We don't just show up and hope for the best.

$40,000.

Every time I look at that number, I have a slight moment of panic.

That’s roughly what it costs to make our 2026 New York performances happen.

And when I say $40,000, I think it’s easy to imagine that I’m talking about the cost of two performances in October.

I’m not.

We don’t just show up at the theater and hope for the best.

This show has been in the making for the last year.

Finding a theater. Deciding on rep. Checking in with dancers. Finding new dancers when someone gets injured. Scheduling rehearsals. And more rehearsals. Renting studio space. Working with composers. Revisiting dances. Changing dances. Putting dances back together.

Long before anyone walks into the theater, we’ve already been working.

And spending.

One rehearsal can cost us nearly $1,000.

Before I even walk through the studio door, the rehearsal space has been paid for.

The moment the dancers walk through that door, they must be paid too.

That part is nonnegotiable.

This past Sunday, we finally had the full company together in rehearsal. We were working to get Out of the void; Into new light back on its feet, and I watched these dancers push through the material with what somehow looked like ease.

That’s where I’m happiest spending the money.

On them.

Because they walk into the room ready to pour their full selves into the work.

And if we’re going to say Artists First | Artist Forward, I believe our budget has to prove it.

Every artist in the room gets paid.

Whether they’re a college student gearing up to perform with us (more on that soon!) or the most seasoned professional in the room, their time is valuable.

The “starving artist” narrative has no place here.

Does the amount of money we need for artist compensation scare me?

Absolutely.

More than $24,000 of our season budget goes toward paying artists.

And to be completely honest, they should be paid more.

But we do what we can. We don’t waste anyone’s time or energy. And I will not build a company that depends on dancers working for free.

Because time matters.

I think about Shadow Dance.

Composer Eric Dietz and I had quite the task ahead of us: creating a new score and navigating revisions to a dance that had already been made.

We could have rushed it.

Instead, we took our time.

I was able to keep bringing Jared and Mary Lyn into the room. We could build, edit, listen, try again and figure out how the movement could support Eric’s new music while also allowing the music to support the dance.

What came out of that process is something I think is absolutely stunning.

But it required time.

And time in a rehearsal room costs money.

This is also bigger than RMD.

Professional dancers in New York are freelancers.

And we are some of the most creative people I know when it comes to figuring out how to make this life work.

Being a professional dancer isn’t just about showing up for someone else in the studio. It’s about figuring out how to show up for yourself outside of it.

Many of us work many, many jobs in order to keep dancing. We work crazy hours.

Me?

I’m a big early-morning coaching type of guy.

Those 4 a.m. wake-ups aren’t just because that’s when the work is.

They’re because I refuse to let that work get in the way of my time in the studio.

I know the dancers around me make their own versions of that choice every day.

So when someone gives RMD $25, $100, $500 or $1,000, they aren’t just helping me put on a show.

They’re helping keep people creative, active and engaged in the arts.

They’re buying us time.

Time to rehearse.

Time to experiment.

Time to get something wrong and try it again.

Time for eight artists to show up and give their full selves to this work.

Our goal is to raise $15,000 toward our 2026 New York Season.

And yes, that number scares me too.

But if we’re going to put artists first, we have to invest in them first.

That’s what your contribution makes possible.

→ SUPPORT THE ARTISTS OF RMD

See you in the studio,

Robert

Everything Old is New Again

There’s a Peter Allen song I’ve always loved: Everything Old Is New Again.

It brings a smile to my face because it feels so true to how I approach reviving work from our rep.

As we go back into rehearsals, I get the chance to look at the work critically again. Just like the dancers, I have grown and changed from work to work. But before I completely tear something apart because “I know better now,” I have to remind myself of the questions I was asking when I first made it.

Every time we return to an old dance, I have to decide what deserves to be protected and what we’re ready to let go.

And that always starts with a question.

“In moments of prolonged isolation, how do we relearn what it means to lean on one another?”

This was the point of entry for Passages (2021).

Last week Sarah, Derek, Jared and I got back into the studio to begin getting the entire work on its feet. When we first made Passages, it was crucial that the people in the room were people I trusted—people I could have candid conversations with about what was going on in the world and how we felt about being in close proximity again.

What emerged was something so interconnected that I’ve had a hard time ever imagining three other dancers doing this work.

This is Passages’ biggest strength and greatest weakness.

But every time we get it back on its feet, I get to dig deeper into my own understanding of its nuances, the relationships between the dancers and, most importantly, what new questions arise.

“How can I expand without overcomplicating?”

Out of the void; Into new light (2018) was less about the relationships between people and more about our relationship to space and the vibrant score by composer Mark Sanderlin.

The work was a direct response to the beginning of my time with Lucinda Childs and my fascination with how her spatial patterns and genius simplicity could be pushed in a maximalist way.

Originally made for five dancers, the question as we headed into our May incubation period became:

How can I expand the cast without overcomplicating the existing patterns? More importantly, can I simplify enough to allow directionality and rhythm to come to the forefront?

When I watch Out of the Void now, I’m surprised by how much clearer it is with only one more body in the studio.

“How do we find community?”

I began dreaming up Dawned ten years before it actually made its way to the stage.

Inspired by the work of photographer Gregory Crewdson, I was curious about what would happen if the subjects of his photographs all lived and interacted in the same world.

Composer Eric Dietz and I took individual photographs and built sections around them. I, with the help of my partner and RMD collaborator Sab, worked to figure out how these sections fit together, how these characters could lift each other up and, ultimately, who would become the beacon of hope.

But the question has continued to change.

2022: How do we find community?

2025: How do we strengthen the narrative?

2026: How much deeper into these characters can we dig? Where are the gaps in the story that the audience is missing?

The dances keep changing because we keep changing.

And maybe that’s the thing I love most about bringing work back. We aren’t trying to recreate exactly what happened before. We’re holding onto what matters and allowing everything we’ve learned since to push the work somewhere new.

Of course, there’s one question that follows me into every rehearsal room:

How do I pay these collaborators?

Over the past few weeks, I’ve introduced you to why RMD exists, the artists who make it what it is and now some of the questions we’re asking as we build our October season.

Now I want to invite you to help us keep asking them.

The full cost of producing our 2026 New York Season is $40,000. We’ve already raised $22,000, and our fundraising campaign is officially underway with a goal of raising another $15,000.

That money keeps these incredible artists in the studio. It gives us the time to return to Passages and discover something new. To pull apart Out of the Void and put it back together. To dig deeper into the characters of Dawned. To ask another question—and have the resources to actually explore the answer.

If you’re not ready to make a gift just yet, keep reading. Follow along on social media. Come see the show. Get to know these artists and this work.

And if you are ready to invest in the artists you’ve been meeting and the work we’re building together, our campaign is officially open.

There are still a lot of questions to answer.

Let’s see where they take us.

See you in the studio,

Robert

Who are THESE people?

 “Who are THESE people?”

This week I’ve been thinking a lot about who RMD is. Where the company (and my work) lives in the danceScape of 2026 and, maybe more importantly, what has brought us to this moment.

For those of you newer to RMD, I began making work under the umbrella of Robert Mark Dance in 2015. Since then, I’ve collaborated with over 20 dance artists and 3 composers. Each of these collaborators has brought something special to my work, the rehearsal studio and the stage.

Looking back, community is at the heart of what we do.

I know we’ve built community when the people in the room are curious about each other’s lives outside of the studio and when they tend to one another with a kind of care that lifts up the entire room.

And, I think, the dancing gets better because the relationships get deeper.

This past weekend, Robert Mark Dance returned to Queens Theatre for the Queensboro Dance Festival Finale. QDF is one of my favorite events to take part in for a few reasons.

First, it’s an incredible way to workshop new dances. Every time we bring a work to the festival, we have the opportunity to work it out over 5–6 performances across different outdoor venues in Queens. This type of public workshopping has helped bring to life some of our most successful works.

But there’s something else.

QDF reminds me that dance doesn’t grow in isolation.

Artists need opportunities to see one another, share work, reconnect, experiment publicly and build relationships. Every time we show up at a new site, we see old friends and make new ones. The dance community in Queens is strong and growing and being able to witness that in real time is powerful and fuel to continue growing the group of dance artists I surround myself with.

Each performance is an opportunity to do the same with Robert Mark Dance.

I’ve been lucky enough to work with some of the most celebrated dance artists in NYC. Each of them brings a level of professionalism and expertise that only heightens the work we do.

Because RMD works as a pickup company, the people in the room sometimes change.

Selfishly, there’s always a part of me trying to figure out how to keep a dancer in the room. But the reality is, RMD doesn’t currently have the funding to support keeping dancers full time. Their careers take them in different directions and sometimes that means learning to part ways with some of my favorite people so they can continue building dance lives that feel full to them.

And if I’m lucky, they make their way back to RMD.

If I’m really lucky (which I usually am!), I get to watch them take the world by storm along the way.

But I’ve also realized there’s something really powerful here:

These artists don’t feel like they HAVE to be in the room, they make the choice to WANT to be here.

And again and again, these artists choose RMD. Being in a room with people who WANT to be there, is a game changer.

These October performances are no different. The dancers of Robert Mark Dance are an eclectic group of performers beloved throughout the New York dance community. They each bring a lifetime of experiences that make their individuality shine through while helping us create a shared value system in rehearsal and performance.

When I think about why this particular group works, I keep coming back to these eight things:

Derek Crescenti _ lights a fire.

Mary Lyn Graves _ grounds us.

Sarah Hillmon _ gives us clarity.

Sarah Housepian _ brings electricity.

Erin Love _ draws us in.

Jared McAboy _ keeps us groovy.

Allegra Persico _ lives in the details.

Sabatino A. Verlezza _ lifts us up.

So, who are THESE people? They’re the people who make RMD what it is.

When I look around the studio at these eight people, I feel full. I’m a better person when we’re working together. And I think the work is better because of who we are when we’re together.

Over the next few weeks, I’m looking forward to introducing you to these fabulous humans in more detail—not just as dancers, but as the people, artists and collaborators who make this work possible.

Make sure you’re following along on Instagram and Facebook. There’s a lot more to come.

See you in the studio,

Robert

How We Got Here

Things I’m thinking about this week:

• Making Dances is hard

• Producing a show is harder

Thinking about what to share with you, the audience, is probably the hardest.  So, we start here in my notebook.

My goal is to let you in. Let you know what I’m thinking. Right now, I’m thinking about you. I’m thinking about those of you that are asking:

“What the hell is this about?”

“What is the story?”

“Who are THESE people?”

All great questions. And honestly? They're questions I've been wrestling with for years. I've reached a point where I'm less interested in defending contemporary dance and more interested in inviting people into it. I think there's a better way.

So today, we talk about stories.

Let’s set the scene:

It’s 2014. A much younger Robert receives a call: its an acceptance.  A fellowship program for emerging choreographers.  The budget:

$1,000

to rehearse, costume and produce a dance up to 20 minutes.

He will do anything to make that happen, including calling up 2 of his closest friends, asking them to rehearse at 8am (half off space: happy hour for dance makers) for almost no money (emphasis on ALMOST).  Costumes, he’ll barter performing in a Nutcracker (I promise, he should not be dancing in a Nutcracker). And long before the dancers even get on stage:

the $1,000 is gone.

What happens next?

It’s a story that young choreographers know all too well. Forced to spend their own money on a show someone else will profit off of all for people to say: “I don’t get it.”

Dagger to the heart.

This is a tale as old as time and, often, the point where too many young creatives stop.

Those first few years were filled with awards, grants and commissions that focused on product without supporting the process.  I am very lucky to have even gotten that support as they helped to plant the seed for the work I do now. Navigating those early years is where I began designing the work I do with RMD and laid the foundation for the laughs, friendships and meaningful work we do in the studio.

Over 10 years later, some of those friends are still in the room.  We’ve been laughing a lot lately about how wild those first few years were.  Sarah recently told a story about how there was one Monday morning she got off a redeye and came right to rehearsal at 8am- the commitment to the craft is unmatched. Every time, another story pops up I’m reminded of why Robert Mark Dance exists:

to cultivate creative spaces where artists thrive, bold contemporary dance is created, 
and audiences discover meaningful shared experiences.

This is out ARTIST FIRST | ARTIST FORWARD mission, our guiding light every time we walk in the studio.

Over the next few week, I'd love to bring you a little closer to the work. I'll share stories from the rehearsal room, conversations with the artists, creative questions that keep me up at night and an honest look at what it takes to build a contemporary dance season from the ground up.

Whether you've been following RMD for years or this is your first introduction, thank you for being here. Your curiosity, encouragement and support make this work possible, and I'm excited to let you in on the journey.

If you'd like to take the next step, you can follow along on Instagram and Facebook or explore our campaign through Fractured Atlas.

See you next week,

Robert