Summer 2024 Recap

With the Bay Area transitioning into shacket season (and let’s be real, the Bay has the best weather in the world, justifying those high taxes), I’ve found myself reflecting on the whirlwind that was summer 2024. If you had asked me this time last year if I saw myself thriving outside the studio, bringing to life projects and goals that had only lived in my mind, I would’ve answered "no."

A year ago, I was choreographing solos while in overwhelming pain. Immobile, unable to demonstrate or fully explore movement, I faced one of the most humbling experiences of my career. Dance has always been my way of navigating the world. So when my body stopped cooperating, it forced me to re-evaluate my relationship not only with movement, but with everything in my life. I held onto opportunities, energies, relationships, and situations that—looking back—were like red flags I chose to ignore. It was clear, even then, that I needed to let go, but I wasn’t ready.

Fast forward to summer 2024, and I’ve learned a thing or two about stepping back. I’m no longer chasing every opportunity, but instead committing only to projects that value me where I am today. It's about appreciating the present moment and recognizing that potential doesn’t have to be achieved all at once. I’ve also learned to manage expectations—for both myself and those I collaborate with. As someone who craves new challenges, I’ve embraced the idea that growth comes from pacing myself, not pushing toward unattainable heights all at once.

This summer brought with it a powerful reminder. I hadn’t choreographed an ensemble for a stage in about eight years, largely because my last experience was far from enjoyable. But I decided it was time to give it another shot, now that I’ve gained more experience as an artist and choreographer.

Cue Flock, a contemporary ensemble I created for a summer intensive with 15 dancers. Then came Solstice, a neoclassical ensemble commission with nine dancers. And on top of that, four solos for the upcoming competition season. These projects pushed me to revisit the creative process from a new perspective. Once I overcame the fear of being in the front of the room again, I was reminded of how much fun creating can be. The fear and anxiety of leading are still there, but they feel a little more manageable now.

Solstice, in particular, felt like the universe aligning in just the right way. While some people collect clothes, figurines, or trinkets, I’ve always been a collector of red flags and songs. The red flags? We’re still working through those, though I’m trying to avoid adding more to the collection. But the songs—they’ve finally found an outlet. For years, I’ve had two pieces of music sitting in my playlist, waiting for the perfect opportunity to come to life through movement. It was like holding onto a dress you’ve had in your closet, knowing you’d eventually find just the right occasion to wear it. Solstice became that moment for me—the project where these long-held songs could finally unfold into something tangible.

This is the serendipity I appreciate most—when the universe gives a subtle nod, telling you, “This is the time.” Choreographing Solstice wasn’t just about fulfilling a commission; it was about fulfilling a creative vision that had been waiting patiently for years. It was a reminder that sometimes, the best ideas are the ones we don’t rush but allow to grow on their own timeline.

It’s not always easy to balance self-doubt with the responsibility of leading a room full of dancers, but this summer taught me the value of embracing both. When I let go of the need to control the outcome, I found space to rediscover the joy that comes with exploring, creating, and connecting. Flock and Solstice weren’t just projects—they were reminders. Reminders that creativity, much like life, can’t be rushed. You have to be willing to collect, wait, and trust that when the time is right, everything will come together beautifully.

As the Bay settles into shacket season, I’m welcoming the next phase—shifting my perspective from being just a performing artist to taking on new roles as choreographer and director of my own projects. This transition feels empowering, knowing that while the weather may be steady, life and art will always be in flux. And sometimes, that’s exactly what we need—especially when it means maybe collecting fewer red flags along the way.

Thank you, Summer 2024!

S.

Photo: Duy Ho

HMUA: Fiona Tsang