People Dancing

A few years ago, I was in a conversation with dancer, academic, and community dance specialist Sue Smith when she said something along the lines of: “Of course, when you commit to holding an inclusive space, that includes you”.

This was a real flaring lightbulb, blaring klaxon, palm of the hand to the forehead moment for me. At this point, we were all a year or more into the work of adapting – at unpredictable intervals – to the series of measures taken in response to the outbreak of Covid19 in the UK. From national and regional lockdowns where we couldn’t gather at all, to ‘the rule of six’ (people permitted to gather for an activity), to social distancing - keeping at least 2 metres between us.

If you’re reading this, it’s likely that you too were facing these challenges with the people you dance with: negotiating the sudden shift from dancing together in studios and community spaces, to peering at each other on screens and bemusing our neighbours in the local park - not to mention all the worrying about contaminating anyone with a potentially deadly virus.

No wonder everyone still seems a little… tired, in 2025.

I had been so very, very busy trying to be responsible, supportive, creative, organised, empathetic, reliable, inspiring… and to engender a sense of trust, safety and even, dare I say it, hope, with the communities I was working with at that time. Creating a context that worked for me and my needs wasn’t even remotely on my radar.

It was a powerful provocation, and one that I have often shared with other artists since, in these words:

“When delivering activities that you intend to be inclusive, you deserve, and are allowed, to consider and incorporate your own needs as a facilitator.”

 A mantra, if you like. And, in my experience, one that benefits everyone involved.

I’m writing this in early 2025, when – it seems to me – we’re only just starting to come to terms with the start of the Covid19 pandemic, which for most was a bolt from the blue. In some ways, there has indeed been #nogoingback – our world has changed and we see things differently now. We’re also increasingly feeling the multiple impacts of what I’ve heard described as a concatenation of crises: locally and globally (climate breakdown, multiple wars and genocides, social injustice, widespread precarity, political polarisation, economic instability and more) – and, yes, that is all exactly as bleak as it sounds. So I’m by no means saying that having a good old dance will resolve all our problems (“because A: that’s not me, and B: I don’t even hang out with people like that” – joke! - a quote from Brene Brown’s famous TED talk on vulnerability, which feels relevant here, and if you haven’t seen is well worth a watch.

There are definitely conversations to be had about the skills, resources and support we need, as artists working in community settings, when other branches of community care are overwhelmed or collapsing. Even so, I do wholeheartedly believe that what we do, as people engaging other people (from all walks of life) in carefully curated experiences of movement, together, matters profoundly.

Movement and change are so bound up in one another, it seems obvious that a supported, empowering, potentially both challenging and joyful experience of moving, with others, can prompt a renewed commitment to embodying positive change in our local spheres. And also that, like clay warmed in the hands, an enlivened, moved body can relax into new shapes and forms: inviting new ways of being and knowing. On this subject, I will never tire of quoting the magnificent Prentis Hemphill, who writes in the book What It Takes To Heal: “a relaxed body is the most powerful body we have".

I wanted to share these thoughts via People Dancing, because I realised that one of the things that sustains me in my practice, right now, is the knowledge that I’m part of a wider web of artists committed to inclusive, participatory dance practice: so partly, I just want to send up a big thank you and well done to all who continue to do this vital work.

Also I wanted to shine a light on this idea of self-care, or at least self-consideration, not as luxury, but as baseline – if we want to keep going as artists that centre the needs of our communities in these tough times, then we need to do what we can to make this a sustainable practice for us as individuals and only we each know what that requires, as experts of our own experience.

That said, I’ll take this opportunity to share three simple things that help me a lot, in case they might be helpful for you too and as examples of the kinds of subtle deliberations in which we are constantly engaged, when holding a space for and with others:

Beginning

These days at the start of my sessions, I always begin by saying some version of “Ok, then, let’s make a start…” (give a brief intro to the shape of the session if needed) and then “To start with I’m going to give you a few minutes to just arrive here, settle in, have a big stretch, lie on the floor, relax and breathe, or whatever you need to do, and also to congratulate yourself on getting out the door and into this space today. Well done.”

I then play a short piece of music, and intentionally leave people to their own devices, keeping a gentle eye on the room. This gives people a moment to settle, me included. It also gives me a moment to see who’s in the room and make an initial assessment of where people are at. Latecomers can sidle in now too, knowing there’s a few minutes wiggle room. Most importantly, I think it’s helpful as an unspoken reminder to me and to participants, that, given the space and time, people tend to find productive and interesting things to do. They’re not totally reliant on me: my role is simply to enable the expansion of skills and ways of moving that are already there, in the body. Last year, I was lucky enough to receive some feedback on my teaching from the highly experienced community dance artist, Lois Taylor, who said “You make the transition from ‘not dancing’ to ‘dancing’ as soft as possible”. I loved hearing that, because one of my goals in life is to normalise dancing as an everyday human activity, something readily available to all. Basically: dancing for me is no big deal. And it’s also everything. Both of these can be true.

Middle

These days I always include a short break (around 5 minutes) part way through a class.

I find pretty much everyone finds this helpful, either to have a pee, get some water, take a moment for themselves, or chat with someone. It stops me feeling like I have to be constantly feeding, driving, propelling the situation and even a micro-break seems to allow people to begin again, refreshed.

End

And I always try to allow 30 minutes from the end of class until my parking runs out, the bus leaves, or I need to be in the next thing.

This means I’m not sprinting out the door, and if participants want to have a quick chat and share something that has been sparked by their experiences in class, I have time to take this in, enjoy the interaction, and leave feel valued and recognised for my facilitation, rather than trying to hurry this bit up. I really try to encourage this sense in my regular classes that we are all co-researchers into how dancing together can shape our lives – and as a result I feel more of a connection with participants as collaborators, and am inspired by their life experiences and differing perspectives.

These three simple measures are part of a mindset shift for me, toward a sense that the sessions I facilitate are not only a space for me to support learning and growth, but also a space for me to learn and grow. Moving together can enable us to feel more alive, more engaged, more connected – to our own true feelings, to one another, to our environment and the wider world – and can grant us a sense of clarity and agency in a time when it is easy to feel overwhelmed and powerless. This can be as true for those of us leading sessions, as for those we lead. It’s about showing up, with whatever doubts, misgivings and reluctance we have on the day, to stand up for something better. And hopefully that ‘something better’ includes your own experience, as a facilitator.

In 2025, Kyra celebrates five years of Distant Dances: an artist-led programme of adventures in movement and dance, for all bodies that like to move.

Alongside this, she leads Deep Time Moving, a choreographic response to the unique geological moves of the Lizard peninsula, Cornwall. Kyra also collaborates with artist Faye Dobinson as ALL IN, generating movement and visual art works, and co-hosting ALL IN DISCO. Instagram: @thisis_allin