My body has been lived in. Just as my mom’s body has been lived in, and my mom’s mom, and so on. I feel my history in my heart and through my veins, moving with me always. My body holds more history and understanding than I could ever comprehend. I experience grief and loneliness in the tightness of my chest. My understanding of companionship and empathy is deeply rooted in my core. I yearn for love and contentment in the spaces between my battered bones. While these experiences, my experiences, make my body and my movement uniquely mine, they are communal. I emphasize, cherish, and celebrate this.
I vow to make work from a place of authenticity. I create the work I’m afraid to make, with the questions I’m fearful to ask. My “fear of…” serves as my greatest tool for unlocking my movement intuition and creative mind. My “fear of…” is my key out of my mental capacity and into my bodily knowledge. And my choice to face my “fear of…” drives my choreographic process.
My art celebrates our greatness and revels in our messiness. It empathizes with human kind and brings light to the shadows we lack to acknowledge. My art is alive, colorful, and whole – everything I desire.