Your background is in dance and choreography, and now you're incorporating sculpture into your practice. What drew you to cross disciplines, and what do you find in sculpture that expands or complements your work in movement?
CH: The transition from dance and choreography into a more visual practice has felt very organic. When I choreograph, I'm often drawn to the visual dimensions of movement-whether its a sculptural costume, a landscape, or objects that frame choreography as a living, complex action.
Rather than codifying a movement vocabulary, I focus on creating theatrical, spatial, and atmospheric worlds where performers and audiences engage immediately with the scenography. The exchange isn't purely physical, it's rooted in memory-how we relate to environments that feel familiar, magical, or even unreal. For me, the intersection of abstract movement with tangible objects and spaces humanizes performance. From this dialogue, gestures and sensations emerge naturally, shaping the experience for both performer and spectator.
This exploration of objects began in my stage work and kept expanding, even outside of performance. Since producing full shows can be expensive, l began composing visual installations in my studio, often inspired by nature, everyday objects, and digital media.
Through all of this, the body remains the constant thread. In every composition, the body reflects a state of being-an archive of memory and experience, the greatest temple. After a lifetime in the performing arts, it feels natural that even as I explore new mediums, I always return to the body as my starting point.
You're currently in residence in Paris with a show planned for November. What are you working on at the moment, and what ideas or concepts are exciting you right now?
CH: I'm developing Muses Becoming Artists, a choreographic and sculptural project that reimagines the role of the muse. It begins with female performers sculpting directly onto their own bodies using molding techniques-breaking and reshaping as symbolic acts of reclaiming authorship over their image. This embodied sculpting becomes both a personal ritual and a collective feminist statement, challenging the passive role historically assigned to the muse.
The project merges physical movement with the tactile materiality of clay, creating a dialogue between gesture and form. I envision it unfolding in layers-starting with intimate studio-based explorations and growing into choreographic structures that hold the emotional and physical weight of shaping and reshaping identity.
The residencies at the Académie des Beaux-Arts and the Cité Internationale des
Arts have been essential to this process. My goal is to culminate in a series of performative installations where the boundaries between sculpture and dance dissolve.
How do garments and clothing inform your choreography? What role do they play in your creative process?
CH: Garments are central to my choreographic process. They carry the weight of a concept, shape how a performer is perceived, and define the range of movement.
Sometimes they restrict, sometimes they extend-becoming a continuation of the movement itself. For instance, in my show at BAM Fisher, Ashlyn's designs seemed to extend the dancers' gestures, projecting energy into the space rather than ending in the body.
Often, costumes even spark the conception of a piece. In Merits, the performer begins in a costume covered with golden medals, reflecting how honors can become burdens as their value fades. As the dancer sheds the medals, the performance becomes a duet between garment and body, charting a journey of release and liberation.
Another example is Podium, where a forty-pound costume by Cuban designer Celia Ledon guided the choreography. Together, the costume and movement explored the material consequences of power, showing how the body navigates and resists constraint.
For me, garments are collaborators. They don't just clothe the body-they shape storytelling, expand movement, and become brushstrokes in space, extending the flow of performance.
What's your personal relationship with fashion? Have you always had a distinct sense of style, or has it evolved over time? How would you describe it today?
CH: My relationship with fashion-as it's understood in capitalist systems-was once precarious, but l've always had a distinct sense of style. I grew up in Cuba, a country without advertising, global brands, or internet access. I only discovered international fashion when I began traveling for performances. On those trips, I observed what people wore, explored local fashion, and collected pieces that resonated with me.
Interestingly, the first clothes I curated consciously were rehearsal outfits. Spending long days in the studio, I realized what I wore affected my mood, confidence, and flow. My rehearsal wardrobe became chic and carefully chosen, while my everyday clothes stayed minimal.
Over time, l've been drawn to classic silhouettes- slightly loose garments that allow freedom of movement, paired with structured pieces that hold personality and dialogue with the body. I prefer clothing that makes me feel womanly - not sexy, but elegant, confident, and poised. ASHLYN captures this balance beautifully.
My style has also been shaped by my family. My mother inspires me daily with her grace and inventiveness, always in heels, often tying a scarf in new ways. My grandmother, a seamstress, preserved stunning outfits from 1950s Cuba. Exploring her closet left a lasting imprint-an appreciation for care, craft, and detail that still guides how I approach my own style.
Dance and music are deeply connected. What music moves you most when you're dancing? And when you want to relax, what do you listen to?
CH: For me, dance and music are inseparable. I've been lucky to work with brilliant composers-Andrés Levin, who has created extraordinary scores for my recent work, and Pepe Gavilondo, a pianist and composer of operas and ballets.
What I listen to depends on what I'm creating. In rehearsals, I turn to varied rhythms:
African and Afro-Cuban drums, especially tambores batá, with their richness and complexity. I also love music built on repetition-Philip Glass, Steve Reich-because repetition always reveals something new. But above all, I'm moved by the sound of breath. Breath completes movement; without it, movement feels cut off. I've even composed pieces using only dancers' breath, which I find profoundly human.
When I want to relax, I return to Brazilian music-joyful yet calming-especially Gal Costa, Chico Buarque, and Caetano Veloso. I also listen constantly to Cuban leg-ends: Benny Moré, Celia Cruz, Ibrahim Ferrer, Celina y Reutilio. With José, I often explore his rare Cuban vinyl collection from the '40s-'60s. Hearing those forgotten records brings me closer to my roots and Cuba's cultural splendor.
My longtime favourites are Ray Barretto and Mercedita Valdés. Their music always makes me brighter, lighter, and happier.