Land & Water Acknowledgement
This acknowledgment is not a disclaimer—it's a promise to continue listening, learning, and growing in accountability, particularly to those most impacted by systemic harm. I acknowledge the deep influence of Black and Brown traditions—particularly in dance and embodiment—and the labor of sex workers, healers, and visionaries whose bodies and art have been vessels of resistance and liberation.
I carry the practices of my ancestors in my hands and hips. My work is rooted in Appalachian folk tradition, where I was born and raised, shaped by the wisdom of the women and healers before me—including those whose names I do not know, and those whose power was hidden in plain sight.
I honor the sacred convergence of movement, storytelling, nature, and intuitive knowing that has lived in my lineage for generations.
I lean on my Celtic and Appalachian roots that have gifted me a deep energetic knowing, connection with all living things and with my own intuition.
I am fortunate to now live and work in what is colonially known as Bellingham, WA. Where the Lummi Nation and Nooksack Tribe are the original inhabitants of this land and the water around it. I recognize that I am here, along with other non native people, as a result of normalized colonization and genocide. The practices in mediation, connection, relationship building, and engagement with the land, which informs my holistic approach, is directly from the indigenous peoples in this country and around the world. It is important to deconstruct colonization, white supremacy and oppression of all types. One way to do this is by embracing mindfulness, authentic expression and embodiment. I am grateful to learn from my BIPOC neighbors. I continuously try to unlearn biases, take accountability when I cause harm with the goal of fumbling towards a more decolonized way of being.
You can read about the Lummi Nation & Nooksack Tribe joint efforts in protecting water rights in the basin. See how you can support these efforts and learn more:
For anyone who would like to know more about the native land around them, check out this link. Read books by BIPOC folks, follow them on social media, make space for their existence in your life to learn their stories and trace how your story is in relationship with theirs. Learn the names of the places you live and visit to begin to listen to untold stories around you.
Culture Acknowledgement
As a white non-binary, Appalachian dancer and dance instructor, I want to acknowledge that there are a variety of influences from my culture and cultures that are not my own. My movements are my own personal expression, with undulations, isolations, hip-centric movement and acrobatic floorwork having been favorite ways to move my body since childhood. Being Appalachian, my culture was influenced by Scottish, Irish, African and Native traditions merging in the isolated lands of those mountains. Which has been woven throughout how I connect with my ancestors and express myself, experience joy, be in queerness, explore sensuality and story tell.
The folk tradition we call “belly dance”, hip hop, and twerk have especially been central influences to my movements and for my dance vocabulary.
Some of my movements’ history are rooted in Twerk. Twerk comes from a celebratory dance, Mapouka, originating in Côte d’Ivoire (Ivory Coast) West Africa. Twerk evolved with Bounce music in New Orleans. Queer folks made space in this dance form, with Big Freedia as a trailblazer.
As a belly dancer, my study and practice originated with Jamila Salimpour and her daughter Suhaila Salimpor in the Raqs Sharqi style. This folk dance style originated in Egypt and was made popular through Egyptian cinema during a time known as the Golden Era. Jamila paved the way for fusion belly dance through her creation of Bal Anat in the late 1960’s. I have been fortunate to train with Suhaila Salimpour and by those who were certified in her school of dance, specifically Kandice Grossman with Moon Belly Dance Studio. While in Oakland, Suhaila was influenced by Walter “Sundance” Freeman and Boogaloo dance, incorporating isolations in a popping style into her style of belly dance.
I had previously taken up space as an instructor for Twerk and belly dance, but with continued conversation, feedback and reflection, I’ve decided that these are not mine to teach. My intention was to honor and share in these incredible practices to build more relations with the art form across difference, challenge misconceptions and for people to experience embodiment. Even with good intentions, this can perpetuate a centering of white folks in BIPOC spaces. I know that my connection with these cultures are not deep enough to hold any type of authority over it.
I continue to offer my authentic movement, which is deeply influenced by black and brown folks and their cultures, but I am not speaking on behalf on them or their cultures. Rather, I’m speaking from my own place in this world, my own survival of disembodiment at the hands of colonization, poorness, interpersonal violence, neurodivergence, rigid religious indoctrination, survival of patriarchy and experience of marginalized identities as well as my own places of privilege; whiteness, my ability to pass as cishet and able bodied, and my educational journey. All parts dancing through me.
Queerness and the queer history that intersect with Black and Brown folks is also fundamental to my expression. As a queer, non binary person I dance in honor of the queer ancestors, elders, and trailblazers who moved before me—those whose bodies told stories in silence and in defiance, who carved space in underground clubs, backwoods bars, burlesque stages, and the margins of the world. Often neurodivergence is another intersection of queer and transness. Another identity that is also policed- dance has always been my stim. I am dedicated to creating spaces for safe expression of the neurdivergent self as well- without fear of harm or judgment, outside of the ableist lens and understanding of dance, choreography and movement.
I especially honor the queer and trans folks of Appalachia—those whose love, expression, and gender-bending beauty often lived in whispers but whose joy was loud in their movement, music, and magic.
My hips move in tribute to those who dared to reclaim pleasure, power, and personhood in the face of systems that sought to erase them. This dance is both remembrance and resistance. This body—my body—is not just mine, but a vessel of collective reclamation.
Discover more:
When Did Twerking Go Mainstream? A Look at the History of This Now-Iconic Dance Move
Jamila Salimpour Bellydancing History