I remember standing by the side of the stage at Warwick Arts Centre as a child, heart racing, about to perform in a local youth festival celebrating dance and physical theatre. The quiet, calm energy of the dress rehearsal never ever prepared me for the real performance, for the weight of being in front of the people you love. As the group before us exited and the stage emptied, time slowed. A flood of thoughts rushed in: Do I remember the choreography? What if I mess up? Will my parents understand what this piece is trying to say? (Often, the answer to the last question was ‘No.’)
But before all the answers started to swirl, something clicked. Whether it was a peer whispering “Ready?” a stage cue, or just the lights coming up, muscle memory took over. The work in rehearsals kicked in, and suddenly I was moving, not thinking, just being. And just like that, it was over. But that surge of joy, that tidal wave of relief and pride, returned every time I remembered it or spoke about it.
In performance you also see your peers in a different light as new elements of their being come into full focus. I vividly remember being in awe of Ben, the co-founder of Ascension, as he launched himself into the air and landed in a plank position on the floor with such grace and softness. Always quiet, his personality shone through movement, and in that moment, he stood taller than I had ever seen him.
Years later, I remember watching a recording of that performance, proud and critical all at once. I zeroed in on my one-handed cartwheel and thought, AJ, straighten those legs, point your toes! But then, just as quickly, a kinder voice chimed in: Look how far you’ve come. That moment of self-reflection—recognising growth, progress, and potential—has stayed with me ever since.
For so many young people, experiences like these are more than just fleeting memories. They’re formative. They teach us how to face fear, how to commit to a long process, how to collaborate with strangers in unfamiliar spaces. They show us what it means to show up, try hard, fall short, push through—and, metaphorically, fly. The impact of having a space to grow, create, and connect can be life changing.
That’s why we, as Ascension, wanted to create something that could echo the power of those moments for a new generation. We knew the value of a platform like this, not just for performance, but for personal development.
So, Pinnacle Dance Platform 2025 was born.
It’s funny, really—I came up with the name years ago. I didn’t know exactly when or how it would happen, but I believed it would. It felt like the right word: a high point, a landmark, something you remember. And on the day, that’s exactly what it became.
The Albany Theatre opened its doors to over 100 young people from Coventry, Warwickshire, and beyond. The day pulsed with energy—from workshops to rehearsals to the final showcase. Three studios hosted sessions by Northern Rascals, Seeta Patel Dance, and Ascension, each offering a different flavour of movement and meaning. It wasn’t just about technique—it was about expression, connection, and conversation.
Young people shared ideas about what they wanted from future platforms. They pushed themselves physically and creatively, connected with new peers, and expanded their understanding of what dance could be. And then, they performed—owning the space, lighting it up, proving to themselves and to us that they were more than ready.
Solos, group pieces, disabled and non-disabled young performers sparkled on stage. The bill was packed with varied, thoughtful, and refined performances. One audience member shared their response:
“Wow! What a treat on a Saturday night! Is there anything better than seeing young people lifted up together, doing what they do best—expressing themselves through creativity and togetherness? This is the best thing to happen in Cov for dancers in a long time. Long may it continue. Ascension—you smashed it.”
As the audience spilled out, the foyer glowed with the pride of families and friends, buzzing with excitement from what they had witnessed. That energy travelled in all directions—between participants, supporters, and even the staff who had helped make it happen. Hours of work had gone into cultivating this space, but in that moment, it was crystal clear why we knew this was something we wanted to host ourselves.
Once the noise settled and the theatre emptied, I stood quietly, watching the echoes of the day settle into the walls. And I thought again: Look how far you’ve come. Only this time, it wasn’t just about me. It was about every dancer who stepped onto that stage, every risk taken, every friend made, every ceiling shattered.
Why do we do this? Why spend the hours, the energy, the emotional labour to create something like Pinnacle?
Because we want each young people to feel like a colossus; to believe they can tackle fear, rise to a challenge, and carve out a space where they belong. We do it to uplift those with fewer opportunities, to nurture the shy kid with potential and the bold one with questions. We do it because we believe in celebrating personal bests.
That’s what the arts do best. They give us permission to stretch, stumble, soar. They give us room to unfurl our wings.
I think often about that younger version of myself, waiting nervously in the wings. He would have been thrilled—hyped—to be part of something like Pinnacle. And I like to think that every young person who came through those doors left with a spark of that same feeling.
Because ultimately, that’s the legacy we’re building: a community that remembers where it started, celebrates where it is, and dreams boldly about where it’s going.
Ascension Dance are now taking a year for ourselves to develop our company structure, but Pinnacle will be back in the future, bigger and better than ever!
- For further information visit www.ascensiondance.co.uk
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Pinnacle Dance Platform 2025 and the writing of this blog was supported by Arts Council England.
All images : Photographer - Andrew Moore.