My dances are deceptively sweet, rambunctious monsters. With love and mischief in their eyes, they sideswipe the conventions of proper comportment and expectation, landing with a soft thump, at a bright new threshold, each time they come out to play.
My ideas about performing and performance resound with contradictions. The tension around difference plays out in both serious and hilarious ways. Where is the reliable truth about people and how they behave together? Why aren’t things what they seem? These questions often seem to turn up in my process.
My affection for and love of books, language, movies, animals, food, art, funny stuff, traveling and the natural world inevitably shape my approaches and outcomes.
I am compelled by intimacy, longing, seduction and treacherous motives and maneuvers. I’m drawn to stories, sensations, scenarios that have caused, purposefully or by mistake, a warp or tear in the fabric. I love to watch the ways that bodies react to unfamiliar situations—things that come up unbidden, in the moment. I like dancing and creating movement that stings, bites and devours, and is deeply compassionate and tender. I love words and the names of things, and getting categories wrong. I want to slake a deep thirst, and along the way address and wrestle with thorny topics with high frequency attention and movement.
In my choreography, both solo and group works and in collaborations with other artists, I seek inventive and unanticipated intersections between narrative and abstract forms, opening the way for my work to come to life in a vivid, unexpected and compelling way.
Locating the heart of each project can feel like chasing a moving target, a shifting frame of focus that sometimes feels like an unruly alchemy of coincidence, pleasure, desperation and enchantment. I’m often surprised at where things end up.