Harrison Ball discusses his choreographic process and his new ballet for BAE.
When in your ballet career did your interest in choreography begin to form?
From a young age, I have been creating works across various forms—writing, filmmaking, and choreographing dances. In school talent shows, I would perform double acts, singing, and improvising dance on the spot without a plan. At the School of American Ballet, I participated in two student choreographic workshops, where I first explored the professional art of creating movement. It wasn’t until I began to transition away from a career as a dancer that I began to fully embrace choreography as part of my second act in performance.
What was your inspiration for this ballet?
At this stage in my choreographic process, I rarely follow the fantasies I explore in my preparation. I want the experience to feel raw. My training at New York City Ballet instilled in me a deep respect for the music, which always comes first. I’m constantly researching music to spark inspiration across all disciplines of my work. Interestingly, pieces I discovered years ago but weren’t yet ready to fully understand often resurface when the time is right.
For this ballet for BAE, the music was the starting point, and everything followed its lead. As the dancers began to embody the notes, they found their own voices, which, in turn, guided my instincts for each step. The piece evokes imagery of birds, magic, youth, exploration, and power. There’s a hypnotic, almost classical, and ancient quality to the music. This gave me permission to lean into simplicity, which is something I strive for in this complicated and confusing landscape we live in.
Tell us about how you came to the beautiful choice of music you made.
Last year, I moved to San Francisco. Almost every late afternoon, I would drive my three dogs over the Golden Gate Bridge to Muir Beach or Point Reyes. It was true freedom. There, I’d make a fire, swim, and take in the profound contrast of my new life compared to the structured, high-pressure environment of a dance career. During those drives and hours spent at the beach, I often listened to kora music, including compositions by Tunde Jegede. His music made me feel liberated and fully present in a way I hadn’t experienced in years.
Initially, I never considered choreographing to this music—it felt so personal, almost sacred. But when I was stuck in choosing the right score, I returned to it, hoping to find clarity. That’s when I realized this was the music I had to use. It resonated deeply with me, shaping the vision for this ballet. If I could, I’d use the entire hour of his album for this work. It feels like it was always meant to be part of this process.
Did you have a concrete choreographic plan, or did the ballet change and evolve throughout the creative process?
I never approach creation with a concrete plan. When it comes to performance, I’ve never been one to calculate what I am doing. It was not part of my training. For this ballet, I had no expectations. My goal was to let the work emerge naturally, shaped by the students and the collective energy we conjured in rehearsals.
This approach creates a certain tension in the room—a delicate balance that tips me into an optimal level of excitement. It’s that edge that keeps me focused, present, and attuned to the moment and, more importantly, to the talent in front of me.
Did you find the dancers to be completely open to your ideas and willing to take risks?
The students of BAE are wonderfully open and curious. A significant portion of my rehearsals is spent philosophizing—sharing as much as I can through storytelling, anecdotes, and demonstration. I use visuals and imagery to give my words a form that I hope will translate into their movements and energies. They are a remarkably capable and adaptable group of young dancers with an insatiable appetite for growth.
Their resilience, vulnerability, and generosity, both in and out of the studio, are deeply inspiring. It has been a profound honor to be a part of their journeys. Working with young dancers is humbling—it serves as a reminder of how challenging it is to emerge into the world with hopes, dreams, and aspirations still taking shape.
They remind me, as I hope this piece reminds them, that the moment is now.