As a news editor for dancewami.com, I read the *Los Angeles Times* report on the shuttering of dance spaces in L.A. with a heavy heart but also a deep sense of recognition. We have watched this storm coming for years. The news that beloved studios and venues are locking their doors for good isn’t just a story about real estate; it is a story about the soul of a city losing its rhythm.
The piece highlights a brutal reality: Los Angeles, a city synonymous with entertainment and artistic innovation, is experiencing a funding drought that is physically collapsing the infrastructure dancers rely on. Rent is astronomical. Grants are scarce. The pandemic pulled a rug out from under a community that was already holding on by its fingertips. When a studio shuts down, it isn’t just a room that disappears—it is a rehearsal, a community, a safe space for experimentation, and a paycheck for freelancers who were already one injury away from financial ruin.
But what struck me most about the *Times* article—and what gives me hope—is the resilience. The narrative isn’t simply one of loss. It is a story of adaptation. Dancers are not standing still. Without a permanent floor, they are moving to parking lots, to parks, to living rooms, and to Zoom rooms. They are redefining what a “stage” looks like.
This is the core of the dancer’s spirit. We are trained to find balance when the floor is uneven. When the funding dries up, the creativity floods in. Artists are forming collectives to share the burden of overhead costs. Choreographers are shifting to site-specific work, turning the city itself into a raw, unpolished venue. The movement doesn’t stop—it just finds a different path.
However, let’s not romanticize the struggle. The fact that we have to praise dancers for being resilient in the face of systemic failure is a sign of a deeper problem. Passion cannot pay the rent on a studio. Community goodwill cannot replace a sustainable grant program. We need city planners, philanthropists, and cultural leaders to wake up and realize that dance is not a luxury—it is a vital language. If L.A. allows its dance spaces to vanish, it will lose the very texture that makes it a global cultural capital.
So, yes, the dancers are still moving. They are leaping over the cracks in the sidewalk. But the question remains: for how long can they keep dancing in the dark before the music stops for good? We need to turn the lights back on—and that requires more than just heart. It requires funding, respect, and action.
