"I hope that instead of ‘making space’ for gender-variant people in dance, we can just be free to work—and not have to justify our existence," Clarke, who is transgender, says
DANCEBUZZ • June 27, 2021
Isla Clarke has been the exception throughout her life.
In what seemed record time, Clarke jumped directly from being a student in the polarizing competition-convention dance world to working professionally with the Vancouver troupe, Ballet BC—and now, with the world famous Nederlands Dans Theater. But she's also, and as importantly, making these impressive moves as an out, proud trans woman–and at a time that the rights of trans people are increasingly under attack.
Yet, the 25-year-old Toronto native shows no signs of slowing down. DANCEBUZZ spoke with Clarke about her dance past, being trans in one of the most high-profile dance companies in the world and how she hopes the dance world will evolve.
You started dancing in the competition-convention dance world. How do you feel that prepared you for where you are now?
There is a lot of beauty in the training dancers receive in the dance convention world. One of the most important things I learned is how to take space, how to own my individuality and how to be seen in the most authentic way. Being surrounded by so many dancers for a whole weekend pushed me to find what it was that was specific about me and how I could stand out. Of course, this can have a downside: you can end up shouting and searching for validation rather than using the space to study and research movement. With the training I received at my home studio, Elite Danceworx, we were taught the principles that helped us to use the space in a convention room to develop our dance rather than searching for accolades. I also think that there is an obligation to give value to every class and style, which gave me a richer, more diverse palette to work with. I definitely wasn’t the best in hip hop, but I tried.
Were there any limitations to your training?
I think that ballet was always something that didn’t work in my body. It hurt me and pushed me to dislike my body and how it functioned. Finding a functional way to use my body is an ongoing search, but I have always had to negotiate with my limitations. So, in terms of my training, I wish I had more tools to look inward, to focus on sensation and how I could be efficient with my body rather than striving for aesthetic fantasies. Ballet training often excludes bodies that do not fit into a very specific archetype. I feel that my training as a “male” dancer did not allow me to be partnered, or to be sensitive in a way that women are expected to be. And now, I don't feel as prepared to do those things as I would like. Dance training takes a cis-heteronormative approach in almost every school—and it does not allow for gender-variant artists to explore their identity from a young age. In fact, the system is inherently exclusionary to trans people, and is one of the reasons why there is such a lacking number of trans voices in the contemporary (and contemporary ballet) dance world.
I hope that in the future, there will be an awareness of how these imposed gender differences are hindering young people from exploring the extent of their craft. When I attended Arts Umbrella, I was lucky to be able to explore dance philosophically—to question my assumptions and to use dance to ask existential questions. This opened my world and allowed me to feel that dance was an endless search.
How do you define artistry? How do you, a person with so much embodied dance-performance experience, relate to that word?
I think artistry, in the context of dance, is often used as an attribute, or an add-on to a dancer’s abilities, as if it isn’t the core of what we are doing. For me, artistry is the source; it is the young self that dreams of doing things beyond the limit of our physical realm and knows that these things aren’t impossible. It is curiosity, an endless cycle of failing and finding a solution. It’s the heart of our narrative. Artistry is experimentation—and being messy. It’s dancing in your room or in a club or in your head. I don’t think I can separate it from life itself because I think artistry can be in every action. I want my life to be like one long poem.
You spent time dancing with Ballet BC. What did you learn about yourself through that experience? Any favorite memories?
Working with Ballet BC was the first time I ever worked with a professional dance company. I remember feeling incredibly nervous, but I learned how dancers can take ownership over their work. Their work ethic comes from a knowledge that the responsibility of making and upholding art stems from the collective. The experience inspired me to be more individual in my approach to dance, and trust that my work was something to be taken into my own hands. I also liked how the dancers dressed during rehearsals—that was pretty cool.
As a trans woman, can you talk about your experiences navigating the professional contemporary dance world? Has NDT been a support system for you?
Navigating my transness has been a struggle, both internally and externally. I have received a lot of support from the people I work with and from the institution itself, but my existence challenges so many of the structures and systems that control the world we are living in. I have also had to navigate my own general feelings of shame that come with entering transition. Being in a cis-gender dance space sometimes feels alienating, and vulnerable. But I am lucky that I have a community of trans friends—and cis friends, too—who empower me to continue doing what I’m doing. I bring with me a lot of fear surrounding repertoire pieces, and creations with new choreographers, but it has been more than okay, and I have been able to be a feminine energy in the works I have done this year.
There is something so profound in meeting my body again, and allowing it to exist in the way that is most natural. Even though I experience gender dysphoria—and am working on appreciating the body I am in—I feel freer with my dance than I ever have. And with every day I step into my womanhood, I am shedding the layers of repression that did not allow me to access my artistic potential. As a trans person, you are constantly educating the people around you so you that you feel like you are in a safe space—and sometimes, I wish people knew more about the lived experience. There is also a rigidity in the expectations for women in dance, and being a trans woman, I feel I am challenging many of the ways people see a woman’s body. This, in many ways, is exhausting and frustrating, but it is also empowering and freeing. I hope that instead of ‘making space’ for gender variant people in dance, we can just be free to work and not have to justify our existence. I aspire to unapologetically take space without questioning if I fit any of the boxes.
What do you know now that you wish you could say to your childhood self?
I would say, 'Remember that little diva who would strut and twirl on the front lawn without asking if it's okay? Remember the freedom of fantasy, and how it kept you safe from the pressure and pain of the outside world? Remember that you have the power to be exactly who you are, and it’s not anyone’s right to tell you what you have to be—that your femininity is your strength and not something to be ashamed of. That your nights dancing in your room would amount to something great, and that you never have to compromise your identity for your idea of success. That you can always wear whatever you want, and everyone else will just have to deal with it.'
Your presence at NDT offers representation for so many young dancers struggling with how to express their gender identities. What legacy do you hope to leave behind?
I hope I can make the dance world question how we see gender in dance. I hope that I can empower other queer, trans or non-binary dancers to be in any space they want to be. And I hope that I can be more radical with my voice and create things that deconstruct the oppressive structures we have gotten accustomed to.
