Tag: dance

Image Credit: Isabella Turolla

IN CONVERSATION WITH: Haruhi Otani

Published on by justinemsjonesLeave a comment

As part of its 75th Season, English National Ballet returns to Sadler’s Wells, London, with The Forsythe Programme, a triple bill highlighting the work of acclaimed choreographer William Forsythe. We sat down for a quick conversation with Haruhi Otani, ENB Soloist, about The Forsythe Programme.

How would you describe William Forsythe’s choreographic style? How does it challenge you as a dancer?

I would describe Forsythe’s style as ground-breaking, like moving outside of a box. It’s not about sticking to the traditional framework of dance. I feel constantly challenged to rethink the limits of my movement, and how much I can expand my body. I think about William Forsythe’s choreography as a bend of architecture and science: we’re constantly building something new through experimentation. This process is never static and it’s always evolving – when you’re twisting or moving in certain ways, you’re constantly wondering “What will happen if I try this or that?” That keeps the process so exciting and challenging! It’s about exploring new ways to push your body further and unlock your mind. You really need to think and play with the possibilities of the movement.

Can you share a particular moment or performance that stands out to you while working on a Forsythe piece?

We get to laugh a lot during rehearsals, especially when we fall. Working with Forsythe is such a playful experience, and we push ourselves so hard that sometimes we end up falling to the floor. Of course, we are careful enough not to get injured, but we bring a child-like playfulness to the studio, with more freedom to expand our limits. It’s a special part of the whole process.

How has your understanding of classical ballet evolved since working with Forsythe’s works?

After this time in the studio with Forsythe, I’m definitely more aware of how I can make my body even bigger, while paying more attention to details: how my hands and fingers move, how twisting the head brings a new quality to the movement…

But also, the music. Forsythe’s choreography and the music and intricately linked. It’s not just about following the rhythm, but how to use the body in response to the music, and listen to every single detail of each tune. As he encourages us to push the limits, exploring every angle and possibility, William is also very open to dancers’ interpretations of the music.

How do you feel when you see audiences reacting to Forsythe’s works, considering how innovative and complex they can be?

I always cherish the last time we performed Playlist (EP) at Sadler’s Wells in 2022. There was a moment when the audience started cheering and screaming when we were dancing, just like in a concert! It was incredible to feel the energy between us and the audiences, that sparkling connection. That truly shows how powerful Forsythe’s work can be. The whole experience is very inspiring, and there’s a beautiful exchange between William and the dancers. I think audiences truly feel that exciting energy too!

What advice would you give to a dancer interested in working with Forsythe’s choreography?

When you’re working on Forsythe’s choreography, it’s all about finding a balance between pushing yourself and finding comfort in the movement. It’s not about feeling overwhelmed by its complexity, but exploring how to make it work for your body. Some movements may be harder than others, and that’s okay. It’s an exciting process to find your own way of executing them — twisting your body or adjusting your head, for example — to make the movement feel more natural for you. Forsythe’s work really invites you to make it your own, which is part of the beauty of it. The process is about exploration. Once you find that balance, the joy of dancing Forsythe’s work shines through.

So my advice would be to really explore and enjoy the process. Don’t be afraid to experiment, even if the movements feel difficult at first. Every body is different, and the way you approach a movement will be unique to you. Embrace that uniqueness. It’s all about playing with the limits of your body and discovering new possibilities!

Get tickets to The Forsythe Programme at Sadler’s Wells Theatre 10 – 19th April 2025 here

REVIEW: Wake

Published on by fbalchinLeave a comment

Rating: 4 out of 5.

A clubland ceilidh that will make you feel alive

I think I need to attend more Irish funerals. There‘s more craic in WAKE than an episode of Derry Girls.

The beating of a bodhrán drum and the thump, thump, thump of Darude’s Sandstorm is enough to get you up on your feet and by God was the audience dancing. For a Wednesday night at the Peacock Theatre this sure felt like a Saturday night in Pacha Ibiza.

Produced by Irish theatre company THISISPOPBABY, WAKE is a riotous cabaret celebrating the ritual of the Irish wake and the modern ways in which tradition is embraced. It is an acrobatic amalgamation of the solemn overpowering of grief combined with the release of euphoria when you realise how alive you really are.

There is much to enjoy here, given there is essentially no plot other than taking place from dusk to dawn as the wake manifests further into a celebration of life. The performers enter the stage with varying degrees of ecstatic energy (and undress) and showcase physical, musical and spoken word skills woven with clever and fun audience interaction. We see astonishing displays of physical capability set to clubland classics such as Eurythmic’s Sweet Dreams, or Robyn’s Every Heartbeat. I enjoyed the striking visual aspects: a female performer on the aerial hoop with electric blue hair buns; a pole dancer in a skintight red outfit displaying feats of incredible core strength and flexibility; a dance troupe in monochrome stepping perfectly in time to a retro bassline. All of it felt exhilarating to watch. The cast is impressive.

The visual feats were paired with a mix of traditional live instruments including the accordion and fiddle, with live singers and a guitarist. Moments of stillness and contemplation were peppered through the proceedings with powerful spoken word poetry dealing with themes of death, grief and our place in society. At times the emotional whiplash was stark and it would have been nice to ease in and out of the sombre parts more gently. At one point I was softly crying, only to be confronted the next moment by what can only be described as some polka dot sleep paralysis demons dancing in a pink rubber bubble.

I would have liked to have seen at least some semblance of character development beyond the excellently named Duncan Disorderly, the wake’s optimistic 90s English DJ in a shiny pink shellsuit. Perhaps each performer could represent a family member, breaking off to tell their story and connection to the ritual through various mediums whether traditional (fiddle and accordion) or modern (00s drum and bass pole dance).

Part Celtic fever dream, part nightclub variety show, WAKE is infectiously joyful . Audience members were up on their feet dancing away (myself included). It is genuinely impossible not to smile in awe and happiness throughout the entire performance.  I can imagine watching this on a Saturday night before heading out to party in the city. It’s a perfect kick start to nightlong festivities. Sláinte!

WAKE will run at Peacock Theatre in London until April 5, and then at Factory International’s Aviva Studios in Manchester from April 17-21.

REVIEW: Neither Drums Nor Trumpets

Published on by Manmeet K Walia1 Comment

Rating: 3.5 out of 5.

A Choreographed Whisper That Echoes Loudly

Pam Tanowitz’s Neither Drums nor Trumpets, presented as part of Dance Reflections by Van Cleef & Arpels in collaboration with the Royal Ballet and Opera, unfolded like a beautiful symphony—meticulously synchronized yet effortlessly fluid. Set in the historic Paul Hamlyn Hall, a space steeped in layers of history, the performance played with ritual, repetition, and abstraction, weaving together movement and memory with a quiet, mesmerizing force.

From the very first step, it was clear—this was dance stripped down to its purest essence. No elaborate makeup, no extravagant costumes, just the raw power of movement. The performers, dressed in minimal, understated attire, let their bodies do the storytelling. Every step was precise, intentional, and almost meditative in its focus. At moments, it felt as if we were watching a rehearsal rather than a staged performance—a deliberate blurring of perfection and process, formality and spontaneity.

The solos were particularly striking—each dancer bringing their own emotional depth, technical finesse, and quiet intensity. But if I had to pick a personal favorite, Anson Zwingelberg’s presence was magnetic, his movement impeccable in its clarity and control.

What stood out most was the presence of the trainees—a seamless integration that felt like a continuation of ballet’s legacy, the passing down of knowledge and tradition through storytelling in motion. Their presence added a fresh, dynamic layer to the work, a reminder of the intergenerational dialogue that is inherent in dance.The impeccable twirls, the mid-touch holds, the unexpected wit woven into the choreography—it all contributed to an experience that was as cerebral as it was visceral. Tanowitz’s work is clever—witty in its restraint, playful in its precision. Neither Drums nor Trumpets was not just a performance but an exploration, a reflection on dance itself, seen from a distance yet deeply felt in the moment.

IN CONVERSATION WITH: Stef O’Driscoll and Dan Daw

Published on by Tabitha JamesLeave a comment

We sat down with Stef O’Driscoll and Dan Daw, who have co-directed their production Over and Over (and over again). Taking inspiration from rave culture and the lived experience of disabled dancers, this show is a collaboration between Candoco Dance Company and Dan Daw Creative.

The show is a search for utopia scored by a DJ set-like soundtrack of acid, house, techno, grime and everything in between and is showing at Dance East (4 April) and Sadler’s Wells East (2 July) as well as dates in Oslo and Marseille.

  1. Over and Over (and over again) is described as a search for utopia through dance. What does utopia mean to you in the context of this show? 

SO: For this show, utopia is an imagined rave space. For some it’s a feeling, or a space that gives you what you need to be able to let go. A space where you can act out your desires – with consent, of course.
DD: A space that enables you to be your full self or express parts of you that society tells you to hold in or does not allow in.

2. The show draws inspiration from rave culture. What is it about raving and club culture that feels important to explore on stage?

SO: A rave space is often a space for people to find a release from the everyday pressures of society. With the right people, right vibe, right environment it can foster community, connection and liberation. But unfortunately we live in a world where rave spaces aren’t accessible for everyone so we are exploring what they could be like if they were. 

3. How did you approach integrating access from the very beginning of the creative process?

DD: From the very beginning of our creative process we talked a lot about desire and this being a gateway into finding ways the dancers could give each other what they needed. Rest became important in terms of looking at how the dancers could rest within the work and there are moments where it is clear to an audience that the dancers are resting because it’s what they need and we’re not apologetic about that.

  1. You’ve both worked across different disciplines—dance, theatre, storytelling. How did you merge your creative approaches in this collaboration? 

SO: It’s a generous, collaborative partnership built on mutual love and respect for each other’s minds and hearts. We’ve found a natural synergy—though Dan is a dancer, he’s also a theatre maker, approaching his work more like a theatre director than a choreographer, making it deeply driven by emotion. At its core, it’s about us facilitating this company to create and generate dance that tells a story.

  1. This is the first commission from Candoco’s new artistic directors. What has it been like working with them, and how does this piece align with their vision for the company?

DD: It’s a joy to share the creative process with Candoco’s new Co-Artistic Directors – whose lived experience deeply shapes  and supports the approach of the creative process. Over and Over (and over again) aligns with their vision for the company. It deeply celebrates the richness of disability, whilst also not shying away from the sometimes tumultuous navigation of the world as disabled people and allies. Dan Daw Creative Projects and Candoco’s ambitions and methodology when creating work align through our shared passion of creating equitable, liberatory spaces, not only in the rehearsal room but also through the performance space and in the way audiences experience the work.

REVIEW: Self/Unnamed

Published on by Eoin FentonLeave a comment

Rating: 4 out of 5.

Self/Unnamed is a mesmerising duet between dancer and mannequin.

As part of Dance Reflections by Van Cleef & Arpels Festival, Sadler’s Wells presents a new solo work from French choreographer and visual artist Georges Labbat. But calling it that is perhaps a misnomer. Labbat is joined on the stage of the Lilian Baylis Studio by a resin figure replica, positioned like a frozen cadaver at Pompeii. The 50 minute piece sees Labbat and his partner take us through a tense journey of power and dependency. 

Self/Unnamed opens with Labbat — wearing only a nude strapless thong — swinging a light above him by a long chord, creating a whirring sound that builds in intensity until the space feels like a tornado bunker. The chaos only ever ceases when Labbat touches the lying mannequin. At first he is curious, if a little apprehensive, as he repositions the figure with the utmost care in an eerie quietness. It is feather light and easy to lift, gliding as if being gently pulled by a stream or floating in space. At times the partnering resembles acrobatic pressages and lifts, sometimes it is highly precarious. 

Labbat watches his partner with worrisome eyes like the nervous parent of a newborn. The mannequin resembling something like a shedded skin of a former self, or the vision of an ideal self — the risk of enmity is high. The feeling of danger, paired with the absolute silence and Tom Bourdon’s stark lighting, makes for nervy watching. The relationship grows terser as Labbat forcefully manipulates the passionless figure with a growing obsession. Hands cover mouths, bodies pin each other down. All done like a glacial tango. While aesthetically austere, the piece is rich in theatricality and emotion. As Diana Ross’ lush Motown hit ‘Ain’t No Mountain High Enough’ begins to fade in, our pair are in a vortex that grows in such intensity it could drive a Sufi Dervish to nausea. Labbat is seemingly bound to his translucent costar as Ross maintains in her crooning, ‘nothing can keep me from you’. For what reasons this union exists remain unclear, but Labbat’s violent thrashing, resigned waltzing, and passionate cradling of the resin figure make for a moment of enigmatic catharsis. Whether a manifesto for acceptance of the self, or a metaphor for internal conflict, Self/Unnamed is a thought-provoking and hypnotic work of theatre.

Credit: Stephen Floss

REVIEW: Join, Sadler’s Wells

Published on by Rachel WoodLeave a comment

Rating: 5 out of 5.

Surprising, exhilarating, and breathtakingly beautiful at every turn

Join, choreographed by Ioannis Mandafounis, sees the Dresden Frankfurt Dance Company collaborate with dance students from the city each performance takes place in. Staged at Sadler’s Wells East as part of Van Cleef & Arpels’ Dance Reflections festival, the company here joins forces with the Rambert School, coming together at different stages of their personal and professional trajectories to create something astonishing.

The ensemble and students work at the cutting edge of the art form, world-leading in contemporary dance and often indistinguishable in terms of the meeting points of their careers. Where the company provides exacting standards for the next generation of London’s professional dancers, the students inject a playful, experimental lightness to their collaboration. Informally spread in front of the stage as the audience enters, we get a snapshot of their pre-performance movements, stretching and chatting quietly before they begin. 

This is a production concerned with the edges of performance, stretching the boundaries of formal etiquette to disrupt rigorously upheld artistic norms and question where theatre ends and life begins. Tony Kushner’s Angels in America leans heavily into this kind of disruption, with stage directions emphasizing the theatricality of its depicted angels: ‘the wires show’, they insist. This notion of the wires showing is evident throughout Join, while simultaneously demonstrating a seamless professionalism and mastery of craft. The imposing black temple of the stage has its walls toppled, the curtains falling and crumpling to reveal a simple, real(istic) backstage setup; the black floor covering is slowly heaved off by the dancers to uncover a luminescent white underbelly; and an instantly unnerving moment is conjured by the house lights throwing the audience into sudden, vulnerable exposure, while the stage remains in looming darkness. Fourth wall breaks of the kind favoured by Fleabag and Punchdrunk, unsettling the lines between performer and audience, don’t come close to the ominous effectiveness of this technique. 

Hand in hand with its imagining of new ways of performing, the dancers enact new ways of being and connecting with each other, in a kind of utopian dreaming. Themes of necessary playfulness and liberation underwrite each section: two young dancers with breath audibly flowing offer a new model of masculinity in their platonic, un-self-conscious exchange, falling and reaching towards and caring for each other. Two femme-presenting dancers bring children to mind in their equally carefree cavorting, immediately evoking years of friendship. It is testament to the hegemony of the strict codes that govern women’s conduct that they are most reminiscent of children in their uninhibited movements and relations – how joyful to see the possibilities that arise with the shaking of these protocols.

The spiritual, the animalistic and the essentially human blend in the hands of these extraordinarily talented groups, aided by a refrain of instant blackouts, shaping segments and undermining our initial perceptions. Surprising, exhilarating, and breathtakingly beautiful at every turn, be sure to follow the Rambert School’s students throughout their careers, and to catch Dresden Frankfurt Dance Company when you next have the chance.

REVIEW: We Wear Our Wheels With Pride

Published on by rinreolusolaLeave a comment

Rating: 4.5 out of 5.

A powerful tribute to the Rickshaw drivers of apartheid South Africa.

Robyn Orlin’s We Wear Our Wheels with Pride is a striking piece of multimedia performance commemorating the artistry and strength of South Africa’s Rickshaw drivers. These drivers would work around Durban’s beachfront promenades during the apartheid, often transporting white tourists. The piece was performed in collaboration with and by Moving Into Dance Mophatong and was part of Dance Reflections by Van Cleef & Arpels Festival, playing at the Southbank Centre’s Queen Elizabeth Hall. 

Primarily expressed through the medium of music and dance, the show captured the true meaning of ensemble might, with every dancer performing with attuned coordination and evocative and expressive physicality. Moving Into Dance Mophatong, comprised of Sunnyboy Motau, Oscar Buthelezi, Eugene Mashiane, Lesego Dihemo, Sbusiso Gumede and Teboho Letele, were able to blend their voices and move as one strikingly, yet at other points completely filled the stage with energy during their solo dances. Their contagious energy even infected the audience, as the piece was not just interactive, but participatory, with the audience often invited to join in on hand movements and keeping the rhythm. 

Anelisa Stuurma astonished with her vocal dynamics, effortlessly switching between vocal styles and resonances with Yogin Sullaphen to provide the musicality for the show.  Sullaphen should be especially commended for expertly composing with a wide range of live instrumentation, influenced by slam and Khoisan tradition, which when blended with more modern styles created a distinctive toe-tapping sound. 

The innovative music was paired perfectly with the experimental use of live imaging and video by Eric Perroys, which drew focus to what the performers were doing and challenged our point of view. The otherwise minimal set – with just soft drink cans to signify different Rickshaw personas – was filled with emphatic lighting by Romain de Lagarde

that effectively played with light and shadow, and thus let the projections become the centrepiece. I found that the use of imaging seemed to connect the past and the present, and created a sense of intimacy where we could see individual facial expressions. 

The performance was a powerful tribute to an under-acknowledged piece of South African history, and performed in a fitting medium. The choreography particularly acknowledged the resilience, individuality and showmanship of the Rickshaws. Through their personification and Birgit Neppl’s excellent costume design, it captured the essence of every Rickshaw and populated the stage with vivacious colour. 

Ultimately, the piece’s strength was its commitment primarily to non-verbal expression, as though it was sometimes punctuated with spoken Zulu, English was used very sparingly. This helped to capture the spirit of the Rickshaws, an uncompromising testament to them and thus to the resilience of Zulu people under apartheid. An incredible piece of physical theatre.  

Dance and live music beautifully intertwined in an intimate setting

REVIEW: Close Up

Published on by annieyezhoua29f00172fLeave a comment

Rating: 3 out of 5.

Dance and live music beautifully intertwined in an intimate setting

“Close Up” by Noé Soulier is now showing at the Royal Opera House as part of the London Dance Reflections by Van Cleef & Arpels festival. Featuring six dancers and five musicians from the baroque ensemble Il Convito, the piece delves into the intricate
relationship between movement and live music.

The 75-minute performance is divided into two distinct parts, with the second emerging as the highlight. In this latter section, Soulier presents an innovative choreographic concept, using video to isolate and emphasise various body dimensions in motion. This inventive approach evoked the feeling of an art installation, allowing the audience to focus on the subtleties of movement that might otherwise go unnoticed.

Both pieces also incorporated loud exhalations by the dancers during specific movements, perhaps intended to underscore the quality or intensity of the movement. However, this artistic choice felt overused and didn’t significantly add to the performance. I also wondered whether this effect was perceptible to audience members seated further back in the theatre.

The highlights of the program were the musicians and dancers. While it is an interesting choice to dress the dancers in loose t-shirts and denim jeans, this does not restrict their movements. They particularly excelled in the choreography that balanced fluid, supple movement with sharp, staccato precision, demonstrating both the control and versatility of the dancers.

If you’re drawn to innovative works that invite you to focus on the finer details of dance, this performance will likely resonate with you.

Merce Cunningham’s choreography remains timeless, a vision that still feels boldly ahead of its time.

REVIEW: Merce Cunningham Forever (BIPED and Beach Birds)

Published on by Antonia ConstantinLeave a comment

Rating: 4 out of 5.

Merce Cunningham’s choreography remains timeless, a vision that still feels
boldly ahead of its time.

There’s something surreal about watching work created decades ago and realising it still feels more modern than half of what’s being made today. That’s what struck me most during this evening of Merce Cunningham’s choreography—his work doesn’t age; it recalibrates time. Presented as part of the Dance Reflections Festival, Lyon Opera Ballet boldly paired two of Cunningham’s major works: Beach Birds and BIPED.

Beach Birds opens in near silence. The dancers—dressed in white and black, like a minimalist flock—move with a kind of quiet insistence. The pacing is slow, methodical, and yes, uncomfortable. Not in a bad way, but in a way that demands your patience, drawing you into its world inch by inch. It’s a length that almost presses in on you, creating something intimate and a little claustrophobic, as if you’ve wandered into a tide pool and can’t quite find your way out.

But it also has a strange peacefulness—like watching birds preen and shift at the water’s edge. The dancers don’t mimic birds exactly, but they suggest them: the angles of the arms, the tilts of heads, and the way gestures ripple through the group. What held me wasn’t the drama of any narrative—there isn’t one—but the way repetition became hypnotic. Time feels less linear, more like a gentle circle being drawn again and again. Then comes BIPED, and the shift is immediate. Gone is the natural stillness of the beach. We are thrust into something sharper, colder. Grids of light slice the stage, a sort of shimmering cage that both contains and transforms the dancers. Ghostly digital figures flicker and glide across the backdrop, mirroring the live performers, or maybe challenging them. It’s hard to tell.

This is where Cunningham’s genius really hit me. BIPED premiered in the late ’90s, but it feels eerily aligned with the digital present. There’s a tension between body and technology, between freedom and structure, that couldn’t feel more current. The choreography isn’t softened to make room for emotion; it’s structured, complex, and sometimes even mechanical. And yet, through that, something deeply human emerges.

The juxtaposition of these two works—one evoking the quiet rhythms of nature, the other the fractured speed of the digital age—felt deliberate and powerful. Together, they trace a kind of evolution, or perhaps a warning: from organic to artificial, from earth to code.

For someone who began choreographing in the mid-20th century, Merce Cunningham remains startlingly contemporary. His refusal to follow conventional structures, his use of chance, and his collaborations with technology all feel like they belong in the now. Or maybe even in the future.

As I left the theatre, I wasn’t thinking about nostalgia. I was thinking about how rare it is to encounter an artist whose work can still ask new questions decades after it was made. Cunningham may no longer be with us, but his choreography continues to move forward—restless, relentless,
and forever modern.

REVIEW: Gr oo ve

Published on by Antonia ConstantinLeave a comment

Rating: 4.5 out of 5.

gr oo ve is a haunting solo that traces a slow transformation from instinct to identity through rhythm, repetition, and raw physicality.

As part of the Dance Reflections by Van Cleef & Arpels Festival, gr oo ve arrived at Sadler’s Wells as one of the more quietly intense pieces in the programme—a stark, slow-burning solo that left a lasting imprint.

The theatre is in complete darkness. Not the usual dimmed house lights, but a blackness so total it is disorienting. I couldn’t tell whether the show had begun or if we were still waiting. Then, slowly, almost imperceptibly, the space began to shift. A faint light appeared, or maybe it was just my eyes adjusting. Either way, something was there, emerging.

You hear it before you fully see it. A breath—ragged, deliberate. Then a body begins to crawl out of the black, every movement deeply tied to the rhythm of its breath. The performer, Soa Ratsifandrihana, draws you in with a kind of visceral precision. Her breathing and movement are in such tight conversation, it’s impossible to tell which one is driving the other. Is the breath birthing the movement? Or is the movement gasping for breath?

This is how gr oo ve begins. It doesn’t explode into being—it emerges, like something ancient waking up. Something pre-human.

The audience is seated on all four sides of the square performance space, and Soa moves to each edge in turn, repeating a sequence of gestures that feel almost ritualistic, as if she’s honouring each direction, or each viewer. The repetition builds something tangible: a pattern, a rhythm, a memory in the body.

And then, something shifts. The crawling gives way to standing. The creature becomes woman. Her movements become more fluid, but not more predictable. She begins to stretch, fold, twist—pushing against the edges of the invisible box around her. It’s a transformation: not just physical, but emotional. What was once elemental starts to become personal.

I found the piece quietly extraordinary. It doesn’t scream for attention. It breathes its way into you. There’s something deeply felt and unspoken about the way Soa moves, as if she’s carrying the memory of something much older than herself.

Soa is of Madagascan heritage, and while the work never literalises this, it carries an energy that feels rooted in something ancestral. A specific gesture—tracing a line from the ground, up through the body to the mouth and back out—threads its way through the piece, appearing like a quiet refrain. Just as present is a deep, kneeling back-arch, a movement that recurs across the shifting phases of the performance, linking them with a sense of continuity and memory. The rawness of her breath and the groundedness of her body suggested someone dancing not to be seen, but to be understood.

As for the title—gr oo ve—I kept returning to it. Why split it that way? It’s clever. It hints at a disruption within flow. A groove that’s been broken or interrupted, maybe reassembled. Just like the performance: rhythmical, but fractured; sensual, but abstract. The extra space draws attention to the space within the rhythm, the breath within the beat.

gr oo ve is not a show that tells you what to think. It invites you into a dark, quiet place and asks you to listen differently, to see differently, to feel rhythm not just as sound or movement, but as something alive—something becoming.

I walked out of Sadler’s Wells feeling like I had witnessed a kind of slow birth—from breath to body, from animal to human, from darkness into form.