Caroline is affected by a genetic disorder that has meant she is smaller that she might have been and that she must rely on a wheelchair to get around. To meet her, and to see and experience her work first hand, is to witness something that is truly remarkable. To tell your friends that you’ve seen a wheelchair user dance without their wheel chair generates puzzled looks.
Yet it would be easy to assume you’re seeing a raw talent. Talking to Caroline calmly and quietly on one of those rare occasions when she isn’t, buzzing around like a mosquito, you start to understand that life has been very difficult and that coping at one point became unbearable for a young girl who couldn’t take people staring at her. ‘I had to sort it out because I was going to implode’.
It’s certain then, that at least some of what other disabled dancers see in Caroline is the tangible embodiment of triumph over difficulty, which provides that readily convertible currency of self-belief to everyone, she works with.
Often on the go for seven days solid it’s the visible transformation, and renewed joy of living of those in her dance class that provides the fuel to keep her going. There can be no name for what happens when she’s in the room but if the CIA knew what it was then this ‘dance agent’ would be classified.