What I Look for When I Come to Dance

When I come to a conscious dance space, there are certain things I value very clearly. Not as ideals, but as conditions that allow me to arrive fully in my body.

The beginning matters.

I value time in stillness. I value starting on the floor rather than standing. I value being invited—clearly and gently—into somatic awareness.

This isn’t incidental. My mind is fast and dominant. If I’m not given enough time and structure to slow down, it will take over. I may be moving, but I won’t be embodied. For me, dance only begins once the nervous system settles enough for sensation to become primary.

Starting slowly is not a preference. It’s a requirement.

I need a process—almost a ritual—that enforces deceleration. Time to feel weight. Time to feel contact with the floor. Time to notice breath, subtle impulses, and micro-movements before anything expressive takes shape.

Breath is a key entry point for me. So are words of support: simple invitations that suggest possibilities without directing outcomes. Prompts that encourage listening rather than performance. I don’t need choreography. I need space to sense.

The physical environment matters as well. I appreciate a room that feels intentional and cared for. A clean wooden floor. Air that feels good to breathe. A space that supports presence rather than distraction. These details affect how much my body can relax, and how deeply I can arrive.

These are the starting points.

From here, music becomes central.

I need music that builds slowly. Music that begins spaciously—ambient, open, unobtrusive. Sound that doesn’t impose rhythm too soon or demand a response before I’m ready. Early on, I want music that supports internal listening rather than overrides it.

At the same time, the music must be interesting. Dynamic. Creative. I’m not drawn to obvious choices or familiar tracks. I want music that reaches beneath the surface, that touches something less accessible.

I experience music as a tool—a medium that asks questions. My movement is a response. When the music is well chosen, the dance becomes a dialogue between sound, sensation, and impulse.

As the session develops, I want the music to evolve. Energy can build. Awareness can widen. I want to become more conscious of the other dancers in the room and feel invited—never pushed—into meeting them.

Connection matters to me at this stage.

I enjoy being encouraged to engage, to interact, to play. I’m particularly drawn to contact improvisation. I find it one of the most alive and stimulating forms of dance. I value the freedom of it—the shared weight, the rolling, the way another person’s skeletal structure becomes a point of reference and support for my own movement.

What matters here is responsiveness rather than technique. Presence rather than display.

Play is essential. I don’t want dance spaces that feel heavy or overly serious. I value lightness, humour, spontaneity. I enjoy fleeting, improvised encounters—moments that exist only because two people were paying attention at the same time.

This kind of dance feels deeply life-affirming to me.

These are the conditions that allow me to feel at home in my body, connected to others, and genuinely moved by the experience.