Executively Devoted | CEO h.s.

1 | River Flows In You

♬ ✥*

Serenity.

There are certain things in our lives that we can't live without. Inanimate objects, people, emotions, or something that just survives within us — and only that. The fascinating fact is that none of them are the same with each individual. We're all different, and we all see things in a unique manner. It's about perspective and perception — and most importantly, passion.

Picasso, Monet, Van Gogh, each of them are world-renowned painters. With every single brush stroke and colour choice, there was a meaning as to why they did it — a meaning to bring a definition to the completed masterpiece. After hundreds of hours, that single painting could be interpreted in thousands of ways by a variety of individuals. One could see it emit with happiness and joy, when the artist was truly despondent as the bristles hit the blank canvas with the colour of their choice.

Photography was no different.

Ansel Adams, Diane Arbus, Steven McCurry, each of them are world-renowned photographers; however, each have different subjects and views. Landscape, portrait, and photojournalistic. The final picture, edited or not, in sepia, black and white, or colour, a person can still see it differently.

Again, it comes down to the same thing: it's all about perspective.

And dance was no different.

Passion. Connected. Free.

Those were the words that I felt every single time I danced; and it didn't matter whether I was in heels, pointe shoes, or barefoot. The moment music entered my soul, it left my body through actions I couldn't verbally explain.

Some movements are poetic and rhythmic, while some are elegant and graceful, and others, fierce and powerful. Contemporary dance was expressive and ultimately beautiful; and through it, you could never predict the next action that the body wants to physically inspire.

Ever since I was a little girl, dance has always been in my heart. For some people the desire for wanting to move their body in a beautiful manner fades over the years; but that wasn't me. Just before I'd turned three, I was gifted a soft pink tutu that I lived in all day. My mother told me that when she had to take it off me so that she could wash it, or so that I could bathe, I cried until it was back in my possession again.

I constantly twirled, lifted my arms up above my head, and jumped up in down in my spot. She quickly figured that I had a passion for wanting to be a ballerina, so she put me in classes. My inspiration saw potential in me and helped with starting by igniting the tiny flame, which flared what eventually turned into my career.

My mom was okay that if my love for dancing disappeared over time it would be fine, even though my classes were expensive. She saw that it was something that made me happy, and to her, that's all she wanted for me.

Some might say that would be a form of just wanting to be spoiled, which she was called out for by many others, but it wasn't. I was definitely not spoiled during my life. There was something that both my brothers and I were given one thing that we could do in our lives growing up, and our parents would support it. For Milo and Charlie, it was hockey; as for me, it was obviously dancing.

Ballet specifically.

Of course, we learned how to dance all different types: jazz, tap, hip hop, modern, pointe, and a bit of ballroom as well. My favourite, though, remained the same since day one — a dancing ballerina.

Once I got older, I decided to experiment for myself, and mixed modern with ballet thinking that I created my own type of dancing; but little did I know, it was already something that was growing in the dance world. Contemporary ballet — and that's exactly what I wanted to be.