B.C.-based dance artist Daina Ashbee takes a fearless look at death and transformation
At the Scotiabank Dance Centre, the in-demand artist draws from the deeply personal and subconscious in the ritualistic new solo We learned a lot at our own funeral
Dancer Imara Bosco in We learned a lot at our own funeral. Photo by Patrice Mathieu
We learned a lot at our own funeral is at the Scotiabank Dance Centre from February 6 to 8
AS YOU MIGHT EXPECT from a dance piece called We learned a lot at our own funeral, the latest solo by celebrated B.C.-based dance artist Daina Ashbee explores death. But not necessarily in the way you might think.
Reached on Gabriola Island, where the Nanaimo-born choreographer has lived for several years, Ashbee reveals the new work was inspired by the death of her former self. And anyone who has gone through major life events will know exactly what she means.
“There was a period of time where I felt like I had undergone such transformation, personally, that it was like I didn’t recognize myself,” the artist tells Stir. “I was thinking about the death of myself, and a strong sensation of not knowing who I was in this next chapter in my life. And then I was kind of questioning that idea of how there’s just so much unknown around death.
“There were definitely events in my life that were extremely challenging, but because of that, my growth as a human being accelerated so much that I didn’t recognize myself anymore,” she explains. “It happened so quickly, metaphorically and artistically. Creatively, I could see this person that I was, and I could see them existing in parallel to this other person who had emerged—like a snake losing its skin so much that you're part of it as much as you're outside of it now, and you can see in front of you as much as you can see behind you.”
In the ritualistic new solo, which premiered at France’s Montpellier Danse festival in 2024, a dancer reaches a trance-like state through breath and voice, her body plunged into darkness and re-emerging like a ghost or echo of her former self.
Ashbee—a prolific talent who is in demand across Europe and has staged work in 18 countries—always draws fearlessly on the personal in her creations. The dancers who interpret her deepest emotions and impulses bare themselves—usually literally—with an intensity that hits somewhere between violence and vunerability. Think naked bodies slapping floors, primal wails, searching fingers, and thrashing hair. Trauma, menstruation, anorexia, and sexuality: they’ve all been subjects Ashbee has explored in boundary-breaking works that critics have called everything from radical to cathartic.
Daina Ashbee. Photo by Patrice Mathieu
“My work has always been coming from a personal place, and separating the two was always something that was really challenging—as well as separating me and the artist in my career,” she reflects. “I think a lot of artists experience that. But I think for me, it was even more soul-wrenching in that my personal life is just so much a part of my career life. I would say there’s a lot of overlap.
“There’s kind of a connection to my subconscious in all my pieces,” Ashbee continues. “So it’s something that feels really deeply related to my body and meditation, but it’s not necessarily coming directly from movement or a literal idea. Usually I have an approach that’s abstract but also really based on a bodily sensation that I later connect to words through writing.”
That was very much the process behind We learned a lot at our own funeral—but she explores new territory with it as well, calling it her most experimental piece to date. That’s due in part to the fact the solo had its origins in a residency in Costa Rica, where she investigated movement with a breakdancer and drew on that street-based movement language for the first time. The work, set to be performed here by Italian dancer Imara Bosco, also pushes Ashbee’s use of vocalization—in this case not just through the performer, but through the audience members, who will be encouraged to create a rising hum as they sit on all four sides of the stage.
The overall effect suggests a funerary rite. And maybe it hints at some of the artistic transformation Ashbee talks about in the “death” of her former self. Certainly, over the past few years, she’s gone through some major changes in her career and how she works.
The choreographer admits some questioned her decision to move to remote, rural Gabriola Island during the pandemic. Her initial successes were all in Montreal—the city where the Cree-Métis-European artist spent eight years and where she headed early in her career, after training here with Modus Operandi and dancing for a while with Raven Spirit Dance.
“One of the most challenging things that I had to deal with in my 20s was never having time for integration,” reflects the artist who is now approaching her mid-30s. “And I mean, it was so hard to make the decision to move back to British Columbia and leave this amazing well-oiled machine where you make a show, then you get to tour it, and while you’re making the new show, you’re still touring the other show. But I wasn’t able to integrate. And there's consequences to that, especially when you’re doing really personal work, and the work is connected to your body. I think that my body started saying no.”
Ashbee admits that being on Gabriola may make it harder to be an artist than it would be if she was still based in Montreal or moved to Europe. But taking the safe route, in dance or in life, has never been Ashbee’s way. “I wouldn’t trade it,” she says. “I wouldn’t go back and repeat the same formula. So I’m not afraid. Every bold move I’ve made has resulted in something.” 
Dancer Imara Bosco in We learned a lot at our own funeral. Photo by Patrice Mathieu
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