Just dance
What are the spaces in which you can express life to its fullest extent—as small or as vast as it arises in the moment, as subtle or as raw?

When my mother died in 2020, something opened in me. Emotions that had long been held back began to move. Her death brought me closer to feeling. From this experience, I began searching for ways to grieve and reconnect with myself. I developed practices and explored various somatic techniques.

Unexpectedly, I returned to my early love: dance.

As a teenager, dance had been both refuge and exile. Through it, I discovered sensuality and pleasure; I felt seen while dancing. Later, through professional training and a career as a dancer, something shifted. I maintained a strong relationship to dance, but I lost the fire—the sensual pleasure of moving.

In my search for healing and comfort, I rediscovered dance differently. Not through daily classes, rehearsals, or workshops, but through a simple, direct experience of sensing and moving—free from style or technique. Dance became a space of transformation, a place to settle and to open.

I began to weave it together with trauma-informed practices and consent work. Dance became my closest ally: a way to celebrate, to grieve, to feel my body, to enter my thoughts and move beyond them. A way to dream, to access other dimensions of experience, to meet others, and to be intimate with myself.

Dance became something like a religion—not in belief, but in practice. Its only goddess is dance itself. And it is a goddess you become. You enter its body—the body of dance. Once you do, everything becomes dance. You are danced as much as you dance.

This is the invitation for the Dance Celebration.

We gather to celebrate dance: to enter its body as a life force, as a vehicle for transformation. A praise to life, whatever it holds in the moment—joy, sadness, grief, connection, collectivity, pleasure.