In a series of workshops, the group was broken into smaller pods and encouraged to talk about movement and how it made them feel; they would then perform something they’d devised for the main group. “Each of the groups’ little performances have all been edited and they are also now part of the performance, [so] they’ve really empowered us.”

Homework was provided, so people could practice moves at home. Prato and three of her friends “are going to flash mob in one of the courts in Clifton Hill before our rehearsal”.

“I’m curious to see if the bystanders think it’s a flash and want to join. [Zink] has us so totally absorbed in the dance moves, it’s beautiful. To have so many young teachers scattered among us is really a lot of fun. They move between us and they’re embellishing detail, they’re keeping us all in the same mind frame.

“The work that everyone is doing it’s just mind-boggling and so enjoyable,” Prato says. “When you get to my age, you do what you want and you do it with passion and you live in the moment.”

Robert Lee Davis made a pact with himself this year – 2023 would be the year of saying yes. As a result, the 60-year-old visual artist and art teacher is also part of Us And All Of This.

“This is my year of giving everything a go, every time a new opportunity sparks my interest, I’m trying to investigate that,” he says, adding that the arts being paused during Covid lockdowns made him want to seize the moment more.

Davis has been astounded at what the group has been able to achieve – and how impactful the experience has been. “I don’t know where they’ve pulled all of these people from, it’s like they’ve been hidden away in a Buddhist temple, they’ve floated down from the clouds,” he says, with a laugh. “There’s this one guy who says, ‘Think about touching that earth and rising up with your breath’.

“It’s like nothing I’ve ever experienced with dance – I’m hoping I’m not the only one who feels like this. When we talk about this, it’s with a state of wonder, one section is called that, and you look up at your hands moving in space and it almost brings you to tears because you cannot believe that you’ve been missing out on the simplicity of movement, the appreciation of your body, in conjunction with the earth and the movement – the winds, the sounds, the birds, all of it.

“That freedom and that spirit of spontaneity, that essence of creative explosion is what I love about what we’re doing with this troupe.”

Hailing from Philadelphia, Davis has been in Australia since 2011 and says every culture has dance and ceremony, but that this is often forgotten in western culture.

“Our bodies were designed to move, not sit at a desk ... to lift and carry, a constant state of energised action, so this movement translated into dance is another way of fulfilling that need that we have as humans.

“Music is designed to soothe, stimulate, rile us up; it brings back a memory, and when you apply that with movement, it seals this gap or this longing that we have inside us. That’s what it’s doing for me,” he says.

Davis learned to dance on 1, 2, 3, in the classic mode, but this is not like that. “It’s very intuitive, much slower-paced, more contemplative movements, little subtleties in hand gestures and neck movements that make you think about why I am practising what I’m doing. Each section is given a certain name: forgiveness, receiving, giving. You move into these different scenarios with a feeling like, where did this come from?”

The moves and the music are almost meditative, he says, likening the sound to works by Philip Glass and Arvo Part. “[You] feel your oneness with everyone ... You get to sit in that space with that movement. You don’t know how powerful it is until you sit and remember what you’ve just done, and how that’s made you feel. Then it’s like, gosh, this is how it feels to be one with life!”

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At 41, Susana Le works as a dentist but she is also a committed, self-taught dancer. She dances with a troupe of freestylers called FRQNCY, who often perform outside Melbourne Museum, the QV building in the city and sometimes in the suburbs, such as at Monash University’s Clayton campus.

“The way we move is influenced by the people around us, our circle and music and in the streets of Melbourne,” she says.

The child of Vietnamese refugees, Le was part of a dance crew at university 20 years ago but stopped when she had a family. During the 2020 lockdown, she resumed dancing, doing a lot of classes online. “It was really healthy for me at that time and I have never stopped. [It’s a] sweet spot, I can’t help but groove.”

Le is relishing dancing in such an iconic part of Melbourne. “I love the fact that it’s in a beautiful architectural place; I want to move through architecture that inspires,” she says. “The whole process is really healing for me.”

The fact everyone involved comes from such different backgrounds adds another element. “You would think that with such a mismatch of people it would be chaotic, but it’s not at all, we feel very together in our differences,” Le says. “I hope that what is demonstrated through the actual performance day is the feeling that movement can be a storytelling experience for anyone at any time of their life.

“Somewhere in your growing up, that permission [to dance] slips and you feel you have to hold it in. The release of dance is like medicine in your hands,” she says. “With a few of these sessions I feel a catharsis, there’s often tears rolling down my face, there’s a connectedness. I’m sure I’m not the only person doing it, at any age we should connect back with our inner child.”

Us And All Of This is at Arts Centre Melbourne, March 11; Bunjil Place, Narre Warren, March 25 and 26; and Geelong Arts Centre, April 2.

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