Growing up, I was a profoundly keen teenager who had firmly set my sights on becoming the best dancer I could be: technically proficient, with accurate lines, an excellent understanding of style, music, anatomy, diet, all of the things.

My dance school had a strict policy of no students being allowed to attend any classes outside of their school. But most Wednesday nights, I would break the rules and take part in my favourite Jazz class. It was a class for professionals and although I was probably too young, I was in awe of the teacher and knew it was where I wanted to be. I loved the energy and rigour of the dancers and was enamoured with their talent and individuality. Towards the end of the class, the teacher called my name out which was a complete surprise to me and equally terrifying. She said “there has to be something more than that, there has to be something more than the dancing. What you are doing is great, it’s all correct but I want you to show me something we can’t see”. I, of course, quickly nodded as though I understood. In fact, I spent the next 20 years searching for the true understanding of what she...

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