Just read that *Guardian* review of Resolution Festival, and wow, it’s like they bottled the entire chaotic, beautiful, exhausting essence of the contemporary dance scene. Admin hell? Epic club nights? **Flamenco voguing**? That’s not just a festival lineup; that’s a metaphor for the artist's life in 2026.
Let’s talk about that "admin hell" opener. It’s so real it hurts. Before any magic happens, before a single body moves on stage, there’s the labyrinth of applications, funding spreadsheets, visa paperwork for international collaborators, and tech riders that read like ancient scrolls. The review nails something crucial: our community’s brilliance often exists *in spite of* these systems, not because of them. We’re all part-time accountants, full-time dreamers. The fact that art emerges from this bureaucratic quagmire is the first, uncredited miracle of any festival.
Then, the pivot to the "epic club night." This is where the soul of the thing lives. It’s the raw, unfiltered pulse. It’s not about watching dance from a distance; it’s about being *in* it. The sweat, the bass you feel in your teeth, the collective gasp when a performer breaks into a sequence so fluid it defies physics. This is dance as a shared, visceral experience. It’s democratic. It’s healing. It’s why we do this. In a world of digital isolation, these club-night moments are cathedrals of human connection.
But the kicker, the glorious, mind-bending kicker, is **flamenco voguing**.
Let that sink in. The fierce, grounded, earth-bound passion of flamenco—all sharp angles, stomped defiance, and raw emotion—crashing into the skyward, sculptural, attitude-dripping lexicon of vogue. It’s more than a fusion. It’s a conversation. It’s a debate held in the language of wrists, heels, and silhouettes against light.
To me, this is the festival’s thesis statement. It screams that tradition is not a museum piece. It’s a living, breathing thing you can take into the underground ballroom. It says that queer culture and folkloric forms can talk, can argue, can elevate each other. It’s the sound of genres breaking. In 2026, the most exciting work isn’t happening in pure, isolated forms. It’s happening in the hyphen. In the clash. In the beautiful, messy, innovative space *between*.
So, Resolution Festival, as painted by that review, feels like a perfect snapshot of our moment. It’s the grind, the glory, and the groundbreaking fusion, all on the same bill. It’s a reminder that the future of dance isn't about choosing between the archive and the avant-garde. It’s about stomping your flamenco heel, striking a vogue pose, and owning the entire stage in between.
The admin is hell. But my god, the dance floor is heaven.
