Through my over 20-something years of experience, dancing has become much more than just a physical activity—it's a journey of self-discovery, growth, and transformation. It’s a space where I’ve learned to embrace both my strengths and weaknesses, where every movement tells a story, and every step is a way of communicating emotions that words often can’t capture.
Over the years, dance has taught me patience and trust—trust in the process, in the music, in my body, and in the people I share the floor with. I’ve learned that there is no one right way to move; it’s about the authenticity of expression, the vulnerability to let go, and the courage to explore new boundaries, both in technique and in personal limits.
With time, dance has become a powerful tool for connection—not just with myself, but with others, creating bonds that go beyond words and into a shared understanding. It’s also a constant reminder of the joy that comes from living fully in the present moment, where nothing matters more than the energy and flow of the dance itself.
Dancing, for me, is a lifelong exploration—a way to continuously learn, evolve, and express my truest self, while embracing the beauty of the ever-changing rhythm of life.
Contact improvisation and improvisation as a whole truly open up a unique space for discovery, both of oneself and of the world around us. It's a form of dance where the body is constantly responding to its environment—whether it’s through touch, movement, or the energy of another person. This dynamic interaction can reveal parts of ourselves that we didn’t know existed, tapping into deeper layers of awareness and presence.
Touch, in the context of contact improvisation, is not just a physical act but a powerful tool for connection and communication. It allows for a shared experience of guidance, trust, and exchange. The beauty lies in the freedom to both lead and follow—sometimes taking control, sometimes relinquishing it, all within a safe yet boundless environment.
What’s extraordinary about this practice is the heightened "sixth sense" it cultivates—an intuitive awareness that sharpens through the ebb and flow of action and reaction. In this moment-to-moment experience, there is no need to wait for anything; everything happens right now. This spontaneity, the unfolding of each action as it occurs, creates beauty in its unpredictability, its authenticity, and its raw connection to the present.
In essence, contact improvisation isn’t just a dance form—it's a way of awakening, of deepening our connection to ourselves and each other, all while embracing the joy of the unknown.
N.T. December 2024
Personal Thoughts on Dance by Nevena Trbovic
Milton Keynes 1999: My first proper party, with my first proper mates, my first euphoric encounter of 3000 people moving to the same beat. Fuelled by an endless supply of potent Mitsubishis, this was chemical and sensory alchemy of a primal nature, on one hand a hedonistic assault, perhaps devoid of meaning, on the other, a life altering reorganisation of cells, stripped of ego identity, reduced to primordial soup. I was never quite the same after this initiation and the next decade of my life was shaped by many more parties, raves, festivals, limitless nights, often regrettable days, and, perhaps most importantly, relationships, people, community.
New York 2008: I work as a waitress in a strip club by day, take dance classes in the evening and, later, take trains to free-before-midnight clubs that look like they might be a vibe. I’m broke and resent the obligatory cloakroom fee. I can’t afford to tip so can’t afford to drink. sip soda and dance all night before heading back to my 114th street hostel where city breakers trade stories of predictable sights, apparently oblivious to the cultural riches that surround them. To me, the vastness of the city feels threaded by dancers, a thousand ways to dance, a pulsing drive to connect, grow and exchange. Through it’s rippling influences, my path changes course. Here I found movement as a way of life, deeply embedded in the communities it served. Retrospectively, these experiences stand out as being the most influential to my personal and professional trajectory - Raving was a gateway to altered states and alternative circles, New York was an awakening to limitless thinking and no-fucks-given self expression. When I returned home to Bristol, I retrained as a Dance/Movement Psychotherapist and began a 3 year course of study that would forever alter my perspective on the human condition.
When people ask about my work, it tends to spark interest because, of course, we all have a relationship with our bodies, positive or negative, and we all have experience of dancing, as participant or observer. In fact, dance is one of the few ubiquitous features of all peoples around the globe across time. We have probably been dancing, and certainly playing with movement, since before the evolution of complex language (at least 150,000 years). Because of this, it conjures potent imagery and resonates in the collective unconscious, connecting with a range of emotions and cultural signifiers. Dancing associates with grace, fluidity, discomfort, judgement, vulnerability, shame, strength, sexuality and harmony. It can be awkward or divine, provocative or shy. All dancing can be therapeutic but not all dancing is therapy.
So what does a dance therapist actually do? And who is it for?
Dance therapy, like EMDR and other somatic experiencing techniques, is a bottom up as opposed to top down approach, in which we see the value of treating body before mind, helping to regulate and adjust the visceral responses associated with complex trauma. My job is to assess the individual/group, ascertain initial objectives (how can I help this person feel safe, what barriers might we need to overcome) and then guide the process from there, making interventions as necessary. In contrast to a class or community dance setting, where the tone is instructive and bound by the ascetic objective, in a dance therapy session we respond to material that arises in the moment. It does not always feel ‘good’ or look tidy. It is about noticing, trusting, and activating the impulses and narratives that emerge in the process. The movement becomes a vehicle for expressing what cannot be said, or is not yet fully understood by the conscious
mind. For me, it is the therapeutic medium of the greatest simplicity and also the most depth, allowing for interpersonal connection that transcends language and cognition. You can find a thousand articles about the benefits of dancing. They tend to evidence things like increased motivation, the benefits to cognitive vitality, cardiovascular fitness – all worthy and impressive outcomes, but I’m more interested in the research that affirms the social benefits, the transformation that happens between people during and after dancing. Studies show that after dancing together, participants demonstrate increased trust, becoming more likely to communicate with empathy and share resources.
This is because when we move together we activate our endogenous opioid system, the body’s natural painkiller, making us feel good about the people we’ve danced with. We also experience something called self-other merging - we start to see similarities over differences, strangers become known to us in the mirroring of movement. As social animals, who depend on each other for survival, the moving body is one of our most powerful tools of group affirmation. In celebration, in grief, in protest, and in healing.