It took Harrison Ritchie-Jones about eight weeks to respond to eleven questions about his latest performance, TANTRUM for 6, which debuted at Northcote Town Hall Arts Centre in February. When your work is as intense and immersive as his, emails understandably fall down the priority list. We will let it slide!

Ritchie-Jones is known for his unusual approach to dance, combining a range of styles and techniques with a focus on physicality, surreal storytelling and experimentation. In TANTRUM for 6, a group of six dancers emerges from a thunderstorm in water polo training caps, white singlets, short shorts, long socks and Crocs, each possessing an innate ability to dance. The performance is chaotic, exploring the concept of a tantrum and the act of releasing emotion in its purest, most uninhibited form. Here we ask him more about the impetus as well as his general thoughts on the absurdity of the world.

What is one thing we don’t know about you?

I rock climb outdoors a lot.

How do you feel about being called a 'breakout,' 'emerging,' or 'aspiring' choreographer? Do any of those labels resonate with you?

 I resonate with ”emerging” and “aspiring”. I'm very much in a place of constant growth and learning. “Breakout” is also fun, but it makes its sound like there’s action. 

What does it mean to take an unconventional approach?

I'm not sure. For me, it could be applied in a personal way, i.e., what I know and what I'm challenging within my own practice and my own internal vs. external ideas of convention. However, I don’t think I'm being that unconventional or at least I'm not focusing on it.

I draw on various dance and art traditions I've learned or am currently learning. These traditions serve as foundations I can return to but also challenge and reshape; some remain intact while others evolve, becoming increasingly idiosyncratic, nuanced, and personal.

Over time, these influences stack and layer, forming a kind of kinetic and conceptual buffet for consumption, creation, reflection, and reference. This approach of constantly mixing and reinterpreting traditions might be how I push the boundaries of my practice. Often, my primary motivation is excitement and curiosity.

What led you to choreograph TANTRUM for 6? 

Over the last few years, I've been developing a distinct approach to partner work. This form initially drew from a wide range of practices—figure skating, WWE wrestling, martial arts like aikido and judo, social dances such as country, swing and ballroom, along with more abstract weight-sharing practices.

These practices differ greatly in purpose, focus, mindset, tone, texture, awareness and momentum. Yet, I see an underlying logic that connects them. My interest lies in bringing these forms closer together— merging their principles and combining their intentions.

The result is a movement style that shifts between grace and submission, technique and style, danger and sensitivity. It produces something both unusual and satisfying, demanding a high level of sensitivity and awareness as a dancer. a challenge that feels addictive and rewarding to pursue.

This movement vocabulary has become a central pillar of TANTRUM for 6, serving as the structure through which I explore themes, emotions, social dynamics, spatial relationships, and my own imagination. The initial motivation for creating Tantrum for 6 was the desire to apply this “mode” with six dancers and push it into new territory.

When was your first tantrum and what was it about?

I don’t think I’ve ever had a typical tantrum, but I relate to this idea of wanting to collapse sometimes or erupt and break down haha. “Tantrum” for me encapsulates a lot of feelings. They are typically built up through layers of complex, nuanced, and often confusing elements before culminating in the familiar intensity of a tantrum. Sometimes I find it fun to scream in my car…

How would you describe the movements of a “guttural primal scream”? Is it a storm of energy, or something else entirely?

I used those words in the copy because there’s something primal to me about screaming, crying, and dancing. The way we performed this show felt particularly “unfiltered.”

Screaming and crying are often taboo outside certain contexts. They are seen as inappropriate, shameful, or a sign of instability. But combining raw, gut-driven screaming with dancing performed with total abandon—as a group, in a chaotic, virtuosic, almost crying-like way—felt like tapping into something elemental. It was free of shame and judgement, approaching a state beyond ordinary expression.

Since clashing forms and styles are central to your dance, does this mindset extend to other areas of your life—like music, fashion, or interior design?

Perhaps I do seem to blur the lines in other areas of my life but feel more capable or conscious of it within a dance art-making context. 

What do you find most absurd right now?

Everything is always pretty absurd if you ask me.

Are people born dancers, or is it an expertise acquired through dedication and discipline?

Very often, dance can come from a place of listening. Specifically, listening to what is already moving and responding. Even just within the function of the body breath, heart, and pulse, there is movement to be found. Dance can be the practice of listening and allowing oneself to move or to be moved, to express, channel, export, challenge and so on. I return to this idea often: “Life is the dancer and we are the dance.”

Do you think society is lacking in authentic, original movement—movement that is free of judgement and shame?

I think there is a lot of fear around letting go and being authentic because it’s hard to be free of judgement and shame. Although it’s hard to access, I believe everyone is undeniably authentic and original. 

Why dance?

I think I’m in love with it.