Tell us about yourself.

“I’m Sonia Kwek and I’m turning 31 in September. I have and have had, various occupations in my life. Currently, I am freelancing/self-employed, and my roles can morph quite a bit based on what the project is. I usually work as a performer, artist, creative collaborator, life model, facilitator/educator, sometimes as a coordinator, producer, writer, editor. My work tends to intersect in the areas of art, creative industries and the non-profit/social sector.”

What was your experience and journey with dance like?

“I don’t have a background in dance! I have a background in drama and theatre. Then I became drawn towards physical theatre, where the emphasis was on physical movement and the use of the body as the mode of expression and communication. From physical theatre, I began looking towards dance, as I was captivated by the blend of athleticism and artistry it encompasses.

My experience with movement arts started late and rather tentatively. The very first time I think I took any kind of dance class was a few passing street jazz/girl style hip hop ones at Studio Wu when I was 13 or 14 years old. It was during the school holidays, and my friend asked me along with her.

Then, at 19, during my gap year, I went for some contemporary dance term classes at Ecnad (a now-defunct contemporary dance company). By then I started to be curious about dance since I wasn’t exposed to it. In my early 20s, when I went to study in Brisbane for three years at university, that was the first time I trained more regularly not in dance but in physical theatre forms (Suzuki Method of Actor Training, Viewpoints) and Butoh, taking weekly classes with Zen Zen Zo Physical Theatre. Between the ages of 25 and 27, I finally had regular consistent formal training when I left my full-time job to study at Intercultural Theatre Institute, a conservatory-style school.

It’s really interesting because in traditional theatre forms, dancing and acting weren’t necessarily seen as distinctly separate skill sets, it’s all part of becoming a performer who knows how to use your instrument (the body) best. This really helped me grow my understanding of movement expression. Amidst the reality of life (balancing time and money), I still try to make time to learn by taking different classes and workshops. I took up pole dancing in the last two years or so.

Currently, I am an associate artist with P7:1SMA, where I also have been lucky to undergo dance training with fellow amazing practitioners. If not, it’s jamming with friends, researching lots from YouTube and exploring on my own.

I started dancing to expand my movement vocabulary, to broaden my understanding of motion and flow, to increase my body awareness and ultimately open up more possibilities of expression. Looking back retrospectively, I think I also started dancing because I was trying to find a way to inhabit my body more fully, the one space I kind of had that was, is, truly my own.

As someone who overthinks a lot, I dance as a way to help me let loose and get out of my head, for my own sanity. Literally, sometimes moving is the one thing that is like ‘hey, you can go on.’”

Would this approach also mean that we can refer to you as a movement artist?

“Actually, I don’t quite identify myself as a movement artist or even as a dancer. I’m not very comfortable with these labels, to be honest.

 I am not a specialist, which perhaps explains my rejection of labels or categories thrust upon me. I don’t want to disrespect the amount of craft and dedication of artists who do focus on specialising, like athletes who train for years and years. I think for certain people they feel empowered when they claim certain labels for themselves, but for others, it might feel limiting. This is also something that may shift and change over time.

I feel we should keep being curious about each other’s work and listen to how people want to be called! At this moment, I am slightly resistant to labels as I am still very new in my practice. Movement is one of my mediums that feel more familiar, but I don’t think I’ve made enough work or explored enough to feel comfortable being called a movement artist. My ‘work identity’ is constantly in flux, and maybe there’s also a little bit of imposter syndrome.

A conventional understanding is that a movement artist is someone who creates using the movement of the body as the main medium (a parallel is how painting, sculpture, glass might be the medium of a visual artist), while a dancer is someone who dances, and dance is typically known to be moving to a set sequence of movements (some of these movements might be intertwined with certain music or lineages of history or culture and be categorised into genres and styles). A movement artist would likely come up with the movements and use their own body to express it, while a dancer could either be dancing to someone else’s choreography or both create and dance their own choreography.

Of course, there are overlaps in what they do and this is a simplistic understanding. I feel both are underpinned with body movement as the main form of expression, a non-verbal language. I think the distinction between movement artist and dancer depends on who you ask and for what context.”

In your performance art and work, do you gravitate towards a particular dance form or cultural reference/inspiration?

“As I mentioned earlier, I am not a specialist. I do have certain sensibilities and gravitate towards certain ways of approaching movement. What tends to excite me is finding out why or how certain movements or gestures came to be, sometimes drawing connections across forms, and discovering more possibilities.

I am less interested in codified movement, technical precision and achieving aesthetic standards with the presentation of the body in performance – although I respect people who are doing that. I gravitate towards somatic approaches where the focus is more on drawing from within, your internal sensations and also through the body’s archive and memory, your own individuality and lived experience; to let the body speak.

The biggest influence on me is undoubtedly Butoh. It is often described as a type of dance theatre form, but in fact, its very nature resists definition. It can be hard to call it a form because it is not concerned with formalisation or codification. I feel it is a lot about being attentive to embracing what is already there, to open a type of space for a life force to emerge, to allow your body to be moved rather than just moving.

Tatsumi Hijikata, one of the founders of Butoh, had called it the ‘dance of darkness’ in the earlier years. I do feel that there is something there I identify with. It encourages you to draw from that within yourself, and also the environment, of things already running parallel underneath.

Another master I had learnt from Akaji Maro-san had also said butoh is like ‘empty gravity’. Indeed, I feel Butoh creates a lot of space for people to come in with their own memories and associations while having a dialogue in relation to nature, the primal and the elemental. I love how poetic Butoh is, and unapologetically strange.”

Movement artists seem to have gained visibility and more mainstream acceptance in recent years. What are your thoughts on this? 

“Hmm, I definitely feel the rise of social media and this Internet age has given artists more access to visibility. That said, artists have always been experimenting with their forms and mediums, this is not new.

I think the difference is that now artists are able to control their narrative better in terms of what they want to put out there, and are able to communicate themselves to audiences more accurately the way they want. This may then give rise to better attracting and matching them to the audiences who can actually appreciate their work.

Perhaps another reason is that the world we live in is a lot more interconnected today. We are more used to things mixing and intermingling beyond the traditional forms, to seeing variety and variations, and this extends to perceptions of dance too.

As things gain more visibility, what I feel we have to be mindful about is how sometimes the way certain forms of dance or art are portrayed or categorised by bigger powers may cause certain associations to become attached to them, which may be untrue. For instance, how Asian traditional forms of dance are often seen as being less artistic in comparison to Western classical forms of dance.

There is also the stereotype of moving away from traditional to a certain type of eurocentric aesthetic or inclusion of technological medium equating to therefore being more ‘artistic’ or innovative. There is no one way to be artistic, I think it is important to consider what the artist is exploring, what the work calls for and its position in relation to society at large.

Also, gaining visibility and mainstream acceptance is not the marker of success. It’s easier said than done, we can get swept up about this because it can also get really disheartening when a lot of effort is put into the work and then it doesn’t go anywhere or reach anyone.

However, I personally feel certain things need space to grow, exist and thrive on their own outside of the mainstream. Personally to me, what’s more exciting and important is to create more spaces for such diversity to exist and truly thrive. Visibility and mainstream acceptance mean less to me than seeing a systemic change in tangible ways.”

Understanding that you dabble in life modelling too, can you perhaps share what it entails and how you got started in this line of work?

“As a life model, sometimes known as an art model, the artists are drawing the shape and gestures of my entire body.

I got started in life modelling thanks to my friend and also an amazing artist Eng Kai Er. Kai ran a studio space called Make It Share It, affectionately known as MISI within the community which ran from 2017 to 2018. She’s now based in Germany doing her Masters.

One of the regular studio programmes she offered were life drawing sessions. She roped me in to try as a model for one of the sessions and at first, I thought it was a one-off thing. My first one was a pair modelling together with Kai so it felt full of ease as I could also learn from what she was doing.

Kai called me back again for a few more every few months, then from there my name was passed on to people looking for life models. I’ve been very lucky as I started to be put in touch with teachers or other more experienced life models working in various educational institutions and I started to get more regular work.

Now, I’ve also done life modelling on Zoom and costumed or themed life modelling!

Interestingly, I do not just model for fine arts figure drawing. But in fact, model more for animation or digital media design courses. It’s definitely not a job that I ever saw myself doing, but I’m thankful to be able to do it more now.”

How would you say your experience working as a life model is closely connected to what you do as an artist or performer that integrates movement?

“Working as a life model entails holding poses for artists to draw your figure, usually fully or partially naked. You have to hold the poses for extended periods of time, I’ve done anything from 30 seconds to an hour and 15 mins unbroken. Often for a one- to three-hour-long pose, they break it down into 20 to 30 minute blocks (meaning you have to repeat it, so you have to remember to move back into the pose); this break is as much for the artists as the models!

Working as a life model entails knowing your body, and knowing what works for you. The great thing about life modelling is there is no pressure for models to be a certain body look, shape or size, people want to draw different bodies. You don’t have to be super fit or flexible, but you have to know what you can hold and for how long.

You need to be comfortable and exude ease in your posing as if you are in the middle of the action naturally (ie. you are modelling ‘life’) and not as if you’re lying naked on a platform surrounded by artists armed with canvases and focused eyes. The other very important thing to consider is the artists’ perspective, their literal point of view. You have to consider how your body is being seen by everyone in the space, and you want to try to create lines and shapes that have enough variation when viewed from different angles.

Life modelling has made me grow my relationship with my body a lot, which adds to my awareness when I move. I feel like it’s a conversation with stillness as it makes me more aware of my breathing and micro-movements. Life modelling also deepened my understanding of my body with another layer, where I see the body’s potential to be both subject and object, where the self is simultaneously very important and not important at all.

It has also sparked off my interest to look at how we design or arrange our ‘selves’ through the poses, shapes and gestures our bodies inhabit, even how we gaze at ourselves. An ongoing new project I have is about looking specifically at poses of femininity.”

What’s the biggest misconception about movement artists?

“That we have to look and move a certain way, that you have to move to a certain type of ideal.

For instance, the ideal is that you have to be very flexible or possess a certain lean body type or that you have to have started from very young. It is true that some of these things may help you achieve some things faster, I am a prime example of someone who isn’t.

Perhaps some of these things may help you achieve some things faster, but the beautiful thing about movement is that no one else can move the same way as another person. Alongside the endless possibilities and configurations to movement as a medium that movement artists can play with.”

Who are your heroes in the industry?

“I don’t want to talk about heroes. I don’t really have heroes. One of the best pieces of advice a fellow artist friend shared with me is that when you put people on a pedestal, it can be kind of dehumanising sometimes. Also, it’s setting yourself up with false expectations of what you want for this person.

You can admire someone without the pressure of making them your hero. I want to talk about other people doing amazing work in our community. People already featured in this July issue: Chloe, Ruby, Vanda and Chantel.

Here is a list of people who often work with movement and performance that excite me tremendously:

Regionally: Eisa Jocson (Philippines), Melati Suryodarmo (Indonesia), Julia Croft (Australia), Emiko Agatsuma (Japan), Yuzuru Maeda (Japan), January Low (Malaysia)

Singaporeans I have had the privilege to know and some to work with: Eng Kai Er, Pat Toh, Rizman Putra, Noor Effendy Ibrahim, Koh Wan Ching, XUE, art naming, ila, Marla Bendini, worms, Hasyimah Harith, Syimah Sabtu, Zunnur Zhafirah, Sandhya Suresh, Melyn Chow, Ashley Ho, Ang Kia Yee and more.

All these artists approach movement and making with a certain energy that is sensitive and truthfully, distinctly their own voice. Their works that emerge move me and compel me in a deeply felt sense too.”

What excites and inspires you most in your creative work?

“People inspire me a lot. I have mentioned people whose works excite and inspire me already, but I’m talking about people in general. An ex-boss of mine had once told me “Everyone has something to teach you. Pay attention.”

No two people will ever have the same journey or experience or way of perceiving life. Our bodies are containers, and what our bodies each carry (in the physical sense but also everything that cannot be seen) as individuals truly open up lots of possibilities.

Beyond this, there are three things that I am excited about and may also become a stimulus for my work.

Text, particularly poetry. Words often give shape or form to thought, and then those words in turn can invigorate or shape varying movement textures to emerge. There’s something in the space of reception, interpretation and translation that is intimate and expansive.

The tactility of materials, especially materials that also decay and disintegrate. Perhaps this is a natural extension of my curiosity with the body, the ultimate material always dying and regenerating! Our body is actually very sophisticated technology if you think about it. Objects often have a sense of ‘aliveness’ too – this is very dependent on the quality and properties of the material they are made of. A term I came up with to try to understand this is ‘object sensuality’.

Space. The relationship of the body to the environment around. It’s so immediately felt – think of how different you feel in a shopping mall versus how you feel in an open field. Negotiation of tension and balancing. The unpredictability and evolution, how your body moves in relation to that.”

Name one song or musician that will never fail to get you on your feet and moving.

“I’m a bit of an all over the place kind of person with regards to listening to music, it’s very dependent on my mood!

If I have to share one, I’m not over this song from the Climax soundtrack, mainly because of this INSANE opening sequence it soundtracked that I will forever associate this song with.”

How much of your work as a movement artist is influenced by music and fashion?

“This really depends. Sometimes how I begin is by following a certain image and sound inscribed into my brain, so physicalising that by bringing it into the space of creation immediately helps transform the atmosphere to create what you are looking for. Music, or as I’d prefer to think of it as sound in general, and fashion are really powerful in that way to me.

However, precisely because of that, sometimes I intentionally do not include sound or fashion elements when I begin. They can overpower almost immediately and so viscerally influence the direction of the work, they are very irresistible that way!

Sometimes I strip away first, then layer on only what is essential. Other times, you just need the push to create it, go big from the start! Then, later on, removing these can also be very interesting.”

As someone who moves and performs frequently, does this mean you are always one of the best dancers when you and your friends hit the clubs?

“Absolutely not haha. But dancing in the club to me is about the release. Nothing to do with your technique or how ‘good’ you are. Moving in a club, on the dancefloor, to thumping sick beats amidst other sweaty dancing bodies gathered, just enjoying the same groove – that is something else and just hits different. Giving in to the moment with your body. I’m not even a regular clubber but oh boy, do I miss it too!”

What’s one thing about this art form that you think everyone and anyone can relate to?

“Moving is instinctive to our bodies – the very act of breathing, which our bodies are amazingly always doing to keep us alive, and our cells are constantly in motion performing all the operations and systems in our bodies functioning for our well-being. When you stop to think about that, isn’t it pretty amazing? In a way, we are always already moving, and we have always known how to.

Sometimes I feel that movement is medicine to me, but sometimes I feel that movement is also very difficult. We live in a very ableist society that tends to tell us bodies ought to move a certain way to be considered normal. I feel that everyone who has a body can and should do whatever they want to do with it. To me, stillness is a type of movement too. If you don’t want to move, that’s also okay, there are other ways of expression too. 

But if you do want to move, and are afraid to try, I hope you give yourself permission to dance for yourself! Move in small private moments, between things. Even just the shrugging of your shoulders, tapping your feet, flinging your hair back. Enjoy, for yourself!”

Why is it always important to make time to dance and move?

“Everyone has a body, everyone therefore moves and moving the body creates good vibrations!

Honestly, you don’t need a reason to dance. You do it for its own sake and that’s what I love about it. Life is very unpredictable now and personally, I feel dancing or moving can help us take ourselves a bit less seriously. Anyways, being good at everything is overrated. Having fun and messing it up while playing is underrated.”