³ÉÈËÂÛ̳

My introduction to physically integrated dance was at a conference. I was there for, well, a number of professional reasons, but I was really there to meet other disabled people in a professional context. I was new to the whole disability thing; it was just dawning on me that I was going to have to learn to live with this stuff, and I was not a happy camper. Everyone around me was psyched about the evening entertainment. There was going to be a dance performance by Homer Avila. I was more than a little uncertain. "I mean, really, how does a one-legged man dance?" I snorted. "Was he just going to lie on the floor and wriggle?" My snotty attitude was changed that night; I was invited to take part -- to read the words of a script as Homer danced. And dance he did. Here's Homer on YouTube: with and .

In the bar afterwards, I connected with Homer. We talked and talked and talked: art, music, performance, disability, philosophy, and loss. It was probably only for 45 minutes or so, but that three quarters of an hour was world changing. Homer was intense; he leaned over and began to give another conference attendee a dance lesson. He looked back at me, reinforcing the dare he had issued just seconds before. I shrugged it off. Dance lessons. Later. Whatever. Of course. But for Homer, there was no later; he lived another 6 weeks. It was only 45 minutes, but I was deeply touched by Homer; his death rocked me to the core. I was determined to pick up my lazy, self-pitying self and live a little as he had lived: to the full. I looked for dance classes; there were none in my area. I moved to the San Francisco Bay Area for research work and happened upon a flyer advertising integrated dance. The sequence of events from here is a little murky. I took only 8 classes, and I was hooked. How to explain? Dance changed the way I experienced -- understood -- my body. It's kinda like this. In the every day world, I am conscious of the fact that I am using a wheelchair; I'm watching for bumps in the pavement, people who can see the chair and not me, .... you get the picture. In the studio, I am a dancer.

I am a dancer. It surprises me still to write that. I am a dancer not because life threw me a curve ball and I made lemonade from it (if you see what I mean), but because dance speaks to my very heart. Like all dancers, I train, I practice, I take classes, I go to rehearsal, I perform, I work, and I experiment with my chair. I am a dancer. My work takes a number of forms. First, there is my daily routine. I am just coming off a number of injuries (AC separation and a bunch of hip/sacro-iliac stuff), so I have had to develop a new routine to strengthen, take care of, and nurture my body. I begin with 30 minutes of qi gong -- developed by for people who work with their hands. In this sequence, I focus on breathing and on warming up everything from my fingers to my neck and spine. Then, as I get looser, I might add some elements of movement from classical ballet and Horton technique. Most of this work is about strengthening and loosening. I am concentrating on breathing and lifting my arms or breathing and turning my body. I don't do much with the chair at this point. Chair work probably requires a whole different post. If I am feeling adventurous, I might go on to do some proto-pilates work (core strength being the goal). On a non-injured day in New York, I would probably skip this part and go straight to class; I take beginner or advanced beginner ballet and intermediate Horton/mixed style modern at regular studios. In California, I am still working on finding a place that is not too weirded out or too far away -- I'm keen, but not so keen that I like to drive for an hour both ways in order to take a 90 minute class. There are limits.

Then, it's off to rehearsal! West Coast Dance is an awesome company to work for -- and not just they may be reading this. In my year and a bit, I have worked with some really high-profile choreographers and created some stunning work. I am really proud of what we do. Yes, we blow people's minds; see us and weep (if you are one of those pity the disabled types). Yes, we have disabled and non-disabled dancers working together, equally. We're role models; we're inspiring (insert roll of eyes), ... but I don't notice those things on a daily basis. I notice the work. I notice that we produce interesting, challenging work that is on a par with the dance of other modern companies. I notice the power, beauty, and grace of my colleagues; they're pretty awesome people and amazing dancers. I see how the fragments -- "just walk backwards and forwards, please" -- become a foundation for style and movement. I see and hear my colleagues breathing. The sounds of their wheels, prosthetics, feet. I see an arm, a leg, a shape. Hear a rushing towards me on the lift of the music. I push off from the wings out into the space; it's time to go.

• Visit . I am looking forward to hearing from you.

Phew. That was nerve-wracking. Grin.

WCD