Trained in several South Asian movement traditions, including yoga, Mohiniyattam, Kathakali and the martial art of Kalaripayattu, Peterson’s repertoire includes the critically-acclaimed queer dance show Bent Bollywood, and an Indian contemporary dance piece exploring trans identity, Third Nature. The dancer-choreographer, writer and theatre-maker is passionate about healing from trauma, and the arts. Here, they talk about their practice, inspirations, incorporating abhinya in their performances, movement vocabulary and current projects:

Narasimha — Man-Lion is part of a queer classical Indian dance triptych from a transgender Hindu lens. How do you incorporate the contrasting elements of violence from Narasimha’s imagery and sensuality from Andal’s poetry into your choreography, and on what kind of emotional journey do you aim to take the audience?

I love Andal’s work for her emotional intensity, the striking imagery she uses, and the deep vein of sensuality which winds through her particular flavour of bhakti. I was really drawn to this one verse from her poem Vin Nila Melappu where she coquettishly appeals to Narasimha. I’ve always loved the story of Narasimha and have always really enjoyed portraying him as part of my classical Indian dance practice — there’s something satisfying about portraying such violent imagery in a dance form that’s generally perceived to be soft and gentle. I found Andal’s romantic appeal to him to be a bit startling for me, as I see him as a fierce deity with a violent story. The verse has stunning imagery, typical of her work, and I loved the beauty of the scene she’s painting, and Narasimha as a somewhat unconventional subject of desire. The poem lingered in my mind for a long time. It was such a pleasure and an honour to dance that verse. I want to take audiences deep inside Andal’s poem, to experience her longing, and to meet the ferocity of Narasimha. One audience member at RIFF said that watching the performance felt like I was killing the evil inside them all, which I found very moving.

Your practice is deeply rooted in Mohiniyattam. How has this classical Indian dance form influenced your experimental works that explore (trans) gender, sexuality, spirituality, and time?

My main dance training has been in Mohiniyattam, and I am so in love with the circles and the gooey fluidity of its movement vocabulary. My experimental work may not always include Mohiniyattam adavus (steps/movements), but the circles and fluidity follow me around. I believe the fluid quality of Mohiniyattam lends itself very well to contemporary or experimental movements. In Narasimha, Mohiniyattam and Kathakali gave me an excellent vocabulary to explore both violence and sensuality. Mohiniyattam is great for beauty and Kathakali is great for more gruesome expressions, coupled with my own expressive movements and my interest in playing with tempo, and I have a lot of fun dancing on the line between sensuality and violence, beauty and ferocity. I also think the music by Marco was perfect — he plays the prepared guitar, an unusual and slightly chaotic instrument which has an incredible range — he can create both aggressive “metal” noise and ethereal soundscapes, which I think perfectly capture the intensity and beauty of Andal’s poem.

Your guru, Tara Rajkumar, played a vital role in shaping your strength in abhinaya, the art of emotional expression in classical Indian dance. How do you incorporate abhinaya into your performances, and how does it contribute to the narratives you create?

Before my guru learned Mohiniyattam from Smt Kalyani Kuttiyamma, she learned Kathakali from Sri Kalamandalam Krishna Nair, so her abhinaya was next level. I’m very grateful to have learned from her, as I was enraptured by her abhinaya, which has strongly influenced my work. I love how art has the power to generate deep emotion, so whenever I create, I always think about what I want audiences to feel, and how I can make them feel that. My practice includes generating emotion and energy in myself using my breath, and creating intimacy with audiences using my gaze. In my last work, Mohini, I worked with Sapidah Kian, a dramaturg from a Western theatre background, to expand and augment my classical abhinaya for a Western context, to facilitate greater audience understanding of the story and emotions. I found this both challenging and exciting. I’m also interested in embodiment, and using the body to generate and express emotion, which has formed much of my experimental movement vocabulary.

Your influences range from contemporary Indian dancers to queer performance art, Bollywood, and fantasy/sci-fi books. How do these diverse influences come together in your creative process, and what unique elements do they bring to your work?

I think that my background in queer performance art has been really formative to my current practice. Performing in a club setting comes with its own challenges, such as the need to strongly engage distracted audiences. However, it was wonderful to have a safe space to explore gender and sexuality. I believe that playing and experimenting with your gender can be very liberating, irrespective of your gender identity, and in my case, it was very helpful for me in figuring out my own gender identity as well as developing my strength as a performer and experimental creator.

Could you share the inspiration behind your experimental work, Mohini, and what led you to present the story of the Hindu deity Mohini through the lens of the trans experience?

So much of the mainstream discourse around transgender identity is quite negative. Even when it’s not overtly hateful, many people focus on the negative aspects, like transphobia and gender dysphoria, where we are seen as objects of pity. I wanted to create a work where transness is powerful. In this work, I have interpreted Mohini as a trans deity. If God may be seen to have a gender, if Sri Lakshmi may be seen as a cisgender woman, then perhaps I may see Sri Vishnu’s transformation into Mohini as a gender transition. As a transgender Mohiniyattam dancer, it felt inevitable really that I would make a work about Mohini.

Mohini blends tradition and subversion, drawing from classical Indian dance but bringing it into the contemporary present. How do you strike a balance between honouring tradition and pushing the boundaries of the art form in your choreography?

When creating experimental work using classical dance forms it’s very important to come from a place of respect, understanding and love. I always ask myself “why” — I need to be very clear about myself and why I am doing something in a particular way. I don’t believe in trying to shock people for the sake of shock value, or being edgy for the sake of being edgy; everything must have a purpose, even if only I know what that purpose is. Narasimha and Mohini both could have been padams (in Carnatic classical music, a type of short song or the accompanying dance), but I find it very freeing to make work outside of the structures of the classical Indian dance margam (repertoire). It allows me to fit more of me in. The experimental music of Marco Cher-Gibard has been wonderful for cracking me open and exploring different facets of the concepts we’re working with.

Mohini is a technical marvel with live and recorded music and psychedelic stagecraft. How does this multimedia approach enhance the audience’s experience, and what challenges and opportunities does it bring to your choreography?

Mohini features laser and projection by Marco Cher-Gibard to create an intensely vivid psychedelic experience for the audience. When these visual effects take place, we intend for audiences to experience an altered state of spiritual transformation. I regard these visual effects as a technological application of abhinaya. The lighting design by Alex Nguyen was also a part of this; we used fog, lighting and choreography to recreate the Ksheera Sagara, the Ocean of Milk. Our guiding dramaturgical idea was that of maya (illusion). We wanted to cast a web of enchantment over the audience and take them on a journey, and we were extremely fortunate to have had the resources and talent to develop technological abhinaya in this way.

My fear in making this work was that it would be overproduced. I have seen dance work where there have been too many resources thrown at the artist, and the soul of the work gets lost in all the spectacle. I didn’t want the essence of the work — the story, the choreography, the emotional journey — to be overwhelmed by technology. The purpose of the technology was to augment and enhance the story, choreography, and emotion, so there needed to be a balance, we needed to be precise and particular about its use. I didn’t want to create a lighting show. As a performer, I needed to match the energy of the technology, otherwise, I’d get lost.

Could you share your vision for the entire triptych, and what overarching themes or narratives connect the three parts of this series? What do you hope to convey to your audience through this perspective on classical dance and mythology?

Most of the Mohiniyattam dances I’ve learned tell the stories of the gods, so I find it curious that even though I’m doing experimental work, I’m still telling these same stories. I believe there is great power and truth in these stories which can resonate with contemporary audiences regardless of their religion, and I think that there is value in retelling these stories from my own subjectivity. I am a queer transgender mixed-race Hindu from the Indian diaspora in Australia, and my subjectivity, like anyone else’s, is flavoured with different cultures, experiences, privileges and marginalities. The stories I’m telling are very old, well-known and revered, and have been told and retold many times over the centuries. I am adding my voice to the multitude of voices telling these stories.

Part 3 of this triptych has the working title The Death of Sita. The Ramayana is of great personal significance for me as it is the text around which my Fiji-Indian community’s regular communal Hindu practice revolved. This work will explore climate grief, resisting systems of oppression and reconnecting with the earth. I’m so excited to begin work on this.

Shireen Quadri is the editor of The Punch Magazine Anthology of New Writing: Select Short Stories by Women Writers.