Lewis Walker is no stranger to pressure. A former World Champion gymnast turned dance artist, their new work Bornsick explodes onto a full-sized sprung gymnastics floor, merging athletic virtuosity with queer, non-binary expression. Premiering in East London’s The Round Chapel on 21 & 22 May , the performance is a raw, defiant reclamation of space, movement, and identity.
Bornsick blends gymnastics with dance to explore queer identity—what was the first image or sensation that sparked this piece?
I had been getting quite obsessed with the conspiracy theory that shapeshifting reptilian aliens were controlling the Earth. Bear with me, I have always been very fascinated and scared of reptiles, and felt a natural embodiment of them in my movement language as an improviser. I don’t believe that I am a reptilian alien, but it highlighted my experience as a queer person and the constant shapeshifting of character and expression depending on time and environment. Bornsick is basically the experience of being a queer child, born into a society where your existence is othered and can be condemned or confused.
The title Bornsick is powerful. What does it mean to you, and how does it shape the work’s emotional landscape?
I was choreographing in Turin last December for the National Team in acrobatic gymnastics, I was making a competition routine to ‘Take Me To Church’ by Hozier, I hadn’t watched the promo video to the song prior to the trip, and I was just sitting in my apartment, watching on repeat, crying, which is extremely rare for me. The lyrics “we were born sick, You heard them say it” were stuck in my head. Only a couple weeks later, on a 10 day silent retreat, it clicked and came together.
You’re premiering the piece on a full-sized gymnastics sprung floor—how does this unique stage affect the choreography and audience experience?
The floor is made up of planks of wood, springs and a thick spongy carpet top. This creates the capacity to complete gymnastics elements, like somersaults, tumbles and falls which I cannot do on a conventional dance floor. My home is at this stage, competing globally in my childhood and early 20’s. I think the bravest moments in my life have been on this type of stage, packed out stadiums, rows of judges, and having to perform routines which I know if done perfect, could guarantee World Champion status. The margins for errors are so fine, so you can imagine waiting to mount the floor is a complex mindset of delusional confidence, excitement, fear and pressure. The history of years and years of mounting the mat, showing up, falling, winning, crying, injuring, falling over, getting up and most importantly performing, lives in me, and taking this to theatre or art contexts is a perfect way to showcase the physical extremes of competitive landscapes.
Your background as a World Champion gymnast is extraordinary. How has your transition into movement art and dance expanded your creative voice?
Transitioning into dance allowed me to reconnect with movement where I wasn’t being scored or corrected, and I could learn to enjoy moving for pleasure with no outcome. This separation from such a controlled and focused lifestyle enabled me to discover queer communities and friendships, where people literally liberated my mind and shifted how I saw the world.
From Burberry to Yorgos Lanthimos, you’ve worked across fashion, film, and performance. What draws collaborators to your movement language?
I don’t know what draws people to my movement language, I’m not trying to create anything that specific, just being as honest with what my body and mind wants and can express in each moment. I do fall into habits of trying to create work which is palatable and likeable for specific audiences or people, but I just have to remind myself that I am me, and all I can do is create with the tools in my box.
Shapeshifting and performativity are central to Bornsick. How does your identity as a queer non-binary artist inform how you embody those themes?
I think identifying as non-binary or beginning to use they/them pronouns, was just giving myself internal permission to stop playing with normative performativity, in many areas, accepting being male and a homosexual, accepting my desires to dress and present inspired by the women in my life and to also reimagine monogamous heteronormative relationships. I have always struggled and found shame with the parts of me that are drawn to stereotypically ‘feminine things’, and this bleeds into aesthetics, pop culture, voice, movement and role playing. I started to use my art practice as a vehicle to break my own boundaries. For example I have always been an Arianna Grande Stan, yet my own internal shame surrounding being gay, meant I hid this. I had ‘no tears left to cry’ remixed by an amazing producer, shout out to BOBBIE, and performed a solo with a ponytail head harness and mini silk dress. You don’t have to be non-binary or change your pronouns to invite flexibility or acceptance in self, it just was right for me.
Studio Wayne McGregor’s residency champions experimental work—how has that space helped you push this project further?
I have only been an artist in residence for two months, but the opportunity and the recognition as a choreographer and movement practitioner has given me belief that I am ready for Bornsick and its scale. They develop your skill of asking for what you need. It’s an amazing skill to know that help is out there, but no one can help you unless you start asking.
East London, especially around places like The Round Chapel, has long been a site of artistic defiance. What does it mean to debut Bornsick there?
Being able to debut in east London, where the majority of my queer community and friends live is the privilege. The show is a homage to all of them.
