For me, pole dance is a solo practice rooted in centering my body, feeling grounded and connecting to a deeper sense of self. To ask unsolicited, invasive questions threatens the balance I’ve found within myself. I’m not a dance teacher. I only have the capacity to be invested in my own journey.
This work pushed me. Indrit pushed me to open my heart and my mind… a process that I felt ready, yet scared to do. Anika encapsulated my words into a brilliant collection of original songs. I confronted my fear of singing in public, and I’m not sure that I feel any more confident about it… but I did it. As a choreographer and dancer, this specific process was a unique challenge for me. My artistic practice often integrates voice and text with movement, though certainly not to this full-on extent! We invited a small audience to view our draft and offer feedback, and I’m so grateful.
This potential for catharsis is, in part, why I chose to tell the story of WHITE MUSCLE DADDY through a horror lens. It also happens to be a genre that from its earliest days has been rife with queer subtext and themes.