch for many years. Hula kahiko and hula ‘auana are the two main categories. Very simply, hula kahiko is ancient style, not ancient, accompanied by chanting and traditional percussion instruments. You can write hula kahiko today. It’s not going to be ancient, but the style in which you chant and perform is going to be using traditional percussion instruments.

In the 1820s, when the missionaries arrived in Hawaiʻi, they introduced hymns. In really ancient kahiko style, the poetry was written line 1 to line 45, for example, and the dance went from one line to the next, all the way down. When the missionaries introduced hymns, they were written in verse form with two-line or four-line couplets. Hawaiians started to write and compose in that style while still using original percussion instruments. That was the transition from kahiko to ‘auana. Now there were two-line couplets with a melody, as opposed to the ancient style that is pretty much monotone with some ups and downs. Amy Stillman, a musicology professor, calls it hula ku’i style, which is the bridge between ancient and modern.

And then there’s ‘auana music with the introduction of stringed instruments: guitar, ukelele, piano, bass, and singing. The musical accompaniment changes, and naturally the delivery of the movement is different. Whether it’s fast or slow, hula ‘auana is accompanied by stringed and sometimes percussion instruments.

Pua Aliʻi ʻIlima, Photo courtesy The Merrie Monarch Festival, Photo by Cody Yamaguchi

Do you see hula continuing to evolve?

The further you move away from Hawaiʻi, the more it evolves. Kumus like Patrick Makuakāne and Mark Keali’i Ho’omalu in California are influenced by the cultures they are in. They have no problem choreographing hula to Western music. For me, that’s not hula. It has to be Hawaiian language or English about Hawaiʻi. I see it as contemporary dance, not hula. Mark Keali’i Ho’omalu takes Hawaiian words and puts it to a hip hop beat. That has been controversial. When you move away, you’re influenced by the music that surrounds you. Here in Hawaiʻi, I hear Hawaiian music all day. I smell the flowers and see the sunset. All those things influence my movement in my hula. But if I moved away, I would not be in touch with that in the same way, and that would impact my hula.

As a native Hawaiian activist, what are you currently advocating or fighting for?

Over the years we’ve been working on intellectual property rights and the rights of native Hawaiians. Recently, a flower company named their company ʻOkina, which is the glottal stop in the Hawaiian language, and they trademarked it. Another place that created a problem was Aloha Poke, which was sending out cease and desist letters against using the words “aloha” and “poke.” It was a Chicago-based company. Infringements on our cultural practices and our languages are inappropriate. I’m head of a task force that will be taking on these challenges and looking to the state legislature to help instill practices and policies to help protect our language. But these are all federal copyright and trademark laws. When you infringe on my right to practice my language and my culture, that’s a problem. That should be something the United States takes on, so I’m looking at taking this fight to Congress.

Pua Aliʻi ʻIlima, Photo courtesy The Merrie Monarch Festival, Photo by Bruce Omori

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To learn more about PAʻI Foundation, visit www.paifoundation.org.

The post Hula as Resistance appeared first on Stance on Dance.

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

I had the honor of being a guest at a think tank recently in London at the headquarters of TEAM LEWIS Foundation. This foundation has been supporting my registered charity Move into Wellbeing® as well as directors and founders of other charities from all over the world. During one session at the think tank, we were asked, “How do we continue to lead in such a fragmented world?” This question really struck me. The way I work and lead is by pulling together and uniting during the chaos, fragmentation, and adversity that may surround me. I reflected on this topic and thought more about how my two dance organizations help to continually maintain a sense of belonging, structure, motivation, and inclusion for people. These important ingredients and assets to society also reinforced in my mind the value and necessity of dance organizations to be accessible for all.

Beginning ballet class, Photo courtesy Ballet4Life

I am the founder and director of two well-established dance organizations in London, England: Ballet4Life and the nonprofit Move into Wellbeing®. Originally, I hail from Rochester, New York, and I received my comprehensive dance training at the prestigious Enid Knapp Botsford School before training in New York City under full scholarships with the David Howard Dance Center and with Melissa Hayden, Bobby Blankshine, Wilhelm Burmann, and Marjorie Mussman at Melissa’s studio (yes, the one where the elevator opened directly into the studio, and no one warned me of that awkward entrance). My professional dance career embarked with Cleveland Ballet and later I expanded and explored modern dance, working with Robin Staff’s Colloquium Contemporary Dance Exchange, Milton Myers, and later the Michael Mao Dance Company, plus a lot of freelance work with individual choreographers. I also worked on, strengthened, and expanded my portfolio of skills with my own teaching, choreographing, and taking on roles of rehearsal director and assistant to the director. My performance career-ending knee injury provided a bridge to the other side of the performing arts world. I was able to eventually create a self-sustaining life and to finally be in a position of self-leadership. This huge transition is something that gave me great joy, a sense of civic duty, gratitude, and inspiration! My heart and soul go into every endeavor I approach and create. I try to utilize all the decades of my professional dance experiences, both from my home country and from my work abroad, to bring dance to thousands of people in an attempt to enrich, bond, reduce anxiety, and empower others.

Ballet4life celebrates its 20^th anniversary this year. The strength, growth, and longevity of it is a direct reflection of needs I see in society. When I founded Ballet4Life here in the UK, dance classes for adults were not common nor respected, and I was met with skepticism from many. “Why? How? This will never succeed,” were pointed remarks I fielded. I had a vision and a strong idea of what I wanted to attempt to create, build, grow, and nurture. This goal included providing authentic dance classes in proper dance studios with highly qualified and caring teachers, and to provide a warm, welcoming, and nurturing environment in which people would experience the classes.

Our classes at Ballet4Life are offered for adults from age 16 upwards, and our most senior dancers are in their 80s. Due to the sudden restructuring during COVID-19 and the implementation of daily online classes, which I offered free of charge, we also still maintain an online dance program. Ballet for adult learners from complete beginners up to advanced and retired professionals is the main focus, but in addition, regular classes in modern, character dance, pointe work, repertory, and jazz dance are offered. We also hold special masterclasses and workshops throughout the year and focus on different dance styles and techniques such as contemporary ballet and Argentinian tango.

Thirteen years ago, I created a program for dancers age 50+ to enjoy dancing with us in specialized classes, and this became a very popular innovation here! Many other dance organizations in London and throughout the UK followed suit, starting up classes and courses for dancers over 50.

The 50+ ballet class, Photo courtesy Ballet4Life

The team of teachers at Ballet4Life comes from all over the world and have very different backgrounds and training. They are all excellent teachers, they genuinely enjoy their work, they are inspired by working with adults, and they help to keep the balance and grounding for the shifting times we live in and the changing needs of the dancers.

Teaching and working with older people who have more mature bodies requires a greater understanding and sensitivity. Movements that might be very easy to execute, maintain, learn, and deliver for younger bodies can potentially be very difficult, stressful, and even harmful for older bodies. I am particularly aware of joint issues and balance problems. And a grand plié is always optional in my plié exercises and is never given in fourth position even as an option. I work a lot on core and ankle strength and balance in incremental and gentle ways such as relevés at the end of barre for ankle strength and fall prevention, but this is not overdone, and these elements are always introduced at the start of a term and are built upon.

My aim is for the group to feel joy and freedom by dancing in a structured class, so although my exercises are dynamic, play with the music, and are good for the mental acuity and memory, they do not overwhelm and try to outsmart anyone. Another important component is to be sensitive to energy levels with older dancers, as this differs a lot from younger dancers. I try to impart a feeling of accomplishment, endurance, and challenge without leaving anyone so winded that they give up on an exercise.

It is a fine balance, but awareness is key in terms of taking care of older dancers’ bodies and minds. I am always open to questions, and I provide alternatives in any barre and center floor exercises. If we do get to an allegro exercise, it is petit allegro, and again, I provide options for using a bouncing action or a chug/slide in place of leaving the floor in a jump. Once I get to know the dancers, I can very easily provide them with a good range of choices to work with that they use as a tool in the classes.

My related dance and movement-based charity Move into Wellbeing® is nearly nine years old. The drive behind forming this was to provide some joy and relief using dance and movement for people living with Parkinson’s. My father lived with this neurological condition for nearly 30 years, and as a result, I longed to utilize my knowledge and experience as a dancer, teacher, choreographer, and director to establish my own movement system and a healthy welcoming place for people to attend classes. The structured classes are with specialized dance teachers who use dynamic music throughout. All material can be adapted for individual needs. The first section of the class is done seated. Creative tasks and exercises are also an integral part of this class, as is a prevailing sense of equality and belonging.

Move into Wellbeing® class, Photo courtesy Move into Wellbeing®

The program was first directed at those living with neurological disorders and mobility issues, but due again to changing times and needs of people, we have expanded and now have attendees who live with a range of challenges. These include myalgic encephalomyelitis, multiple sclerosis, long COVID, dyspraxia, joint replacements, arthritis, post-stroke, balance problems, weakness and stiffness, and early-stage dementia.

Our classes at Move into Wellbeing® very much mimic the setup of a modern or ballet class. There is the teaching of set exercises, and each is done to specifically chosen music for the different qualities and dynamics provided. The class builds in challenge and intensity. It is done seated for the first three fourths of the class and those who can stand move to a standing position using either ballet barres or sturdy chairs for support.

Improvisational play and creative tasks are used in each class, and these provide greater freedom, enjoyment, laughter, and imagination to be on display. One favorite exercise is done seated in a very large circle, and we “pass a movement” around the circle. A theme is usually assigned and it goes free-form around the circle with music in the background. The dancers love this! We also have mirroring exercises, which are also a wonderful part of class. It gives a chance for people to choreograph, bond with each other, be fully in the moment, and let their creativity and self- expression flow full force.

All structured and set dance and movement exercises are fully adaptable. Our classroom helpers can assist with this and/or show different variations on the themes. We demonstrate the options and usually one helper shows an adapted version of an exercise which might have lower arms or lower legs bending less than what the teacher sets. We also encourage everyone to work at a pace comfortable to them, to take breathers when needed, to ask questions, and to feel free to change anything that might feel uncomfortable.

When the standing and moving through the space section comes, we still provide a seated version of the exercises. An assistant teacher sits with those who remain seated, and does the seated version with them. There is the sense of unity and inclusion throughout. No one is singled out as not being able to do something.

The weekly in-person classes held all over Greater London (and livestreamed and online) provide a safe place for all; a place to talk with others, have a giggle, get the endorphins going, and leave feeling refreshed and uplifted. We also have social events on a regular basis and all the coming together, solidifying as opposed to fragmenting, brings forth positivity and unity.

I have been privileged to witness over the past two decades how dance is like a tonic, a soothing, enriching, and unifying experience that all who participate benefit from. This is quite a beautiful thing to witness and facilitate for hundreds of people. As a former professional dancer, to be a founder and leader in this part of my life and career has been hugely gratifying, empowering, and joyful!

At Ballet4Life and Move into Wellbeing®, we have come together in a very fragmented world to take care of ourselves, each other, our communities, and the related families and circles of dancers, colleagues, and caregivers. If we as dancers and dance teachers do this wherever we are located, it will help sustain us through difficult and challenging times.

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To learn more, visit www.ballet4life.com and www.moveintowellbeing.org.uk.

The post Dancing In/ Inside of/ With/ Around/ Through a Fragmented World appeared first on Stance on Dance.

Photos by Shannon Butler of Shabu Studios

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

Anything said about making art sounds at once cliché and reductive. “Making art is healing” sounds like a quote right out of Chicken Soup for the Soul. Regardless, that is my biggest takeaway from the making of the dance film, Emerging. Although perhaps “healing” isn’t the right word, as it’s a word that has been hijacked by the wellness industry and misses the grittiness of moving through pain and challenge. The process isn’t a trivial inconsequential undertaking, but more like trying to make molasses run uphill in the winter. “Catharsis” is more accurate, a word that brings up images of shock therapy and exorcisms. For me, it’s far more accurate of the art making process.

It was 2020 when my dance partner Monica Parra Allen and I came up with the idea for Emerging, to weave science fiction metaphors into a dance film format, to go big with an idea, put dancers in makeup, on location, and explore what it means for two different groups of people to grapple and gel. For two years, we went back and forth on the concept, first over FaceTime, then when we felt comfortable in the studio together. We played with movement, we created storyboards, we picked the brains of potential collaborators, we threw out ideas that were beyond the scope of the project, and we picked up new ideas that seemed more feasible. We changed the scope entirely. All this was while navigating a global pandemic and the first project of this scale or type that either of us had undertaken. I attribute the very creation of this work to the close friendship and communication I have with Monica. Creating art is intimate and terrifying. It is best done with someone whom you deeply trust!

What started as an inkling of an idea in isolation and boredom in 2020 turned into production in 2022 and continued on into post-production in 2024. Since editing has gone through two editors and right back around to me, I have four years of retrospection to see how naïve Monica and I were back in 2020. Concepts and big questions do not a dance film make. We lacked basic understanding and language to communicate what we wanted of our collaborators.

We entered production with two cinematographers, a makeup artist, a photographer, three dancers, and Monica and I. Between shooting the promos and full production, we hired six more dancers. We hired people we knew and trusted, but also hired dancers who we had no prior experience with. This made for even more communication challenges; the whole range of human emotions were crammed into an eight-week rehearsal timeline. There are a lot of personalities in a group of 15 people. Add to that everyone having their own lives to navigate, plus two collaborators whose lives legitimately fell apart. I love this film. But it is also filled with pain. The costumes I made came out of a marathon day of grief sewing, as I cried for another’s loss and furiously tried to clothe my dancers mere days from shooting. Finally, at the end of filming, there was this copious amount of raw footage that needed to be turned into something.

The Emerging project was always intended to take Monica and I out of our current state of art making – sporadic, small, scrappy – right on past emerging artists, to a more established place. These are labels I don’t put much weight on, but the title pun was definitely intended. And I’m happy to report that it seems to have worked, with the film being finished and moving on to the film festival circuit. But the state of art making doesn’t necessarily feel different. I spoke with a filmmaker lately who in casual conversation said, “Post-production exists on its own timeline.” That is how an inkling turns into four years of all-consuming work and why the labels “emerging” or “established” have little meaning in the trenches of actually making art.

I often get asked, “Where did you come up with the idea for Emerging?” My answer struggles somewhere between a condescending “Don’t ask an artist how they come up with their stuff” and a vague unhelpful shrug, complete with a dopey face, I’m sure. I haven’t figured out how to talk to people about my art. The whole point of being a dancer is less words, please! I also legitimately don’t know how we came up with the idea, except for bouncing an idea between Monica’s brain and mine for the two years before filming. “Ephemeral” was a word that came up often during my university dance career, applied primarily to live performance. But it also describes how an idea turns into a dance film. Much of the “thinking” takes place in the movement. The biggest sticking point is explaining in words what appear as images in our minds.

When I have a really sticky problem to sort out, I get this powerful image of my brain enveloping the issue, and squelching and sucking it in with all the goo a brain should have. I had that image a lot during the making of Emerging, attempting to jolt my subconscious into solving problems while trying to claw something worthwhile out of the muck. Whatever my brain came up with was then regurgitated to Monica for her take on it. The process has made us better at problem solving. It has also made us less naïve about making art.

Healing has come knowing that this piece of art – this wacky science fiction dance film – can hold so much more than the story we wanted to tell. Emerging holds all the emotions, the life incidents, the personality clashes, and the naivete we brought to the project.

The cognitive dissonance between what people see when they watch the film and what we know went into it is jarring. People experience the images, the movement, the music. They don’t see the agony of making art, but it doesn’t matter. For Monica and me, we see the pain, the grief, the constant agonized decision making, the real-life meltdowns – not just ours but of everyone involved – but also the joy, the camaraderie, the laughter, and the utter silliness it takes to come up with anything gritty, anything joyful, anything new.

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Emerging won Best Dance Film at the Toronto Experimental Dance & Music Film Festival and is being adjudicated for entry into several other dance film festivals. Learn more and view the trailer at irregulardance.com.

Jessie Nowak has been a mover all her life, but has taken time away from dance twice because the training required was not compatible with her own physical and emotional needs. After she had her kids, she found a circuitous route back to dance, which has formed her current approach. No longer is she interested in perfect technique or virtuosity, but rather finding and amplifying everyone’s own strengths as movers. She firmly believes that dance is for every body, regardless of each individual’s unique challenges. She fuses her years of formal training with improvisational methods to create deeply inclusive work.

The post Beyond What People See appeared first on Stance on Dance.

BY EMMALY WIEDERHOLT; PHOTOS BY GUSTAVO MONROY

Zazel-Chavah O’Garra is the director of ZCO/Dance Project, a company primarily based in New York City that fosters the integration and inclusion of people with disabilities, both in dance and in society in general. Zazel shares her dance journey and how a brain tumor surgery catalyzed her passion for integrating dancers with disabilities, as well as how her upcoming work aims to look at the experiences of people who are LGBTQ or have a disability from the Caribbean.

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

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Can you share with me a little about your dance history – what shaped you as an artist?

I’ve been around the block. I started dancing at eight years old because I had a problem with the way I walked. That was the key moment in my life. My godmother told my mother to have me dance so it would strengthen my legs. She sent me to a dance school where her daughter was going located in Harlem. I was signed up for tap and ballet, and immediately I fell in love with it. I loved being in the classroom and being with the other students. At the end of every year, we had a recital at Lincoln Center or Carnegie Hall. That was when I first knew I loved being on the stage. I loved seeing the audience and getting a round of applause. I would be a ham; my smile was huge. I had on a glitzy costume and my whole family was in the audience. I loved all the attention and the applause. I knew I had to be a dancer.

I auditioned for the High School for the Performing Arts, and it was the first time I was exposed to real competition. It was very rigorous, and they put the students through the ringer. I remember seeing all the judges at the front and I was just riddled with fear. But I remember saying to my mother that I would not go to high school if I didn’t get into that school.

I got accepted and immediately I wanted to major in ballet. But because I have a shapely body with hips and a butt (I’m from the Caribbean), in those days if you didn’t have the right body, they wouldn’t pay attention to you. They would call the dancers they liked to be in the front line, and if you didn’t have the right look, they would put you in the back. I hated being in the back line. Of course, I went on a diet and lost 20 lbs., just like everyone else in my class. I tell girls today, “Don’t be stupid enough to feel that you have to do bad things to your body to be on top.”

From there, I studied at Dance Theatre of Harlem, another competitive place where I received great training. I got a scholarship and was in their apprenticeship program. I was obsessed with Ailey, and I got a scholarship to study there. It was a wonderful experience where I learned Horton, Graham, jazz, and ballet. I would have four classes a day. I couldn’t sleep because I was so excited about the next day. It was an amazing experience.

Fast forward, I went on to get accepted to the University of Michigan dance department. That was where I was first exposed to Cunningham technique and more abstract dance. I had a well-rounded experience there. When I graduated, I started to perform, got involved in musical theater, and lived abroad in Europe for several years, expanding my dance career. Although it was challenging and very competitive, it was just wonderful to live in Europe and meet different dancers.

What was the impetus behind ZCO/Dance Project? Why did you start the company?

I started the company number one because dance is my life, but number two because I became disabled 20 years ago when I was diagnosed with a brain tumor that left me partially paralyzed on my right side. I also had delayed speech and cognitive deficits. I knew after I woke up from the 12-hour surgery that my life would be different.

When I went through rehab, which was very difficult, they put all the patients with brain injuries in a room together to do occupation therapy and physical therapy. I was sitting in my wheelchair and raising my good leg up in the air and the others would look at me like, “How do you do that?” I knew I had to keep moving. I would force the occupational therapists to lay me on a mat and to bring my legs up to my head. They said, “We’ve never met anybody like you.” I’ll never forget there was a barre on the wall. I asked them to lift my leg and put it on the barre. It was amazing. I felt like dance was still in my life.

When I left rehab, I joined all sorts of brain tumor organizations, one of which was the Brain Tumor Foundation in New York City. They were hosting an event called Brain Tumor Awareness Day with neurosurgeons, neurologists, speech pathologists, physical therapists, etc. There were more than 500 people at NYU Langone Hospital, and they asked me to dance. I said I can’t dance; I have paralysis on my right side. And they said, “Try it.” I picked out some beautiful music by Regina Carter, a jazz violinist, and they put a chair in the middle of the stage for me to sit in. When that music came on and I saw the audience, I was back to my old self. I lifted my arm, and this feeling came over me; it went into my soul and my spirit. I lit up the room with my smile. I loved it. When I finished, I got a standing ovation. I said to myself, I need to do this, I need to reach other people with disabilities, and let them know that even though you have limited ability, dance comes from your soul. That’s why I started the company.

How would you describe the company’s work to someone unfamiliar with it?

We perform on stages and outdoors, and we perform all sorts of dance – modern, jazz, hip hop, improvisation, African dance with live drummers; I like to expose the dancers to all different genres. I also like to have guest choreographers. We have dancers with and without disabilities. I focus on dancers with physical and mental health disabilities. We don’t leave out anyone. In one of our pieces, we used video because some of the dancers are in different places. I have dancers here in New York, but I’ve also been working with a dancer for some time in California, as well as some dancers in New Jersey and a dancer in Pennsylvania. I teach some classes on Zoom, and then we have rehearsals and master classes in person.

Are there one or two pieces in your company’s repertoire that you’d like to share more about?

Last year, we did a wonderful piece called Invisible Visible by choreographer Chris Heller about disabilities that are both invisible and visible. Each performer told a story about how we have handled an invisible and visible disability. One young lady who has spina bifida shared how she was treated in school. Another dancer who was born with her arm paralyzed shared how she hid her arm from others because it was different. That piece premiered in 2023.

Memory Variations was also choreographed by Chris Heller about a memory that has really affected you. I picked the memory of my father who was a renowned astrologer and a wonderful tarot card reader. He is now deceased, but he left me the tarot card of the hermit. He wanted me to have it to live by. The hermit is about peace and tranquility. I wanted to share that imprint my father had on my life. Other dancers told stories about their mothers or partners. It was a beautiful piece and premiered this year.

Episodes of the Soul was a wonderful piece by Wendy Ann Powell that dealt with mental health and how we emerge from our bodies and deal with what’s going on in our minds. It also premiered this year.

What are you working on next?

I’m originally from a small island in the Caribbean called Montserrat. My island has 5,000 people. On my island, and on other islands in the Caribbean, people don’t know how to deal with a person with a disability. I remember when I flew back to my island after my surgery, they didn’t know how to deal with me. Though my family was very supportive, people said, “Why you walking like that?” They just didn’t know how to deal with it.

The piece I’m doing in the fall is called Look Upon You. It’s about persons with disabilities from various countries that experience discrimination and don’t feel included. I’m also bringing in people in the LGBTQ community from the Caribbean. In the islands, if you’re LGBTQ, you’re looked at with shame.

I’m working with other dancers from the Caribbean. One dancer, Rianna, is an incredibly beautiful dancer. She has spina bifida. In her family growing up, it was very difficult. I spoke with another gentleman who is queer and who has mental health problems because he’s trying to be strong with his identity and be accepted within his family and country as a Caribbean queer individual. Another young lady with cerebral palsy is a powerhouse who likes to read poetry. I like to have spoken word in my shows.

I received the Queens Arts Fund grant from the New York Foundation for the Arts, and I just booked a theater, so now I’m trying to put the piece together.

How have you seen representation and opportunities for dancers with disabilities evolve over the past decade since you founded ZCO/Dance Project?

It is changing. I’m SAG-AFTRA, and within the union I’m part of the Performers with Disabilities Committee. In meetings, we talk about being included in auditions, or letting Broadway theaters know people with disabilities come to shows. Some buildings are old in New York City. I performed in Queens recently, and it was a beautiful studio and theater. I asked if it was wheelchair accessible, and they said we had to use the freight elevator, and someone had to be down there to let us up. That was a problem. Another time we were performing in Manhattan. The theater had a wheelchair lift but evidently they didn’t test the lift, because it broke. They had to call the fire department, and then one of the firemen had a bad back. One of my dancers had to sit on the steps and work her way down the steps. The theater apologized to us and offered the space for free. The same thing happened in February of this year again. The wheelchair lift was tested, but as we were leaving, it did not work. We had to call the fire department again. I’m always fighting for change. We have a performance on Tuesday at the United Nations. They told me they tested the wheelchair lift, but the problem is they test it with an able-bodied person, not a person in a heavy motorized wheelchair.

The pivotal moment in terms of change was a couple years ago when a dancer in a wheelchair won a Tony award. Now dance and theater are starting to open doors. They are starting to allow persons with disabilities to audition for television shows. Dance/NYC has dance artistry and disability grants. They are making a lot of changes, and I’m really happy about it.

Any other thoughts?

We are artists with disabilities, but we are artists. We want to share our creativity, our ideas, and our movement with all audiences.

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To learn more, visit www.zcodanceproject.com.

The post Opening Doors Through Dance appeared first on Stance on Dance.

BY JULIA ALLISSON COST

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 took me six years to create my first picture book, The Girl and the Boat, and the process was an act of choreography. The square of the page is not dissimilar from the square of the stage. A book is a length of time folded up and bound in a cover. My book has no words, so the viewer “reads” my book by studying the characters’ movements and emotions to make meaning of the story.

The idea for my book itself came out of a moment in a dance rehearsal circa 2013, in which I had asked a dancer to sit facing a large wooden toy boat and ask it where it was going. That moment in rehearsal was profound and I went on to paint it as a large oil painting. I pondered that painting for years, imagining it as the start of a story. Indeed, 10 years later, I would go on to recreate that image for the cover of my picture book.

Left: Julia’s oil painting: Abby and the North Star featuring dancer Abby Stopper in a dance rehearsal circa 2013. This painting inspired Julia to create her picture book. Right: The cover of The Girl and the Boat.

Choreographing a book, like a dance, is largely about designing the experience of the viewer. What is unique about a book is that there are infinite possibilities for the point of view of your audience. The below is a sample of the choreographic decisions I pondered in depth during the years of creating the 30 paintings for the book.

The girl is traveling down a pathway on this page and the energy of the scene should feel alive with wonder and curiosity. To achieve this, what is the best shape and direction of the path across the page? What is the color scheme that creates the energy that I am after? How much speed is in her movement, and how do I convey this with the position of her limbs and the way her clothes are moving? How does lighting and time of day enhance the feeling of this scene? If I bring the audience very close to the scene, it can feel intimate and convey inner emotions of the character. If I take the audience far from the character, that can lead to a sense of staring out into the distance, the solitude of a figure in space, and perhaps a feeling of longing. If I set up the scene to look at the characters from overhead, this can be useful for showing their proximity to each other. If I have the audience look at a character from behind her back, the audience can feel unnoticed, and this vantage point can feel peaceful and protected. If I sit the audience on the floor with a character, it can feel cozy and familiar. If I place the audience at the bottom of a hill while a character is traveling towards the audience, it can create anticipation awaiting the approach. If I allow the audience to discover a new character from behind the shoulder of a familiar character, the audience and the familiar character are on the same team. This can be a loyal feeling. If I have taken the audience on an emotional story arc and then reveal a sweeping view over a landscape, this can create the soaring end-of-the-movie feeling when you are ready for the credits to roll. If I surprise the audience with an unexpected epilogue of scenic/ color/ costume change, this may evoke surprise or even laughter, and this can shift the meaning of the entire story. If I zoom in on an object, this can create a feeling of nostalgia. Timing is also important to consider. If I zoom in on a character’s face suddenly, the emotion on the face feels important. I can also lure the audience into a sense of comfort by giving them steady, regular intervals of pacing, so they do not expect it when I slow down radically. This can be handy for making an audience vulnerable to experiencing deeper emotions. Shifting the pacing from hour-by-hour activities to moment-by-moment movements can have a big emotional impact for the thing I am slowing down to reveal. To complicate it further, the composition of the double-page-spread paintings need to work around the centerfold of the book without disrupting the images. And finally, since a western audience is accustomed to reading text left to right, this audience will also likely read paintings in a book in that direction. I must be aware of all these factors and use them to enhance the story.

Early pencil sketches for The Girl and the Boat, circa 2018, before Julia decided to make the book wordless.

For the first several years of working on my book, I carefully considered these questions as I crafted each beat in the story, designing the arc of emotion in sketches, and breaking down the story into the precise moments like a stop motion movie. Eventually, it came time to transform these sketches into finished paintings. I painted the first 10 pages in watercolor, but I was not satisfied. The children I was drawing from my head were sweet but felt flat and simplistic compared to how I knew I could paint them if I could study real bodies with light and shadow pouring across them. I wanted to be able to observe children kneeling, skipping, walking, turning, running, from overhead, from the bottom of a hill, laughing, holding back tears, etc. I knew that painting observationally would be the best way to achieve the level of realism I wanted in this book. I decided to paint the illustrations in oil on canvas, my favorite medium, and the one in which I knew I had the most ability to create richly realistic scenes.

Left: Model Tehya Artzi performs a scene in costume in Julia’s garden. Right: The resulting oil painting in the book.

At this juncture, I leaned even more into every skill I had learned from my performing arts background. Casting director: I reached out to two friends whose daughters looked like the girls I was drawing from my head. They sent me headshots and I pinned those to mood boards I was developing for each page. Costume and fabric designer: I got the girls’ measurements, searched high and low to find the color of fabrics and style of dress patterns that I had been drawing, and then sewed costumes. I sewed the costumes for the final scene with my own fabrics featuring my paintings. Location scout: I scoured Maui for places to stage every scene. I climbed on the roof, laid at the bottom of hills, identified rooms and gardens that I could transform into sets, and determined where precisely I should perch myself in each spot to get the best point of view. Lighting Designer: I studied the sun and shadows in each location at different times of day and planned when to stage the scenes accordingly. Prop master: I sewed a patchwork quilt, crafted set pieces, built tiny props, and sourced many objects for every set to be able to paint it all in vivid detail. Choreographer and Artistic Director: from May 2021 until Jan 2022, I did a series of photoshoots in which my amazing child models showed up in costume to perform the story in all the locations. My years of sketching, planning, and creating every detail finally came together in real life. During these shoots, I described the emotional experience of each scene to my models, designing different physical and mental prompts for them until their performances felt natural and realistic. I took hundreds of photographs for every scene to capture the expressions and movements of the children. And then finally, I prepared for the massive task of painting it all. I was relieved to have so many wonderful reference photos captured of the children’s facial expressions, clothing, and bodies in movement so I could relax about how they were rapidly growing into teenagers, faster than I could paint this book. Painter: from 2021 to 2023, I painted the 30 finished oil paintings. Each piece took me weeks or months, depending on the size and complexity. I painted them in order of appearance so that I would be aware of continuity from scene to scene. As I finished them, I hung them on the wall beside my easel until the canvases filled a space larger than 6 ft. x 6 ft.: a mural’s worth of tiny detailed brushstrokes. Early in the process, I thought I would include text in the book, but as I painted, I realized you could read the book in infinitely more ways if you could explore a page for the duration of your curiosity, instead of the duration of a sentence. I am so happy that my book is wordless. Like watching a dance, the scenes envelop the reader with visual wonder, allowing for silence and space to explore. With each reading the viewer may see the paintings in a completely new way.

Julia in her studio circa fall of 2022, working on the 30 oil paintings for the book. Some of the props and costumes she sewed are in the background.

Now, The Girl and the Boat is out in the world, and I have the amazing pleasure of watching person after person opening the book, studying the figures in the paintings, reading their own tale, and sometimes gasping and stepping backwards with tears in their eyes as they watch the scenes unfold. I can’t believe I made a piece of choreography that lives within the covers of a book, ready to play out whenever someone opens it.

Huge thanks to my models, Tehya Artzi and Kaia Coon, and their families who were so supportive of this years-long project.

L to R: Tehya Artzi and Kaia Coon (models for the book), Julia Cost, and Farah Coon (Kaia’s sister). The kids are wearing costumes from the book, and Julia is wearing a fabric based on a painting in the book. Photo by Ilan Artzi.

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You can find The Girl and the Boat at juliacost.com and in a growing list of stores.

Julia Allisson Cost is a Maui-born-and-raised painter, textile designer, and picture book author. Learn more at juliacost.com and @juliaallissoncost.

The post Each Page is a Stage appeared first on Stance on Dance.

BY EMMALY WIEDERHOLT

Corey Scott-Gilbert is a dance artist currently based in Germany who has performed throughout the US and Europe. He makes work under the adopted identity vAL, whose agenda is to understand the mental state from which creation springs. Corey describes STAGED, a new dance film by vAL, performed by Roderick George and Corey. He shares how STAGED explores gray space and articulates senses of loss, emptiness, and vacancy.

All images are stills from STAGED and are courtesy vAL.

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Can you share a little about your dance history? What shaped you as an artist?

I’m a military child born in Baltimore, Maryland. I attended Baltimore School for the Arts where I had my first serious introduction to dance. My mentors Stephanie Powell and Tony Wilson encouraged me to focus on quality of movement above all no matter which genre of dance I was dipping a toe into. I took this encouragement to The Juilliard School. After graduation I got a job with Lyon Opera Ballet. I was there for two seasons before I got homesick to return to the US. I joined Alonzo King and his mission with LINES Ballet in San Francisco. I collaborated there for three and a half years before getting a bad ankle injury that forced me to ask new questions about my approach to my craft. I joined Cirque du Soleil because I needed daily physical therapy and time to realign my body and my thoughts around this new questioning. I was clearly hungry for something different than anything I had experienced. This curious appetite brought me back to Europe. I have now been working as a freelance artist based in Berlin, Germany for 11 years. During this time, I have been in collaboration with Sasha Waltz, Richard Siegal, Eszter Salamone, Diego Tortelli, Sergiu Matis, and Ligia Lewis. In the past few years this questioning has motivated me to interrogate thoughts through the making of my own work.

You create work under the name vAL. What is vAL?

Dancers are often put into a category that can feel quite limiting. I often felt like I was in a bit of a bubble that didn’t take my interest seriously if they veered too far from my physical intelligence. I wanted to create a slate for myself where this bubble of limitations was null and void. I also wanted to get rid of my own ego to stay true to the task of process and with that decided to adopt a creative identity.

Valerie is my mom’s name, and everyone called her Val. In my head, her nickname represents her very playful spirit. I am Val’s son, so I take her name to be a constant reminder that the work I’m creating is bigger than me and my own proclivities, to allow space to observe myself in the process of doing something different from what I know.

What was the impetus behind your recent dance film STAGED?

I started free writing after an ankle surgery forced me to sit still. I quickly noticed my writings kept steering towards topics of escapism and finding a better place. I fell in deep dialogue about this text with my friend Gus Solomons Jr., and we agreed to do something together with this “elsewhere” text if we got the opportunity, so when I received a digital commission from Baryshnikov Arts, it felt like the perfect opportunity for Gus and me to come together and work. Being 84 years old, Gus had an approach to work that was very different than most. It was important to me that his needs dominate this project, which meant finding a slow pace on film that still challenged the body and the viewer.

This became the basis for STAGED.

Unfortunately the week before our first residency period, Gus had a fall and ended up passing away two months later. That put a big question mark over the entire project. I was not sure how or even if it made sense to continue. I was always clear that I was not interested in making another solo video project, but replacing Gus felt impossible.

Roderick George is one of my dearest friends and our connection is an undeniable one that is reminiscent of my relationship with Gus. Our friendship is timeless. In order to continue, I needed this rare intimacy in the studio, so I shifted the concept and invited Rod to join STAGED. Rod is a very physical performer but I didn’t want to lose some of the ideas that were already at play from approaching the studio with Gus.

The piece spun into an articulation of loss and emptiness that seemed to define an unspoken gray area. We found a beautifully vacant fiction that challenged the image of the American Gothic, the iconic painting by Grant Wood. We imagined what this painting would look like if it had to be reconsidered today. What does an “American Gothic” folk feel like now? Some haunting rhythms and unanswered alarms entered the space with us and the hovering question became, “What happens when a body is only waiting… and waiting?”

Going back a little bit, how did you know Gus Solomons?

I was working with Richard Siegal in Essen, Germany, at this festival called Ruhrtriennale. Richard was invited to make a three-year trilogy work. I played Dante for his version of The Divine Comedy. In Richard’s third year he was looking for a God- like figure for Paradiso. He landed on Gus for this role which brought us altogether in 2017. That was also the summer of his 80^th birthday. We immediately went from mentor to bestie. The bond was immediately familiar and close.

What was the process of creating STAGED?

First off, we embraced detachment. Because Rod and I were dealing with such physically and emotionally weighted material, we needed to find ways to physically and emotionally protect ourselves. We needed to find ways to shield ourselves so we could dive into vulnerabilities without being scathed. We understood that we wanted to construct and reflect provocative images, but we did not need to embody all the horror that those constructions came with.

We began every day with a lot of shaking. We would shake our bodies until utterances and anxieties oozed out into the space. We would root down into the floor and shake until our limbs dangled and a sense of vacancy would swell over our entire bodies. I plucked this shaking practice from qigong, and now start every day this way.

From this emptiness, we would choose how to fill our vessels. We made ourselves containers to be filled. We held and released any image in our body without thought to accurately reflect a dismal and unpleasant reality. It’s not an easy time for an artist to reflect because we’re constantly inviting uneasy topics into the space with us. Taking care of ourselves is vital to keep creating.

There are consequences to inviting questions like “What happens to a body in waiting? What happens to a mind that’s endlessly pending?” into the space with you. With our vacant bodies, we would follow those consequences. Falling became a repetitive gesture. We studied the sound of falling and how lonely it is to hear a fall but not see it. In order to give ourselves relief from the weight of the lingering questions in our space, Rod and I found ourselves in these puppet-like bodies that found grace in bouncing back.

Mutually understanding that in our playing field no one is safe, we allowed ourselves the luxury to construct and deconstruct the staging of our own horrors.

This practice very quickly disrupted power dynamics which unveiled a very pleasurable drama and amusement to a rather dense situation. It is also quite seducing to watch.

How did the project change for you with Gus Solomons passing?

It was a massive change but what is crazy is that at no point did I question the shift too much. What was most important to me was who I was sharing the space with.

The initial plan was that Gus would narrate but also do most of the movement with the shadow of my hands projected as his silent partner.

The version we have made now features two very physical bodies. But after I realized Rod had a willingness to dive deep into intimate and sensitive materials with me, I simply trusted the relationship and allowed what needed to unfold to do so.

Why did you choose to create STAGED as a film and not a live performance? Was there something about the film medium?

I had filmed myself on the beach the summer before my ankle surgery with the plan to work on editing images during my recovery. I got inspired to pair my “elsewhere” writings with the footage from the beach. This work became a three-part transposable film called Drift. This process of choreographing an image on a screen changed my eye. My understanding of choreography shifted altogether. For example, the idea of hearing the body but not seeing the body immediately became a beautiful and haunting possibility with film. A soundscape of active bodies with an empty screen became a beautiful canvas to catapult into.

The initial proposal was to the Princess Grace Foundation. I won the award in 2009 and wrote to them for a special grant to create this duet with Gus. They were very excited, but I didn’t receive the grant. Baryshnikov Arts heard about it through Princess Grace and offered me the funding to make this work.

What do you hope viewers take away?

It’s important to present STAGED as a sort of spark in the dark rather than just dark. I want to reflect our dark days without getting too bleak.

There are two ways you can see this film. It’s dependent on what you’re busy with when you sit down to watch. You can take away deep sadness and loss, or you can take away the wonder of this gray area we reside in. Some things are black and white, but many things are gray, meaning so much feels uncertain. With a relentless frolic, STAGED leans into societal gray areas. This film is in pursuit of the spirit of life in a seemingly vacant place.

Also, there is a hopeless aspect that is pulled out of false starts, empty images, and unanswered alarms. But that hopelessness for me is the most honest reflection of where we are. Now a real conversation can start about where we are headed.

What’s next for you? Do you have an upcoming project of focus you want to share more about after STAGED?

It’s important to be an honest reflection of what’s going on, but there’s no need to add to the despair. I feel like I’m starting to now understand that the work I’m doing is not necessarily mine alone.

I don’t know what it is next, but I know what is not. There are some things in the social climate I’m not interested in dealing with anymore. When I’m asked the question, “What is there to do,” it feels like a lot of digging into further processes that align with what I’ve already been busy with. The questions of escape were so present with STAGED. Now, an escape is a dream. I am working on a solo called INTERMISSION that premieres in Berlin this fall. With this live solo, I will question my newfound inability to dream.

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STAGED is a digital world premiere commissioned by Baryshnikov Arts. STAGED will be available for free beginning November 1st at www.baryshnikovarts.org.

To learn more about vAL and Corey, visit valwashere.com or on Instagram @valwashere and @coreyscottgilbert.

The post Exploring Gray Space appeared first on Stance on Dance.

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

Just over two years ago, Toronto-based street dancer Bobby “Pocket” Horner got the break that many dancers dream of: a spot in a Broadway musical. Cast as the nonbinary character Rumour in the popular musical & Juliet — a jukebox show of pop songs by hitmaker Max Martin that imagines the life of Shakespeare’s Juliet had she lived — Horner thrilled audiences. Fans raved on Instagram, “We couldn’t take our eyes off you!” “Your dancing is spectacular. I was drawn to your dance style for the entire performance.” The New York Times described Horner as “electrifying” and noted that the audience went wild when Horner performed freestyle street dance at the top of the show.

Just before their Broadway debut, Horner spoke to the Toronto Star about their experience in the play. “It feels like the most aligned I’ve ever been, in my whole life, doing anything,” they said.

By last July, though, Horner was in a different place. Dancing on Broadway was no longer a Disney fairy tale but closer to a Shakespearean play, full of light and shadow. At a New York City coffee shop, Horner, who exudes warmth, spoke with candor about their love of street dance and the highs and lows they encountered as a nonbinary artist performing on the Great White Way.

Broadway, Horner said, has brought “such a beautiful opportunity and so many things on paper that seem so climactic and epic.” They performed with the cast of the musical at the Tony Awards Show and on The Tonight Show Starring Jimmy Fallon and Good Morning America.

But Horner, 31, also described a culture clash. In the world of street dance, they can express how they’re feeling in the moment or what’s happening in the world. “I think that’s what art is — the responsibility to reflect the times,” they said, quoting Nina Simone. “But doing the same show eight times a week, it’s hard to stay connected.”

The “intense” and “almost militant” training Horner received while studying street dance — specifically popping, locking, and breaking — prepared them for the physical demands of Broadway, they said. Yet when they performed and even battled, it was for short periods of time. Dancing in eight shows a week plus rehearsals strains the body. In July, Horner was nursing a year-old knee injury. “It feels like being in the Olympics with no off-season,” they said. “Even football teams have off-seasons.”

Dancing on Broadway was not Horner’s aspiration. “It was never something that was even on my radar,” they said.

Although Horner was first inspired by dance when they were eight years old and saw Michael Jackson’s Thriller video on a tiny television in the basement of their home in suburban Ontario, it wasn’t until high school that they took their first dance classes. They studied what was offered at their arts high school — ballet, modern, and jazz. Occasionally, guest artists came to teach hip-hop. One artist, Melissa Nascimento-So from City Dance Corps in Toronto, spotted Horner’s potential and encouraged them to audition for her studio’s pre-professional program. Horner hesitated, but after their high school dance teachers told them they had what it took to dance professionally, they went for it. They got into the program and began training after graduating from high school.

At City Dance Corps, Horner met Andrew “Pyro” Chung, an established street dancer, who invited them to audition for a new street dance academy he was starting. Horner, who struggles with stage fright, was so nervous they almost skipped the tryout. But a friend encouraged them, and they went for it. Horner wasn’t familiar with street dance at the time, and a lot of the terminology, such as twist-o-flex, walk out, and master flex, went right over their head. They thought they had bombed the audition.

Yet, Chung and his partner Mariano “Glizzi” Abarca were sufficiently impressed by what they sensed of Horner’s talent and hard work that they invited the 21-year-old dancer to join their new Footnotes Elite Training Camp on a provisional basis. Horner had three months to prove they had the mettle for the program. They did. The rigorous training clicked, Horner said. “I was able to learn so fast and in a way that was so fulfilling.”

Chung has since become Horner’s mentor, and Horner says they became obsessed with popping when they learned about it at Footnotes. The dance style, which started in the US in the 1970s, involves tensing and releasing muscles in time to music beats in ways that make the dancer appear to move mechanically. Michael Jackson trained and danced with early poppers like Timothy Earl Solomon, known as Popin’ Pete. Horner sought out workshops with popping pioneers and was stunned to learn they had been zombies in Thriller, the video that had fascinated them as a kid.

In 2018, Horner and three friends from Footnotes created a dance crew, House of Hunniez, to perform and compete at events and battles in Canada and the US. They choreographed their own pieces and battled at freestyle events.

A year later, in another twist of fate, Horner landed a coveted spot in Disney’s Zombies 2, which was filmed in Toronto. At the audition, the film’s hip-hop choreographer Jennifer Weber played a Bruno Mars song. “I remember just going off,” Horner said. Everyone in the room started cheering and screaming,” they said. “It was the first time I was like, ‘Oh wow, I have something to offer.’” Horner’s agent told them after they landed the job, “Now, they’re just looking for people like you,” Horner recalled.

Weber’s next big job was choreographing & Juliet, and she remembered Horner. In 2021, Horner was invited to audition for the musical.

At that point, Horner wasn’t dancing. The pandemic prompted them to step away and reflect on their role as a white person in dance culture and the fact that they enjoyed an unfair privilege performing an art form that was created by Black and brown people. People who saw them on stage would tell them they had never seen anybody move like that before. “And I’m like, that’s crazy because I have,” Horner said. “There are tons of members of the POC community who can do what I do, but they aren’t given the same space or opportunity to show their skills.”

The break also let Horner see that they were living two lives. Street dance had allowed them to access their masculinity. “Living in that, being able to feel that in my body, never felt weird or uncomfortable,” they said. “I thought it had to do with just dance, but it really had to do more with who I was.”

So when Horner read the script for & Juliet, which celebrates queer love and gives Juliet a nonbinary best friend, they saw a mirroring of their own life. By then, Horner had started transitioning, and they thought they would be safe in a show that was “inherently very gay, very trans.”

But Broadway, they realized, still had some catching up to do. “Even working on a show that has these characters and works with these themes, I’m still a nonbinary person in a very binary industry,” Horner said. As the show progressed, though, Horner was able to advocate for changes and accommodations that made the show more comfortable and their experience more affirming.

Looking back, Horner thinks being nonbinary gave them an edge in landing the role. But, based on some of the initial choreography, audience members didn’t always see them that way. At the stage door, Horner said, fans would say things like, “You go, girl! You were amazing. Wasn’t she great?” Horner appreciated the love but was pained by the misperception, they said.

Horner is grateful to the show’s creators for being open to change, and the dancer has found upsides to being a nonbinary performer on Broadway. The visibility has allowed them to be a role model for aspiring dancers. They started accumulating a roster of students and taught classes to people of all ages who wanted to learn street dance. “I’ve made such beautiful connections with families and students who see themselves in me,” they said.

Ultimately, though, nearly two years on Broadway were enough for Horner. They planned to step back as soon as their contract ended in October, if not before. “I could be doing something much braver,” Horner said. They have no intention of returning. “I’m going to prioritize my healing and health moving forward,” they said.

“I would love to continue performing, but in ways that address the time we’re in, the time I’m in,” Horner said. They want to help the world heal through dance, through movement. “Hopefully this has given me enough exposure for people to trust me with that.”

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Bonnie Eissner is a writer, editor, and public relations professional. You can see samples of her work at linktr.ee/bonnie_writing.

The post Street Dancer Bobby “Pocket” Horner Steps Back from Broadway appeared first on Stance on Dance.

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

Queering Cultural Forms is a groundbreaking initiative within the Queering Dance Festival*, dedicated to advancing intersectional Queer artistry, practice, and conversation. Founded in 2019, the Queering Dance Festival is by and for LGBTQ+ movement artists. Through performances, events, workshops, and more, QDF highlights the artistic work and issues on the minds of the Queer, Trans, and gender-nonconforming dance community in the San Francisco Bay Area. Produced by the QDF Steering Committee, a nonhierarchical collaborative of Queer dancers, QDF presents dance through a Queer lens, elevating the work and diverse voices of local LGBTQ+ movement artists from all backgrounds. Queering Cultural Forms took place on May 3-18 at Bandaloop Studios and offered free public events that served the LGBTQ+ community and its allies, providing a platform where traditional cultural dances are explored and enriched through a Queer lens. Hosted in Oakland, CA, the festival is a beacon of inclusivity and celebration for BIPOC Queer communities.

The program was born from hearing the stories of friends from different cultures being kicked out of their respective cultural dance groups for being Queer and Trans. All that my friends wanted to do was dance and exist as themselves. But when a person is part of a diasporic people and wants to be in community, getting rejected due to homophobia and transphobia can be extremely painful and isolating in a world that already discriminates against them. It hits even deeper with the realization that one’s culture had Queer and Trans people fully interwoven into it pre-colonization, often since time immemorial. At the Queering Dance Festival, we wanted to contribute to those conversations and provide space for these dances to continue in a positive way.

Queering Cultural Forms has been widely embraced by the community. The program provided a crucial space for Queer and Trans dancers who often face cultural isolation and discrimination. For example, LGBTQ+ individuals in Mexican culture frequently encounter rejection from Ballet Folklorico groups due to homophobic and anti-Trans sentiments. This festival offers a sanctuary where they can heal from past traumas and celebrate their cultural artistry. Testimonials from participants highlighted the transformative power of these workshops, which offered both a sense of belonging and opportunities for personal and artistic growth.

VERA!, Photo by Robbie Sweeny

The Panel Discussion

The series began with a moderated panel discussion featuring five diverse Queer and Trans practitioners whose traditional dance styles are from their respective cultures. These culture bearers, deeply connected to their communities, explored how LGBTQ+ identities deepen traditional dances. The panelists discussed the intersection of Queer experiences with cultural dance forms, sharing insights and personal stories that highlighted both struggles and triumphs.

Listening to their personal stories and experiences highlighted both the similarities and differences in their journeys. Much of what was shared resonated across cultures, particularly the struggle to carry on cultural traditions without succumbing to societal and community pressures to conform to heteronormativity.

For instance, it was eye-opening to learn about the situation in Nigeria, where being LGBTQ+ is illegal. Queer and Trans people there face violence from cultural, religious (particularly Christian), and political spheres. The Nigerian panelist, specifically discussing the Igbo tribe, emphasized that before conversations about queering Nigerian dance can occur, there must first be an open dialogue about being LGBTQ+ in Nigeria. Despite the Igbo language traditionally lacking gender assignments and some traditional deities having Queer and Trans attributes, openly being LGBTQ+ remains a significant challenge.

In contrast, South Asians seem further along in these discussions, yet they also continue to face homophobia and transphobia within their broader communities. This juxtaposition reveals the complex layers of acceptance and resistance within different cultural contexts.

The Armenian panelist shared that Queer and Trans Armenians face discrimination when they seek to engage in traditional Armenian dance. They noted the irony that, despite Armenian traditional dance being on the UNESCO List of Intangible Cultural Heritage, and the Armenian people’s history as genocide survivors, there is still resistance to allowing fellow Armenians to continue their cultural practices simply because of their LGBTQ+ identities.

The Mexican panelist spoke about how religious abuse sometimes permeates Folklorico dance circles. Both overt and subtle attitudes towards LGBTQ+ Mexicans in these communities often project shame and fear, preventing all genders and sexualities from feeling safe to dance. Many just want the freedom to wear what they want—a dress or pants—and dance with the partner of their choice. However, despite a deep pride in their heritage and cultural dance forms, many Queer Mexicans feel unsafe and isolated within their own communities.

A big takeaway for me is the understanding that when it comes to queering one’s cultural dance form, it can sometimes mean holding space for one’s self and holding space for others to exist in one’s culture as one’s full authentic self. Watching the panel, it was clear that even with the barriers, there have been many triumphs. This is very healing, not just for me and other participants but for future generations within our cultures to also have a safe space or, at the very least, conversations they can build on no matter their gender or sexuality. Holding space for our authentic selves to dance is medicine.

Photo by Snowflake Calvert

Workshops

Following the panel discussion, the program offered a series of workshops led by the panelists. These workshops were more than just dance classes; they were healing spaces where participants could engage in joyful movement practice, candid dialogue, and community building. No one created new movements or roles. It was about just giving participants the opportunity to dance wearing whatever they wanted and with whomever they wanted. The workshops aimed to minimize the risks of racism, homophobia, and transphobia, creating a safe environment for BIPOC Queer and Trans dancers to thrive. Participants learned traditional dances through a Queer perspective, allowing them to strengthen their connection to their culture while celebrating their LGBTQ+ identities.

Coming from the panel discussion, I not only gained insight into the personal histories of the panelists teaching these workshops but also felt privileged to be part of their healing journey, which in its own way, served as a form of medicine for me. Walking into the Queering Folklorico workshop made me feel incredibly proud to be Mexican. For the first time, I felt a sense of inclusion and support in carving out a space for us LGBTQ+ Mexicans. Growing up, I never felt included in Folklorico dance because I knew I wouldn’t be allowed to wear the flowing ribbon dresses, and I only ever wanted to dance with the boys. Throughout this workshop, there was something very magical about not just dancing for myself but for all of us LGBTQ+ Mexicans who have never had the opportunity to dance so freely without the fear of homophobia and transphobia.

I also took the Queering Armenian Dance and Queering Bhangra workshops. Being witness to beautiful Queer and Trans Armenians and SWANA dancing so freely with overflowing joy was powerful to witness. Armenians have survived so much, and to have a place provided for Queer Armenians to fully express themselves within their culture while also witnessing cultural preservation was very powerful. Immediately following this workshop was the Queering Bhangra workshop, which felt like a Punjabi family party. This was our largest attended workshop. We even had straight allies attend the workshop to show support and have fun with the rest of us. I didn’t realize the need for these types of spaces until I began hearing more personal experiences. The strength and encouragement towards one another to be brave and proud of who they are as dancers in their culture was inspiring, to say the least.

The fourth workshop that I did not attend was called Embracing Authenticity. This workshop was a closed container for people of African descent and their allies (parents, partners, besties, and support). The workshop description was as follows: “Is it safe to be Queer and African? Have you ever pondered the link between illegality, queerness, spirituality, and pride within our displaced bodies? How do marginalized and displaced individuals navigate fear, comfort, power, and agency within themselves? This workshop delves into exploring and transmuting energy within both physical and social bodies, processing the noise and channeling energy into resilience and empowerment. We will use the mediums of breath, movement, and sound for this exploration.” Hearing all the positive feedback on this workshop was so beautiful. It highlighted the need for a space like this, not just for Igbo Nigerians but for other people from the African diaspora as well. The choice to make this workshop a closed container was out of respect for the delicate, nuanced conversations that need to be had around being Queer and Trans dancers from African countries.

The festival shed light on the common struggles faced by Queer and Trans dancers across cultures. Many have grown up in hostile environments that pushed them toward heteronormativity, leading to cultural isolation and mental health challenges. However, Queering Cultural Forms also celebrated the joys and victories of these dancers. The workshops and panel discussions helped to foster breakthroughs in understanding and acceptance, allowing participants to feel seen and valued within their cultural and Queer identities.

Looking Ahead

Looking ahead, the Queering Dance Festival aims to continue expanding the Queering Cultural Forms program. Plans for future events include more diverse workshops, broader community outreach, and increased accessibility (QDF’s programming is free, close to public transportation, ADA compliant venues, and provides ASL interpretation, audio description, etc.). The goal is to reach even more BIPOC Queer communities, offering them a space where their cultural and LGBTQ+ identities are celebrated and integrated.

Queering Cultural Forms is more than a workshop series; it is a transformative movement that redefines traditional cultural practices through the lens of intersectional Queer experiences. By providing a safe, inclusive space for Queer and Trans dancers of color, the program fosters community, healing, and artistic excellence. It challenges and enriches traditional cultural narratives, ensuring that future generations can live full, authentic lives.

SNJV, Photo courtesy the artist

Call to Action

If you are interested in learning more or getting involved with Queering Cultural Forms and the Queering Dance Festival, visit our website or follow us on Instagram @queeringdancefestival. Join us in celebrating and supporting the vibrant intersectional artistry that makes our communities stronger and more inclusive. You can also instigate these conversations within your own community and host your own workshop for your people. Even if it’s just you in your living room, never stop dancing as your full authentic self.

*The Queering Dance Festival is a program of Shawl-Anderson Dance Center. It is produced and operated by the non-hierarchical Queering Dance Festival Steering Committee.

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Snowflake Calvert (she/her) is a Yaqui and Tzotzil Two-Spirit artist, dancer, drag performer, and filmmaker. Her artistry serves as a platform for political, social, and cultural activism, notably within the LGBTQ+ community. Snowflake nurtured budding talents as owner of The Dance Zone Studio. She co-produces Seeds and Sequins, collaborates with The TRY Project, is a board member for Shawl Anderson Dance Center and Stance on Dance, and is on Queering Dance Festival’s Steering Committee. Her filmmaking includes co-producing, writing, and acting in “Chaac + Yum.” She is working on a new dance project called Neanderthal Land Acknowledgement.

The post Queering Cultural Forms appeared first on Stance on Dance.