Maybe I assumed there would be a clear divide between the dancers – that the three proftessional dancers would act as helpers, and those who were different would perform less well? Photographer Gry Traaen and I arrived in the middle of the warm-up. We sat down at the side of the room. Neither of us had brought cameras or notebooks. We were just there to observe, to see if this could become the book project we were searching for

They moved like a single, living organism, slowly across the floor. An arm here, a leg there – it was hard to tell what belonged to whom or how many there were. Soft music played in the background.

Nice, said Caroline Sprott when they reached the end. They unwound from each other, smiling. Group hug, someone said, and they embraced again.

The warm-up continued. They had been talking about calm and unrest; now, they were to express this with their bodies.
- Think popcorn and honey. Move across the floor, remember to meet each other’s eyes, be one organism. Caroline’s voice was clear but gentle. Put away your phone, you’re at work, she said when someone reached for their screen. 
Then, the music returned.

The organism jumped, popped, eyes met.
- Now, slow like honey, Caroline said. The movements grew long. Legs glided across the floor, arms stretched apart, slowly, meditatively. Then back to popcorn—first one, then the whole group. Everyone was focused, almost lost in thought, yet always connected through their gaze. It took a long time to reach the end of the room. They took their time.

- We returned to the first exercise: they were to be one organism, but one by one, each had to step out of the collective. The person outside should stand with their arms straight down, their gaze fixed forward. After a while, you’ll bring that person back in, back into the movement. Then the next person steps out. Everyone must have been outside the organism before you reach the end of the room. Now, it’s important to tune into each other, to maintain eye contact and follow one another’s movements. Does everyone understand? Caroline asked. Everyone nodded.
Group hug, someone said – again, and they all embraced. This is going to be good, said another, receiving a high five.

The company moved slowly, and again, it was hard to tell who was who, which arm belonged to whom. Then one stepped out of the organism, standing at the edge with their arms down, their gaze fixed on the far wall. The others continued moving. It looked lonely out there.

The group moved toward the one standing alone, carefully drawing them back into the organism. Before they reached the end of the room, everyone had stood outside. Everyone had been brought back in.

The photographer Gry Traaen and I had arrived in the middle of the warm-up. The dance we witnessed struck us deep in the gut. Our entire sensory system was moved. When the dance ended, we both cried.

We realized that the journey we’d been invited to join would be something truly special. The final destination of this journey was a performance to be staged at Dansens Hus one year later.

What is inclusion, really?

Every Thursday, six people meet at Oslo Central Station. They take the train to Sandvika and then to Dissimillis’ rehearsal space at Emma Hjorth. (Dissimillis is a Norwegian arts organization that creates inclusive, experimental performing arts, often collaborating with artists with and without disabilities. Editor’s note.) The first time, everyone was a little nervous. Who would they meet? What would they talk about? Would they be able to communicate? Caroline stood by the window, watching for the group she would instruct over the next year.

When she saw them coming up the hill, singing, she knew this would be exactly as she’d dreamed. She had found a path and begun to forge it.

Kompani D has now danced together for a year. The company consists of six dancers who will perform Krets at Dansens Hus in Oslo from May 7th to 10th. Three of the dancers are professional; three have functional variations. They are all employed on equal terms—this is a paid job. The co-creating performers are Marikken Eidslott, Maria Lothe, Christine Sandberg, Victor Guevara, Martijn Joling, and Maria Klungnes Berg (now Solvang).

So, what is inclusion, really, and how do we make it happen? How has Caroline worked with Kompani D this year?

At first, Caroline gave the group tasks designed to spark joy in dance while also making the space feel safe. She played music and changed it as they went along. The task was to feel how the music affected their bodies, to free their movement.

Many people assume that if someone is different, you have to speak to them in a simplified way, as if they were a child. But adapting communication is something else entirely, Caroline explains. Everyone in Kompani D has different needs. Those with higher education often enjoy talking about their field. But when someone speaks at that level, do the others drop out because they’re not interested, or because the language is too difficult?

Early on, the group had a conversation about what was important for each of them to feel included. The words calm and unrest kept coming up. Calm and unrest were things they all recognized in their bodies – something they all sought or tried to avoid. And that’s when Caroline felt something shift. Now, everyone had contributed. Now, the conversation had become more engaging. 
It makes everything bigger.

- The group gradually worked on physical contact – listening, trusting each other, daring to take the chance. Legally mandated inclusion costs money and resources. But it also brings new perspectives, Caroline believes. There’s something incredibly liberating about working with this company, she says.

Because dance is communication. And we communicate all the time—through language and writing, but also with our bodies. The wordless communication Kompani D displays after a year together, as they dance, erases the differences between them. They are one, they are individuals, they are alone, they are together. They strike chords in us as individuals, as a group. Something unique is unfolding – a form of expression that is authentic.

Inclusion in practice only begins when we surrender control over who gets to tell the story. A stage is not truly open until all bodies, all rhythms, all ways of being can find their place without being shaped by a single mold. Inclusion is not about placing someone in the wings. It’s about letting them write the script.

Kompani D is Norway’s first professional dance company where different bodies and expressions meet on the same stage. The company invites you into a space where traditional forms are set aside. Here, every body becomes a language, every movement a story.

The artistic director of Krets is Ellen Martha Jerstad. The composer is Vilde Tuv, with musicians Konstantin Karakostas and Sunniva Molvær Ihlhaug. Nina Kay is responsible for the scenography and costumes, and Ida Frømyr Borgen is the producer.