Edgar Allan Poe | Ballet that Lingers

Ballet has long positioned women as objects of beauty and sacrifice—but rarely as subjects. That tension sits at the center of my work.

Poe’s women—Virginia, Eliza, Ligeia—are often romanticized, sainted, or silenced. In this ballet, they’re not backstory. They are the spine. The ones who grieve, who warn, who carry memory. They don’t save Poe. But they see him.

The same goes for the ensemble: servants, laborers, the unnamed. They are not passive. They press in. They guide. They confront. They mourn. Their presence reframes the narrative—not by force, but by inevitability. You can’t unsee them.

Centering those voices isn’t an act of charity. It’s an act of correction. It’s what makes the work true.

We don’t need more choreography that entertains and evaporates. There’s enough of that. I’m interested in dance that stays with you—on your commute, in conversation, in your body.

The Curious Life of Edgar Allan Poe ends with surrender, not resolution. It’s not redemptive in the easy sense. But it’s honest. Poe collapses, not because he’s failed, but because the weight of grief and grace finally meets him. He’s not alone, even in death.

That image isn’t a tidy bow—it’s a mirror. It asks the audience to reflect, not just consume.

If the work makes someone feel seen, unsettled, or curious in a new way—then it’s doing its job. That’s the kind of ballet I’m committed to. Not trendy. Not decorative. Just true. The kind that lingers.