Alright – so today we’ve got the honor of introducing you to Elle Hong. We think you’ll enjoy our conversation, we’ve shared it below.

Alright, Elle thanks for taking the time to share your stories and insights with us today. Are you happier as a creative? Do you sometimes think about what it would be like to just have a regular job? Can you talk to us about how you think through these emotions?

I’m wondering about the word “happy.” I think it’s incredibly loaded and I don’t know if I believe in happiness, per se. What I mean is, I don’t believe in one singular definition of happiness that we all feel equally. What qualifies our happiness? How are we measuring it?

I also think happiness is so tied to capital or access. My (not so) hot take is that money actually does buy “happiness,” or some common notion of it. Having capital or wealth affords you the privilege of stability, and sometimes indulgence, which can contribute towards a person’s performance of happiness. But again, being a poor artist—and often facing instability precisely because of lack of access or capital—choosing to continue making performance work is a bold choice considering it rarely leads to profit. There must be some other reason for my continuing to do it even though the world at large has made clear how little they value art and its makers.

So, maybe I’m not happy…but I know that a lot of other people are also not happy. And maybe as opposed to using the word “unhappy,” I will say that I’m deeply disappointed in the world’s treatment of art and its makers. And simultaneously, I am deeply hopeful in art’s ability to address our collective disappointment in the state-of-things.

Of course I think about having a “regular” job…but then I come back to myself and recognize that I would never want to be a regular person with a regular job choosing to live a very regular, predictable, artless life. I will always opt for the path of least straightness.

Elle, love having you share your insights with us. Before we ask you more questions, maybe you can take a moment to introduce yourself to our readers who might have missed our earlier conversations?

I am a choreographer and dancer by trade, but I additionally offer services in dramaturgy, arts administration, writing, education, and sound composition/engineering. I think that’s very emblematic of growing through the world of dance. There isn’t quite a solid place in society for dancers, so we are tasked with learning many different skills in order to be mutably useful. Ask any dancer what they do in addition to dance and the responses you get might deeply surprise or confuse you.

I got into my craft by basically being obsessed with dance. I didn’t initially go to school to become a dancer; I truly believed that I was going into publishing or dropping out of school to pursue some illusory career as an ensemble member on Broadway. But then, I hated literary criticism and thespian drama and dipped from those programs. I took ballet class for credit in my first semester at Wesleyan University and was encouraged by my teacher, Patricia Beaman, to both attend dance concerts on campus, and to audition for BA student works later that fall. Once I realized that a dance didn’t need to tell a linear story, or a story at all, I was hooked. I was hooked on the idea that one could come to embody something abstract…it’s like learning to transcend the representational limits of your own body. Learning that felt like I had unlocked this huge secret to staying alive.

I feel very lucky regarding the dance folks I’ve had the honor of working with. In terms of projects I feel proud of, some that come to mind include dancing in a wooden box for 10 hours a day for Michelle Ellsworth (“Post-Verbal Social Network”), choreographing and acting in Laura Conway’s balletic experimental-short (“Venus in Ferns”), and most recently, creating and performing an all-queer immersive dance-theatre work with Control Group Productions (“Strange Natures”). I think each project has pushed me in terms of my capacities as a performer and creator, and each project had this element of, “Can I really do this?” When that scared feeling comes up in me, it’s thrilling because it helps me recognize that I’m trying something I’ve never tried before. It feels very rare to learn or try something new, but it feels important.

In addition to these collaborative works, I also choreograph and present my own creative works. My most recent solo (“lightness has a call that’s hard to hear.”), created in-residence at Art Gym Denver (2021-22), and reworked throughout 2022-23, is still available for presenting. This solo uses psychology, queer ballroom vernacular, villain origin stories, and live choral arrangement to ruminate on both the ecstasies and limitations of having/being a body. I am additionally working on my writing and setting forth intentions for getting back into choreographing for an ensemble. We shall see…:)

Have any books or other resources had a big impact on you?

I can’t speak to the management/entrepreneurial aspect of this question, but there are definitely books, videos, and essays that have deeply shaped my philosophies as a maker. An article that I think every dancer should read is “The Politics of Method” by Stephanie Skura (Link: https://www.stephanieskura.com/docs/politics%20of%20method%202.pdf). It discusses the political implications of our body-based art form, which brings up questions regarding what a body comes to represent, and how these representations inform the choices we make as choreographers, dancers, and viewers.

Other readings that serve as this sort of theoretical foundation for my works include “The Undercommons: Fugitive Planning & Black Study” by Fred Moten & Stefano Harney, “Disidentifications: Queers of Color and the Performance of Politics” by the late José Esteban Muñoz, and “Hold It Against Me: Difficulty and Emotion in Contemporary Art” by Jennifer Doyle. I’m not gonna spoil anything about these books, but these works profoundly expanded my sense of possibility for thinking and making. They sort of were the permission slip I needed to continue making whatever I wanted to make.

In terms of videos that have shaped my maker-philosophies, basically watch any work by Ryan Trecartin. I don’t think there’s any real way to prep you for watching his work…I think you’d be better off just looking up his works (which are largely free on YouTube and Vimeo), sitting back, and continuously asking yourself…”What the hell did I just watch?” It might be the best thing you’ve ever seen, or the worst. Either way, you will understand me on a whole new level.

What do you find most rewarding about being a creative?

I feel most rewarded when someone tells me “thank you.” I don’t know how to explain it but maybe it’s because being an artist is such a thankless profession. Our model of employment often leaves us caught in these cycles of working with folks who still think it’s okay to exploit your time and labor, or folks who feel like they are entitled to your vulnerability. You’re often doing so many different things and it all feels like just scraping by. And then you realize everyone else in your field is living the exact same way to the point that it’s like, “How are we still doing this?”, or, “Why are we still doing this?” It is so easy to lose your “how” or “why” for making dance once we’re smacked with the reality of art-making in late capitalism.

So when someone says “thank you,” I think it can mean so many things. “I see the work you put into this.” “Your work made me feel seen.” Even folks who don’t vibe with your work who express their gratitude for what you produce…I don’t necessarily make my work to receive thanks, but it definitely helps me continue trudging forward.

Contact Info:

• Website: https://ellehong.com
• Instagram: https://instagram.com/umamigoddess
• Other: SoundCloud: https://soundcloud.com/umamigoddess Mixcloud: https://mixcloud.com/umamigoddess

Image Credits
Max Bernstein, Gretchen LaBorwit, Madison Palffy, Tim Richards, Katie Weisberger, Elliot Whitehead