When my late mother was battling cancer, she took open dance class with Ronald K. Brown/EVIDENCE. When my veteran father wanted to escape his diagnosis of Lewy body dementia, he’d ask me to play salsa music and he’d try to move to the sounds of the bongos and trumpets. After I laid my mother to rest, I went to the dance studio. I stood at the barre, and let the live piano music take over. Each combination allowed me to worship my senses, providing relief and ultimately releasing grief.
Dancing as a child was a way to be close to my parents. Now, there is no better feeling than being onstage, lost in the swirls of lights and invisible sound waves. For me, dance is an entanglement of the senses and human feelings. It shifts my energy. I’ve learned to detach from everything around me and simply stand with dance, no matter the venue or personal circumstance. With almost 20 years in the industry, my point of view extends beyond stages—to college classrooms, nursing homes, correctional facilities, outdoor protests.
I enjoy how, with every year I dance, I evolve as a woman. The reasons I dance are ever-evolving; they change as I gain life experience, and cannot be pigeonholed. Dancing feels different when I’m in love, super-tired, or on a Broadway contract. Not to mention dance feels physically different now, in my 30s, than it did when I was 19.
I never thought I would be a dancer and take up space in the way I have thus far. And I know I’m not interested in dancing forever. However, the discipline of dance has given me the power to conquer, and to live a life I never dreamed possible.
I’m so passionate about sharing the gift of dance, and constantly struggle with how ignorant many are of this profession. When the world goes through turmoil and needs a moment to unify, the arts are its first healing mechanism. And although I am privileged to experience that joy, it’s nothing to me if it can’t be shared.
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