We’re excited to introduce you to the always interesting and insightful Dominic Moore-dunson. We hope you’ll enjoy our conversation with Dominic below.
Dominic, thanks for taking the time to share your stories with us today Can you open up about a risk you’ve taken – what it was like taking that risk, why you took the risk and how it turned out?
Starting The Remember Balloons was one of the most profound and challenging decisions I’ve ever made, both as an artist and as a provider for my family. The idea for the project emerged from a deeply personal place, and though it was rooted in love and a desire to spark meaningful conversations, I knew pursuing it would come with significant risks—financially, emotionally, and artistically.
The seed was planted when I first stumbled upon the children’s book The Remember Balloons at the library. It was in a section labeled “Children’s Books About Difficult Topics.” That label alone intrigued me. I brought it home and read it with my kids, initiating a conversation about Alzheimer’s disease, a topic that’s both deeply personal and painfully familiar to my family. My wife’s grandparents had struggled with Alzheimer’s, and witnessing the slow erosion of their memories had been heartbreaking for us all. But it also taught me the power of storytelling in preserving the essence of a person’s life and legacy.
As a choreographer, I’ve always been drawn to stories that touch on the human experience—our struggles, our joys, and the threads that connect us across generations. The Remember Balloons resonated with me on a level I hadn’t anticipated. It wasn’t just a children’s book; it was a mirror reflecting the importance of memory, family, and storytelling. It became clear to me that I needed to transform this story into something more: a dance performance, a community project, and an opportunity to bring families together.
But the decision to move forward with The Remember Balloons wasn’t simple. As much as I believed in the project, the financial risks were daunting. Funding for the arts is always precarious, and launching a project of this scale—one that included a podcast, an interactive event, and a full-fledged performance—felt like stepping into the unknown. My family’s financial stability was on the line, and the weight of that responsibility often kept me up at night.
I’ve spent much of my career navigating the tension between my artistic ambitions and the realities of supporting my family. As a father and husband, my first priority has always been to provide a stable and secure life for my loved ones. But as an artist, there’s this undeniable pull to take risks, to push boundaries, and to create work that has the potential to make a lasting impact. Balancing those two roles is never easy, and The Remember Balloons pushed that balance to its limits.
There were moments when I questioned if I was being reckless. I wondered if it was fair to my wife and kids to pour so much time, energy, and money into a project that might not succeed. The costs of producing the show—hiring dancers and musicians, designing projections, and organizing community events—quickly added up. And with two young children, including one starting preschool, every dollar counted. My Achilles injury added another layer of difficulty, forcing me to slow down physically and reevaluate how I could continue as a performer while leading this project.
Yet, despite the fear and uncertainty, I couldn’t shake the feeling that this was the right thing to do. The stories of families grappling with Alzheimer’s and the importance of intergenerational storytelling felt too vital to ignore. I wanted to create something that would help people—something that would bring families together, encourage difficult but necessary conversations, and celebrate the memories that make us who we are.
The turning point came when I started sharing the idea with others. The response was overwhelmingly positive. People—strangers, colleagues, friends—shared their own stories of loved ones affected by Alzheimer’s. One of the most powerful moments came during an interview in Iowa, where a videographer opened up to me about his mother’s struggle with dementia. He told me how the project gave him hope and a sense of connection. That conversation reminded me why I started this journey in the first place: to touch lives and create spaces for healing and understanding.
The Remember Balloons has become more than just a performance or a project; it’s a mission. It’s about preserving memories, strengthening family bonds, and building a community that values storytelling. Yes, it’s been a financial risk, and yes, there have been sacrifices. But seeing the impact it’s already had on audiences, families, and even myself has made it worth every sleepless night and every tough decision.
This journey has taught me that being an artist isn’t just about creating; it’s about believing. Believing in the power of stories, in the resilience of communities, and in the idea that art can change lives. It’s also about trusting that the risks we take today will pave the way for something greater tomorrow—not just for ourselves, but for everyone our work touches.
As I look ahead, I’m filled with a mix of hope and determination. I know the road isn’t easy, but I also know that The Remember Balloons is a project worth fighting for. It’s a risk, yes, but it’s also a gift—one I hope will continue to inspire and connect people for years to come
As always, we appreciate you sharing your insights and we’ve got a few more questions for you, but before we get to all of that can you take a minute to introduce yourself and give our readers some of your back background and context?
For those who may not know me, my name is Dominic Moore-Dunson. I am a choreographer, performer, and arts producer deeply passionate about creating works that intersect storytelling, dance, and community engagement. My journey into the world of dance and choreography has been both unconventional and profoundly rewarding. I first discovered my love for dance at 2 yrs old, when I was sent to dance class with my sister. Over the years, I honed my craft through rigorous training and countless performances, but it wasn’t until I began exploring how dance could amplify voices and tell stories that I found my true artistic purpose.
In my work, I focus on creating experiences that bridge gaps between generations, communities, and cultures. My projects often tackle complex and deeply human themes, such as the impact of Alzheimer’s on families (The Remember Balloons) or the fraught relationship between Black communities and law enforcement (inCOPnegro). These themes are deeply personal, rooted in my own experiences and observations, and they inform every aspect of my creative process. I aim to provide audiences with more than just a performance; I want them to walk away with a sense of connection, understanding, and hope.
In addition to my choreographic work, I’ve developed a unique approach to integrating multimedia elements into live performances, blending dance with projection, spoken word, and music to create immersive storytelling experiences. I’ve also produced podcasts, interactive events, and educational programming that complement my performances, offering audiences multiple entry points to engage with the themes and stories I present. This multi-layered approach allows me to reach a wide range of people, from children and families to community leaders and educators.
What sets my work apart is its emphasis on storytelling as a tool for community building. I’m not just interested in creating beautiful dance pieces; I want to create art that matters—art that sparks conversations, fosters empathy, and inspires action. My projects often involve collaborations with musicians, visual artists, and community members, ensuring that the work is rich, diverse, and grounded in lived experiences. I also place a strong emphasis on accessibility, designing performances and events that are inclusive and welcoming to people of all ages and backgrounds.
One of the things I am most proud of is the impact my work has had on individuals and communities. Hearing someone say that a performance helped them have a difficult conversation with a loved one or provided a space for healing is incredibly humbling and affirming. For example, during the development of The Remember Balloons, I met countless individuals who shared their personal stories of navigating Alzheimer’s in their families. Knowing that my work creates a platform for these stories to be shared and honored is deeply fulfilling.
To potential clients, followers, and fans, I want you to know that my work is driven by a deep commitment to authenticity, collaboration, and purpose. Whether I’m working on a stage production, a podcast, or an interactive event, my goal is to create experiences that resonate on a human level. I believe in the power of art to transform lives, and I strive to make my work as meaningful and impactful as possible.
Ultimately, my brand and my work are about connection. They’re about telling stories that matter, celebrating the beauty and resilience of the human spirit, and using art as a catalyst for change. I’m incredibly grateful for the opportunity to do this work, and I look forward to continuing to share it with audiences around the world.
How can we best help foster a strong, supportive environment for artists and creatives?
When I think about what society can do to truly support artists and foster a thriving creative ecosystem, I reflect on my own journey and the challenges I’ve faced as an artist and storyteller. The truth is, being an artist isn’t just about creating—it’s about constantly navigating a world that doesn’t always value the arts as essential. It’s about finding ways to sustain your passion while balancing the practical realities of life.
Artists need stability. We thrive when we have consistent funding, not just for projects, but for the time it takes to develop them. I’ve been fortunate to create works like The Remember Balloons and inCOPnegro, but each of these projects required immense personal and financial risk. The grants and opportunities I’ve received were invaluable, but they often came with limitations—short-term support for long-term visions. If society wants to see artists thrive, it needs to invest in the process, not just the product. This means providing more multi-year funding, fellowships, and residencies that allow us to take risks, experiment, and truly grow our craft.
Spaces matter too. Creative work doesn’t happen in isolation. It’s nurtured in community, in rehearsal rooms, on stages, and in spaces where ideas can flourish. Affordable and accessible spaces for artists to work and share their creations are critical. Some of my most rewarding moments have come from collaborating with musicians, dancers, and storytellers in environments where we felt supported and free to create. Society should prioritize building and maintaining these spaces, where artists and communities can intersect.
Education is another cornerstone. I think about the joy I’ve experienced working with children, teaching them not just dance but the power of storytelling. Arts education has the potential to change lives, to build empathy, confidence, and creativity in ways that nothing else can. Investing in arts education means investing in the next generation of creatives and audiences. Imagine the impact if every child had access to programs that encouraged them to tell their own stories.
But it’s not just about supporting our work; it’s about supporting us as people. Artists are human, and many of us have families to care for, bills to pay, and lives outside of our craft. For me, balancing my roles as a husband, father, and artist has been one of the hardest parts of this journey. I’ve faced moments where I wondered if I was doing the right thing for my family by pursuing my passion. Society can make this easier by ensuring that artists have access to affordable health care, child care, and other resources that help us live full lives without sacrificing our dreams.
One of the most transformative things society can do is recognize that art is more than entertainment—it’s a tool for connection and healing. Through my work, I’ve seen how storytelling can bridge divides and spark conversations that might not happen otherwise. The Remember Balloons has opened the door for families to talk about Alzheimer’s, a topic many would otherwise avoid. Art creates those spaces, and society should champion projects that address the tough, messy, beautiful parts of being human.
Finally, artists need to be heard—not just on stage or in galleries, but in the rooms where decisions are made. Our perspectives on creativity, empathy, and connection are valuable in shaping policies and programs that serve communities. If society wants to support artists, it must include us in conversations about education, urban development, and community building. We’re not just performers or creators; we’re problem-solvers and visionaries.
Ultimately, supporting artists means valuing the stories we tell and the lives we touch. It means acknowledging that the arts are essential to a thriving, compassionate society. It’s about creating a world where artists aren’t just surviving, but thriving—where we can take risks, explore our passions, and make a lasting impact. That’s the kind of ecosystem I dream of, and I believe it’s possible if we all come together to make it a reality.
Have you ever had to pivot?
In my life, pivoting hasn’t been a choice—it’s been a necessity. One of the most significant pivots I’ve made was transitioning from being a dancer in a company to running my own business, and that shift was driven by the moment I became a father. It wasn’t just about navigating a career change; it was about reshaping my identity as an artist, a professional, and a parent all at the same time.
When I danced for a company, my life revolved around the studio, rehearsals, and performances. The structure was comforting—I knew what was expected of me, and I could pour all my energy into honing my craft. But when my first child was born, everything changed. Suddenly, the predictability of company life felt restrictive, and the demands of touring and long hours in the studio didn’t align with my responsibilities as a father. I realized I needed a new way to approach my career, one that allowed me to be present for my family while still pursuing my passion for dance.
Starting my own business was a leap into the unknown. I had no formal training in running a company, managing budgets, or marketing my work. The learning curve was steep, and it often felt overwhelming to juggle the logistics of business ownership with the emotional and physical demands of parenting. My time was no longer my own; every decision had to account for the needs of my family. I found myself questioning whether I could succeed in this new role—whether I could provide stability for my children while still creating meaningful work as an artist.
Fatherhood, however, became my greatest teacher. It reshaped how I think about art, about purpose, and about connection. Becoming a father gave me a new lens through which to view my work. I started asking deeper questions about the stories I was telling and who I was telling them for. My children became a reminder of the importance of legacy—of creating art that not only resonates in the moment but has the power to impact future generations. This shift in perspective influenced projects like The Remember Balloons, which explores themes of memory, loss, and intergenerational storytelling. It’s a work I couldn’t have created without the insight and empathy that fatherhood has given me.
The transition wasn’t without its challenges. There were moments of doubt, especially in the early days when I was figuring out how to balance the unpredictability of entrepreneurship with the constant needs of a growing family. I often felt like I was building the plane while flying it, taking on new roles—producer, grant writer, educator—while still trying to maintain my identity as a choreographer and performer. But those struggles taught me resilience and resourcefulness. They forced me to get clear about my priorities and to make intentional choices about the projects I pursued.
Fatherhood has also influenced the type of work I take on. I now gravitate toward projects that align with my values and that allow me to engage with audiences in meaningful ways. I want my children to see that their father’s work isn’t just about making art—it’s about using creativity to build connections, spark conversations, and make the world a little more compassionate. Whether it’s creating a performance that encourages families to talk about Alzheimer’s or teaching young children the power of storytelling, my work is now deeply rooted in the idea of building community and leaving a positive impact.
Looking back, the pivot from being a dancer in a company to running my own business was one of the hardest transitions I’ve ever made, but it was also one of the most rewarding. It forced me to grow in ways I never imagined and gave me the opportunity to shape a career that reflects who I am as both an artist and a father. That journey, while challenging, has taught me that every challenge is an opportunity to redefine what’s possible—and that the most meaningful work comes from the heart
Contact Info:
- Website: https://www.dommooredun.com
- Instagram: @dmooredun
- Facebook: Dominic Moore-Dunson
- Youtube: Dominic Moore-Dunson
Image Credits
Shayne Wynn Photography