I am not a dance critic.

I work in gymnastics. I have spent my life watching bodies move, searching for precision, expression and connection through movement. Perhaps that’s why, whenever I have the chance, I go and watch dance.

Recently, I saw Engine by Sydney Dance Company at the Sydney Opera House. Three different choreographers, three different worlds, all brought to life by extraordinary dancers. It wasn’t simply a performance; it was a reminder of what the human body is capable of when technique and emotion become one. 

The music, the costumes, the choreography—everything felt intentional. Every small gesture had meaning. Every transition carried emotion. Nothing seemed accidental.

But it was the second piece that stayed with me.

Powerful. Strong. Aggressive.

The music pushed forward relentlessly, while the dancers responded with movements that felt almost primal. The choreography demanded complete trust in the body, yet every movement remained incredibly precise. The colours of the costumes intensified the atmosphere, making the whole stage feel alive with energy. It was impossible to look away.

As someone who spends hours analysing movement in gymnastics, I couldn’t stop admiring the dancers’ technique. Their control, timing, strength and ability to communicate without speaking reminded me that movement is its own language.

And perhaps that’s why I wanted to write about this.

Not because everyone should become a dance expert.

Not because we need to understand every choreographic choice.

But because we need to keep watching people move.

We live in a world where so much of our attention is captured by screens, yet one of the most extraordinary things we can witness is another human body expressing joy, anger, vulnerability or hope without saying a single word.

Dance reminds us that our bodies are not only machines to carry us from one place to another.

They are instruments of communication.

They tell stories.

They hold memories.

They create connection.

Whether it is contemporary dance, ballet, Aboriginal dance, social dancing or gymnastics, movement is one of the oldest forms of art we have. Long before we wrote books or built theatres, we moved together.

Maybe that’s why watching dance feels so deeply human.

It reminds us of something we already know.

We were born to move.

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Why this matters

At Mucchi Tales, Create isn’t only about celebrating artists. It’s about celebrating the many ways humans express themselves. Dance asks us to slow down, observe and feel rather than simply consume. In a world that often values productivity over presence, watching people move with intention reminds us that creativity isn’t a luxury—it is part of what makes us human.