I have been dancing for as long as I have known myself. Movement carries me before words, before thought, before story. I live in the spaces between softness and speed, in the folds of weight and release, in the careful negotiation between what is urgent and what is still. In those moments, the body speaks, listens, remembers, and opens.

I am drawn to the architecture of sensation: how one moment unfolds into another, how the body responds to itself, to others, to the world it inhabits. I attend to weight, texture, and rhythm, to the subtle shifts that carry meaning and intention. Each motion holds a paradox: firmness in vulnerability, focus in surrender, energy in quietude. In moving this way, the heart follows, revealing itself through gesture, through breath, through presence.

There is a reverence for the senses, for the invisible connections, for the poetry in the ordinary. It is a space of noticing, of breathing, of being present and available to what arises. To enter it is to arrive in one’s own body fully, to feel the pull of gravity and the freedom of release, to let the body and heart speak in unison.