Miguel Gutierrez Uses Movement to Make Sense of the World

May 1, 2025

Miguel Gutierrez calls artmaking “a lifesaving project and a soul-sustainability project.” This ethos is ever present­ in his densely textured, arrestingly human works, which play with abstraction and perception to command attention and sustain connection. A maker of dances, music, drawings, and writings, the 54-year-old Gutierrez attends to the many dimensions of creativity and experimental performance. He choreographs constellations of expressive bodies: not just bodies of flesh, but bodies of sound, light, words, sensation, and emotion.

As a queer artist of color, Gutierrez describes his work as “here to affirm and give spaces of recognition to the people who need that.” He feels this need ever more deeply among his collaborators and communities today. Making dances gives him a reason to show up in the world for himself and others—it keeps him alive—and he hopes that his work might help do the same for others.

Four dancers in different outfits in shades of green raise one flexed foot off the ground. The same side elbow tucks toward that knee, fists raising to their chins. They form a small circle and face outward.
Miguel Gutierrez’s Super Nothing. Photo by Maria Baranova, courtesy New York Live Arts.

An Unruly Path

Growing up in New Jersey as a child of Colombian immigrant parents, Gutierrez came to dance through play with his sister, which allowed him to connect with his body and himself in a different way than formal dance training. “I always cite this as my introduction to improvisation, and my proto-queer liberation experience of owning my body, offering my dancing as a gift to the person I loved most,” he says.

Dance ended up steering his life in unconventional directions. After studying acrobatics, ballet, jazz, and modern dance, he tried college, but ended up in San Francisco, where he dove headlong into the city’s queer activism and the experimental performance scene. After another try at college on the East Coast, he returned to San Francisco for a job with dance-theater artist Joe Goode, whose summer workshops offered him an early creative platform. (Decades later, he did finish his college degree, becoming a member of Brown University’s class of 2021.) In California, artmaking felt like an imperative with social and political undertones. Eventually he came back to New York City, where dancing with choreographer John Jasperse exposed him to a new set of methods and values as he continued to experiment on his own and in collaboratio­n. These experiences influenced his approach to form and content in his work. “California has always represented heart and feeling and value, and New York has more to do with craft and fame and success, and I’ve always been very shaped by those different ideas converging,” Gutierrez says.

Donna Faye Burchfield, former dean of the American Dance Festival, witnessed Gutierrez’s early development in his teaching practice and creative experiments at ADF. “He was activating the edges,” she says, “and he was always thinking with and alongside others.”

Making and Sharing a Life in Dance

That commitment to experimentation and cooperation held true as Gutierrez began to make a name for himself in dance and performance art. He created works that frequently melded movement, music, and words, and continues to make work in this vein. He finds that the idio­sync­rasies of individual performers create an irreplaceable “alchemy,” as he describes it, that blooms in their movement languages, dramatic qualities, and interactions. 

“It’s in the task, it’s in getting lost in the task, it’s in the task getting lost entirely and becoming something else. It opened up a whole new way of expressing for me in my own work.” 

Laila J. Franklin, Gutierrez’s co-performer in I as another, on his process

  • Miguel Gutierrez and Laila J. Franklin sit in folding chairs a few feet from each other. Gutierrez, in bright yellow, winces as he puts his hands behind his head, knees together and feet pointing to the floor. Franklin, in bright green, sits with her legs tucked under her, arms wrapped around the back of her chair.
  • Miguel Gutierrez and Laila J. Franklin sit in folding chairs a few feet from each other. Gutierrez, in bright yellow, folds forward and twists, backs of hands covering his eyes. Franklin, in bright green, supports herself with one hand on the floor, the rest of her body curled up on its side on the seat of her chair.
  • Laila J. Franklin sit in folding chairs a few feet from each other. Gutierrez, in bright yellow, contracts into the back of his chair, knees together and feet pointing to the floor. Franklin, in bright green, presses her head to the ground, hips supported on the seat of her chair and lower legs curling up behind it.
  • Laila J. Franklin sit in folding chairs a few feet from each other. Gutierrez, in bright yellow, curls forward, reaching one turned in arm down to his ankle. Franklin, in bright green, rests her chin on her hand, elbow on one knee, as she leans away from the camera.

“He works with people that are interested in surprising him,” says dramaturg Stephanie Acosta. This opens his collaborators­ to being surprised in turn. “I found a home in his work,” says longtime performer Michelle Boulé. “He gave me space to explore the depths of who I am.”

Choreographer and performer Ishmael Houston-Jones has felt renewed by the clarity and challenges Gutierrez has presented in their numerous collaborations. “He has a very strong vision,” Houston-Jones says. “He comes in with an idea and then he’s willing to mine it and transform it, allowing the performers to transform the work as well.” 

Feeling Over Form

Gutierrez has now made three decades’ worth of thematically voracious, viscerally virtuosic work. No two pieces are alike: He drew inspiration from the life and work of James Dean in Last Meadow (2009), mused widely on queer bodies and time in the three-part suite Age & Beauty (2014–15), questioned portrayals of Latinidad in This Bridge Called My Ass (2019), reckoned openly with his father’s death in Unsustainable Solutions: Duet with My Dead Dad (2019), and much more.

His work’s diversity is rooted in his unshakable authenticity.­ “You cannot categorize or hold Miguel down to one particular spot, and that continues to excite me,” says Janet Wong, associate artistic director of New York Live Arts. “The rigor of his thinking is manifested in such different vocabularies—in the physical, in text, and in music.” 

Miguel Gutierrez and four performers move through a wide parallel second, arms floating up into a high V, gazes directed down. He and the others are dressed in white leotards with long white sleeves and fabric that drapes like wings, as well as white knee pads and sneakers. They are in an outdoor urban environment.
Miguel Gutierrez with fellow performers in his work sueño. Photo by Liz Ligon, courtesy Gutierrez.

Across this broad range of expressive registers, Gutierrez’s work probes themes of painful loss and joyful rebellion, supported by a deep sense of love. “There’s always a choice where light can come through, and he’s not afraid to go through the darkness and the ugly and the disgusting and the wrong,” says Boulé. “He’s fearless.”

Though he frequently performs in his work, Gutierrez sees his dances as more than just a product or reflection of himself. “I’ve always had a mortal terror of becoming a ‘style,’ a stylized person or maker, something that’s instantly recognizable,” he says. “I’ve always just wanted to be influenced by the place I’m in and to be changed by it.”

A Purpose-Driven Future

Today, Gutierrez is based between New York City and Los Angeles, where he is an associate professor and vice chair of the MFA in Choreographic Inquiry in the UCLA Department of World Arts and Cultures/Dance. Despite his steady stream of creativity, buoyed by a host of awards and commissions, he has only recently crept (or clawed) his way to relative stability. 

Laila J. Franklin and Miguel Gutierrez walk forward on opposite feet on a dark stage. Strips of light illuminate the back wall. Franklin is in turquoise, Gutierrez in purple.
Miguel Gutierrez and Laila J. Franklin in I as another. Photo by Walter Wlodarczyk, courtesy Gutierrez.

But the challenges of Gutierrez’s life and career, as well as the triumphs, continue to guide his working ethos of empathy and collectivity. Change is integral to his growth, says Acosta. “He doesn’t really let moss grow under his feet. He’s on the move, but it’s not really chaotic. There’s always the consistency of having sincere curiosity under it.”

Burchfield continues to track Gutierrez’s creative arc and the abiding purpose behind his work. “He’s an open source and he’s an interrupter,” she says. “He’s trying to make sense of things through dance.” And while Gutierrez and his communities face an uncertain future, “I hope that the world can sustain an artist like him who is still in evolution,” Wong says, “who is constantly revealing new sides of himself and the world to us.” 

Methods of Making in Super Nothing

Gutierrez’s most recent work, Super Nothing—touring to Seattle and Los Angeles in May and the American Dance Festival in Durham, North Carolina, in July—probes themes of grief and joy to explore modes of embodied support and survival. It’s a quartet for two New York City–based and two Los Angeles–based performers that, Gutierrez says, “is about bridging location and working methods” in his current bicoastal reality, connecting artists who draw from different lineages.

“The process felt both joyful and like deep embodied inquiry,”­ says Los Angeles–based performer Jay Carlon. “He wanted to figure out how this piece can serve the constant onslaught­ of grief, and how we can persist together in interdependence.” With this in mind, Gutierrez says he treated rehearsals as “a space of sanctuary—a protected environment where survival is implicit in who’s in the room.” 

  • Four dancers in black, white, and grey form an intricate cluster, some seated and others crouching.
  • Four dancers form a line across the stage in descending levels. On the far left, a dancer lunges and looks toward his raised hand. The next is seated, arm wrapping around her chest. The next is in a shoulder stand, legs draped down to the floor. On the far right, a dancer reclines on his stomach facing upstage, propped up on his forearms.
  • Four dancers lie on their sides holding their top leg up in a stretch. They prop their heads up on their left hand.

During the Super Nothing creative process, Gutierrez says, “working with queer people and people of color in the studio, we got to determine our own world and a way of being in relation with care with each other.” The resulting piece owes its purity and vulnerability to this process. “The method is the work,” says Acosta. “He doesn’t give up on himself, and he doesn’t give up on artists.”

Speaking Out on Money in the Arts: The Are You For Sale? Podcast

Shaping a sustainable life in dance is anything but easy, and Gutierrez is no stranger to the hustles and windfalls that make it possible. As he witnessed the financial realities of the COVID-19 pandemic devastating the dance community, he decided to channel his rage and grief into research, conversations, and reflections, which eventually became his Are You For Sale? podcast. “I knew making the podcast was important because of how scared I was to make it,” he says. 

The six episodes illuminate the economic realities of artmaking by examining historical patterns and current trends in philanthropic and governmental funding structures. Gutierrez sought to question existing paradigms. “I have always been compelled by looking at how power moves and how influence and money shape our experience,” he says. 

Are You For Sale? incorporates the personal experiences and perspectives of dancers, dancemakers, scholars, funders, and policymakers. Gutierrez and his guests interrogate global funding models and air their frustrations with these systems. While they don’t come to a solution—that’s not really the point—the podcast stands as a collective exercise in generative critique.