I've said it for years.... dance doesn't matter.  In the greater scheme of things (political adversity, poverty, racial inequity, climate change...need I go on?) dance plays, by societal standards, a very minimal role.  And even when the arts are in focus, dance is the last of the art forms to garner any significant attention.  Theater, opera, music, and visual art customarily sit higher on the funding ladder than dance. A quote from Artblog states, “One huge reason dance is not valued is because it is not accessible. It is treated not as a part of life, but as a non-essential feature of life, reserved for the few, but not for everyone.” 

So why care?

It is universally recognized that through dance, we better understand our common humanity. Dance makers know of no other language or avenue to vehemently voice our opinions, share our fantasies, or demonstrate our worldly desires than through dance.  It is what possesses and drives us to a degree that others outside of this realm will rarely or never comprehend.  We can barely define it ourselves, but we resolve to dedicate our lives to an art form, that, in reality, doesn't even exist. As the brilliant and articulate Chrystal Pite says, “In dance, we have no artifacts.”

I came to this art form in reverse.  I was trained in the tradition and craft of choreography long before learning how to technically dance.  It’s like writing a symphony without knowing how to play an instrument.  Having no formal dance training, I began fabricating my own movement language, which has, over the years, been molded and influenced by the work of Mark Morris, Twyla Tharp, Tricia Brown, Mats Ek, Ohad Naharin, Donald Byrd, and Pina Bausch. Choreography has always been instinctual for me, and after 30 years of defining and refining my 'thumbprint', I am most comfortable with an empty room, a few dancers, and a seed of an idea.

As a woman of Jewish decent and the great-granddaughter of a Holocaust survivor, my work is centered around the lived female experience and the attachment to reclamation. My linage was revealed to me at the age of 14 and as this identity and its secrecy has unfolded, it has given purpose to the ‘question and answer’ structure in my creative process. This is a response to a realization I am continually searching for and the life experiences I have gathered of which I am driven to perpetually deconstruct. Dance is the non-verbal, abstract language I must use to tell and share these stories. I create from a viewpoint of accessibility, authenticity, and the uncovered and unnoticed human experience. If art has the power to shift society, I am committed to instigating that shift, regardless of the size of the impact. I want to make work that an audience can connect to, see themselves in, or reference in a personal way.  I care about the humanity and perspective of the dancers I work with, the visual and visceral impact of the work, and the artistic experience from process to presentation.  Basically, I have a deep love for dancers, for making dances, and for awakening something significant within each audience member.

I began my company (The Stone Dance Collective) in London, England in 1993.  My work has consistently been project based and I have enjoyed setting work on many small to mid-range dance companies over the past 25 years. Even after receiving the largest commission of my career at the age of 54 (a mainstage work for Pacific Northwest Ballet), I remain diligent in my search for further creative windows, no matter how large or small. My creative life has been carved out around too much teaching and a wonderful family life, and opportunities to create without distraction are historically rare for me. Years of experience and experimentation find me now primed for deeper and more specific exploration of my craft.

I've dedicated my creative life to making dance matter:  one dancer, one dance, and one audience member at a time.  And as long as this journey has been, I often feel like I'm just getting started.