Dance, a timeless and universal language, moves beyond the mere movement of the body to become a container for human emotion, cultural legacy, and societal change. It is where the body speaks the unspeakable—joy, sorrow, resistance, and hope—transcending divisions and creating communal ties. Choreographers, those architects of kinetic poetry, are not only creators but visionaries who redefine parameters, blending modes such as theatre, visual art, and technology to create tales that provoke and inspire.
What they do necessitates an elusive alchemy of discipline and imagination, rigor and openness, because they take vague ideas and give them flesh as visceral experiences, in a world too often divided by difference. Dance bridges collective memory, holding on to tradition while inventing new modes of expression.
Choreographers, especially today, use their art as activism, raising marginalized voices and challenging systemic injustices through each step and gesture. They turn stages into social laboratories, where bodies become a mirror reflecting the world’s truths and a hammer smashing oppressive norms. The interdependent quality of dance—between the dancers, musicians, and spectators—resonates with its ability to democratize narration, calling all to enter into its ongoing conversation. Between the majestic stages and the humble workshops, choreographers demonstrate that dance is not reserved for the privileged but is a birthright available to all. Their own legacies are those of endurance: a witness to how the arts can heal, challenge, and redefine the human condition. Few artists capture this revolutionary spirit as intensely as Beatriz Castro.
Beatriz Castro has become a beacon in contemporary dance, combining cultural identity, somatic exploration, and accessibility into performances that resonate internationally. Their time with Spark Dance Collective and Verbal Animal involved working with pioneers such as Michelle Thompson Ulerich and Johnny Butler, creating pieces that blur lines between dance, theater, and visual art. Choreographic achievements such as Flat Circles (2023)—a reflection on the cultural aspects of time—and Girl Crush (2024)—a deconstruction of femininity in the digital age—demonstrate their capacity to combine intellectual sophistication with emotional intensity. As a guest dancer in Lauri Stallings’ Rite of Spring (2025), Castro balanced Stravinsky’s legendary score with bold physicality, an accomplishment praised for its bravery. Beyond the stage, they fight tirelessly for accessibility, co-organizing symposia for disabled artists and educating NYC students in creative movement through Notes in Motion.
Their dual career as choreographers and performers evidences a distinctive duality: a mind that designs structure and a body that inhales spontaneity. Castro’s dance testifies to dance’s potential to be a spark for communal resilience and resistance. On stage or in the studio, they subvert conventions while honoring the unscripted humanity of movement, solidifying their position as a revolutionary voice in the discipline. Today, New York Art Life invites you to explore Castro’s artistic process further through an exclusive interview. Please find out how Castro balances the opposing forces of creation and interpretation, advocacy and artistry, and uses teaching as fuel for their own innovation. How does a choreographer-performer blend discipline with improvisation? Why is collaboration the lifeblood of their practice? Continue reading to find out the secret to Castro’s alchemy—and why dance, in their hands, is revolution.
New York Art Life: Beatriz, your time at Spark Dance Collective demonstrated a unique versatility, taking in the innovative, boundary-breaking visions of choreographers such as Kar’mel Smalls and Jonathan Colafrancesco and still retaining a signature fluidity—a testament to your flexibility and artistic range. How did collaboration with such disparate creative voices influence your development as a dancer, and what lasting impression did their styles have on your movement approach?
Beatriz Castro: Working with choreographers such as Kar’mel Smalls and Jonathan Colafrancesco at Spark Dance Collective was akin to existing in two separate worlds of movement—each requiring a fundamental alteration in the way I occupy my body and receive intention. Kar’mel’s movement thrums with raw, unvarnished humanity. They asked us to extract emotion from the muck of daily gestures, whether a heavy fall or a resistant release of energy. Their method was like peeling away layers, educating me in trust of the power of vulnerability—how a single breath or pause could have more to say than a technically flawless bound.
Jonathan, on the other hand, treated choreography as a composer who might treat music. His works lived on rhythmic complexity, spatial geometry, and an imaginative give-and-take between discipline and freedom. Rehearsals were frequently akin to solving a living score, where each movement needed to meet the beat of the music but still catch breath with fluidity that felt alive. Both visions rewrote my artistic code. From Kar’mel, I bring an intention to emotional candor—granting flaw and humanity as foundations for the work. From Jonathan, I learned an admiration for structure as a canvas for freedom, in which rigorous frameworks paradoxically release improvisational truth.
Today, whether playing or composing, I incorporate these strands into my work: a phrase may start as a densely wound rhythm and then unwind into something untamed and uncharted. Spark taught me that adaptability isn’t merely about responding to styles—it’s about allowing each collaborator’s voice to enrich your own vocabulary. That’s why I’m drawn to projects that blur boundaries, where the body becomes both a storyteller and an architect of possibility.
New York Art Life: That’s great! Beatriz, can you describe a recent performance where the convergence of movement, music, and history created something transcendent for you as an artist. What made that experience unforgettable?
Beatriz Castro: “Rite of Spring” was also a unique recent accomplishment because I had the opportunity to work with Atlanta based choreographer Lauri Stallings on her piece with the Ft Worth Symphonic Orchestra. The Rite of Spring is one of the most famous scores in dance history and to be a part of that legacy was something magical, getting to dance onstage with the orchestra only heightened everything. What lingers with me most is the way the energy of the audience became its own heartbeat in the room—like we were all suspended in this collective, electric trance.
Each evening, you could sense the breath of the crowd syncing with the choreography, their gasps or silences integrating into the music. It wasn’t merely us on stage; it was this communal ritual. When the curtain fell, there’d be this heartbeat of stillness before applause erupted, and in that split second, you realized how deeply we’d all been pulled into that world. That alchemy—between bodies, sound, and the people witnessing it—is where real magic lived. It wasn’t just a performance; it was a conversation.
New York Art Life: Impressive! Your skill at both occupying the choreographer’s mind and the dancer’s body is astonishing, it’s like witnessing the exchange between creator and muse occur in real-time. To be doing a solo you also created takes double vision. How do you negotiate between being both interpreter and creator within a work?
Beatriz Castro: It’s always a negotiation. When I’m working on choreography, I begin as a detective—questioning my body, trying out sentences, and mapping what seems most important. But when I switch into performer mode, I must let go of control.
The trick is creating a framework loose enough to accommodate spontaneity. For Girl Crush, I’d set improvisational scores during creation—like ‘trace the edges of your shadow’ or ‘repeat this gesture until it becomes a ritual’—so that by performance, muscle memory and intention could coexist. I’d film rehearsals obsessively, then watch them as both critic and collaborator. It’s messy, but that duality is where the work feels alive.
By the time the premiere comes, ‘creator’ and ‘interpreter’ are no longer distinct; they’re two rhythms in the same heartbeat. It’s like a conversation between me and my past and future selves. Creating is future-looking—’What needs to be said?’—but when I’m performing, I need presence, this radical honesty with the body right now. Each night, it’s different: hip sticks, a breath catches, and suddenly the steps aren’t mine anymore—they’re a conversation with time. That’s the gift of doing both roles: you learn to trust the body as an archive. The choreographer in me lays the bones; the performer breathes flesh onto them. It’s not balance—it’s alchemy. And when it does click, you’re not only following steps. You’re giving a response to a question that you didn’t realize you posed.
New York Art Life: We love that! Reflecting on your career as a choreographer, is there one project that represents a turning point in your professional development—one that collaboration challenged your creative limits and helped you broaden your artistic skills?
Beatriz Castro: “Flat Circles” is a personal accomplishment because it’s the longest piece I’ve choreographed, and it was my initial collaboration with grammy-winning artist Johnny Butler. It was the culmination of the earlier versions I began working on as soon as I graduated from college.
New York Art Life: Very commendable! Your dual role as a performer and Marketing Associate with Verbal Animal exemplified a rare convergence of artistry and advocacy—demonstrating that keeping a dance-theater company alive requires both a seer on stage and an organizer off stage. As both performer and Marketing Associate, how did you navigate artistic and administrative duties for the company?
Beatriz Castro: Balancing my work at Verbal Animal was akin to mastering two dialects of the same language—one of the body’s immediacies, the other of the mind’s strategy. As a performer, I was plunged into the visceral act of creation, whether we were experimenting with a rough duet or honing a disheveled ensemble piece.
Each rehearsal required presence: surrendering to the choreography’s emotional trajectory, being attuned to my collaborators’ energy, and believing in the raw, unrefined moments that make dance-theater so charged. But as Marketing Associate, I entered a bird’s-eye perspective. Creating campaigns involved boiling down that same rawness into something concrete—composing grant proposals that positioned our work as imperative, creating social media bites that hinted at the kinetic power of a piece, or composing emails that welcomed audiences into our universe without watering down its nuance.
The duality was symbiotic to its core. Promoting a show, I’d perform in forced me to articulate why our work mattered—not just as art, but as a catalyst for dialogue. Advocacy is not divorced from artistry—it’s a matter of crossing the divide between what occurs in the studio and how it strikes a chord outside of it. I view every administrative task as an extension of creativity: a grant application became storytelling; a donor meeting, an opportunity to humanize our process. Today, whether choreographing or teaching, I bring that hybrid mindset. Verbal Animal taught me that maintaining art involves both the dreamer and the architect—and that duality is not a compromise. It’s where the magic happens.
New York Art Life: You’re so brilliant! Now, your commitment as a Teaching Artist with Notes in Motion and Brooklyn Dance Conservatory testifies to the depth of how much you care about dance as a language that unites us across generations and changes both teacher and student. How has facilitating creativity affected your performance or choreographic process?
Beatriz Castro: Teaching has been a mirror and muse—it reminds me every day why dance is a living, breathing language. At Notes in Motion and Brooklyn Dance Conservatory, I’ve worked with students from toddlers to teens, each bringing a unique relationship to movement.
A child’s unfiltered joy in leaping across the floor, or a teenager tentatively discovering their voice through improvisation—these moments strip away pretension and return me to dance’s primal essence: connection. As I lead a withdrawn student to place trust in her expression through a phrase, or observe a preschool class create a narrative with their bodies, I’m reminded that creativity isn’t learned—it’s unlocked.
That reciprocity reformulates my own artistry. Breaking down the mechanics of a pirouette to a student compels me to analyze my technique, disclosing subtleties I’d disregarded as an expert. Suddenly, a tendu is no longer a step—it’s a dialogue between weight, intention, and breath. Choreographing for children’s workshops, where imagination takes precedence over precision, has given my work a spontaneous playfulness.
Most deeply, teaching roots me in why I create. Witnessing a student’s ‘aha! ’ moment—when they embody a concept they’d struggled with—reignites my own hunger for discovery. It’s humbling. I’ll leave a classroom buzzing with their energy and step into rehearsal with fresh eyes, asking: How can this phrase feel as urgent as a child’s first solo? Their courage fuels mine. Each class is a reminder that dance is about the stories we carry, the risks we take, and the communities we build.
New York Art Life: Plus, teaching creative movements to children in NYC schools through Notes in Motion requires flexibility. How do you adapt your approach to reach different age groups?
Beatriz Castro: Tailoring creative movement classes for different ages is like composing a symphony—each age group has its own rhythm, and my job is to listen and adapt. With preschoolers, it’s all about play and imagination. I’ll turn the studio into a jungle where they’re leaping monkeys or slithering snakes, using props like scarves to ‘paint’ the air with shapes. Their energy is limitless but brief, so I organize classes into a sequence of brief, action-packed games to direct their inquisitiveness into movement.
For teens, particularly those working out self-expression, I concentrate on agency. We might play improvisation prompts such as ‘map your heartbeat through space’ or create group phrases with their voices structuring the choreography. It’s not as much about ‘right’ or ‘wrong’ as it is about ownership—assisting them in viewing their bodies as storytelling instruments. The secret is flexibility. A game that is effective with six-year-olds—such as ‘freeze dance’ using animal positions—will not appeal to middle schoolers. With older students, I may add technical elements in a subtle way: a plié is now a ‘secret spy crouch,’ or a tendu is now ‘drawing light with your toes.’
Engaging them where they are establishes trust, which opens creativity. Every class reminds me that dance is a dialogue. Whether I’m guiding a toddler’s first shuffle-step or a teen’s solo, the goal is the same: to make them feel seen, heard, and electrified by what their body can say.
New York Art Life: That’s brilliant! Last-minute joining David Dorfman Dance’s residency as a guest artist highlighted not only your technical proficiency, but a deep flexibility and cooperative instinct—those traits marking a genuine pro in high-risk creative settings. How did you become part of the company’s already established creative process while upholding your own artistic voice on such short notice?
Beatriz Castro: Picking up on David Dorfman Dance’s residency at the last minute was like jumping into a river in mid-current—you have to let go and trust the current while finding your own path.
My first imperative was listening: watching the company’s movement vocabulary, their collaborative practices, and the emotional center of the piece they’d been working on. I watched hours of rehearsal footage, paying attention to how they weighted gestures or marked off phrases with breath.
David’s work feeds on attention to texture, rawness, and kinetic empathy, so I concentrated on soaking up that ethos—my body mirroring theirs—and remaining attuned to the political pulse of the work.
There was also no time for second-guessing—only instinct and faith. By the last performance, the distinction between ‘guest’ and ‘company’ dissolved. I departed with a better comprehension of how rigorous generosity—committing completely to another’s idea while respecting your own truth—can charge up a process. Now, in whatever I choreograph or work on, I bring that reminder: adaptation doesn’t mean smallening yourself. It means spreading the work’s DNA with everybody that inhabits it.
New York Art Life: In the still moments when the world was unmindful of your dreams, what unseen cord held you fast to your goal?
Beatriz Castro: I would not have come so far in my professional life if I had not taken myself seriously before anyone else did. The best thing you can do for your future self is to trust your power to make your dreams real.
Dance, as revealed through the paths of visionary artists such as Beatriz Castro, is truly greater than a string of movements—it is an energetic force of cultural conservation, personal emancipation, and social criticism. Castro’s performances are the best example of how choreographers break away from conventional limits, fusing disciplines to give birth to stories that defy conventions and celebrate humanity in its most primordial expressions. Instruction in creative movement to varied age groups further solidifies dance as a community language, where each plié or pirouette is a conversation among generations.
Castro’s flexibility, whether filling in at residencies on short notice or juggling marketing with artistry, reflects the fortitude needed to survive in high-stakes creative environments. Their path serves as a reminder that dance is not a fixed form but is changed by every body that chooses to challenge, resist, and redefine. In a culture starved for contact, performers such as Castro show that movement is both shelter and uprising—a reflection of how art can heal, challenge, and redefine potential.
What is it like to make art that respects tradition but subverts its limits? How can collaboration among musicians, dancers, and audiences intensify the resonance of a performance? Can a choreographer’s dual role as educator and activist redefine accessibility in the arts? At what point does technical excellence suffocate creativity, and at what point does it free it? How do we quantify the effect of dance beyond applause—in the stillness of shared breath or the ripple effects of a student’s epiphany? What is the obligation of institutions to keep dance as a birthright, and not a privilege? When immersed in virtual environments, will live performance become weakened in its bodily impact, or does it find new pertinence?
How may improvisation disturb our conception of “perfection” in art? What does it leave for the future if we value the candor of feeling above refined production? And finally, if dance is a language that we all speak intuitively, how do we reclaim it—not as observers, but as co-authors of its constantly evolving narrative?
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