I make a lot of things to compensate for who/what I am.
Like an apology.
If I say sorry for who/what I am, maybe this will implicate you within a world that makes people believe they need to be sorry for who/what they are.
In my dances, I am watching and being watched. I want you to know what it feels like, I want you to question what you came for. I want to reveal your expectations of me based on how you perceive my body so I can run away from those expectations and turn on a dime.
I tape dimes on the balls of my feet so I can literally turn on a dime.
I make dances that are practices in being gay. I insist on a queering of aesthetics, narrative structure, and boundary. I fold under the pressure of trying to be many things by becoming nothing at all. I make things to know that it might be possible to be nothing at all, or something that may transcend the confines of my own body.
I dis/embody competing qualities and archetypes to show you that things are more alike, more ambiguous, than not. I dance like a person because I am a person.
I ask simple questions:
- What’s the difference between a girl and a box?
- Can light exist without the dark? Joy without dread? Me without you?
- Do trans androids dream of electric sleep?
I take an unserious thing and make it extremely serious. Within the obsession and specificity of the serious-unserious thing, I hope that people will recognize that I am utterly serious about this: I’m trying to make (something of) myself. I create affective environments of heaviness that are punched through with desire because I know that there must be something more, and maybe within my work is where “something more” happens.
And maybe when something more happens—or doesn’t happen, even—this will give me a new way of being outside of my work that will continue to keep me until I am gone.