Sonya Lindfors is a Cameroonian-Finnish choreographer, art director, facilitator, and cultural influencer whose work moves fluidly between performance, education, community organizing, and cultural activism. She divides her time between her own artistic projects, teaching, and leading UrbanApa, always working toward creating anti-racist and feminist spaces for empowerment and collective imagination.
In these unstable times, with arts funding being cut and culture losing some of its former value, Eva-Liisa wanted to hear Sonya’s thoughts on institutions, rigid structures, dance, and money. Where can we find joy, and what are “shit and diamonds”?
How did dance come into your life, and what does it mean to you?
Dance has always been a part of my life. To be honest, I can’t remember a time without dance. When I was a kid, there was always music playing at home. My parents listened to a wide variety of music, ranging from funk, soul, salsa, and disco to West African music, so both music and dance had a strong presence in my life from an early age. As the years went by, this dear hobby turned into an occupation – almost by accident.
It’s hard to describe what dance “means” to me, as it has shaped my life in so many ways. Dance led me to art and a life of artistry; it has brought me friendships and community. Through dance, I’ve been able to travel the world. Dance is both very communal and collective, yet somehow deeply personal – almost like a form of meditation.
Your work centers questions of Blackness and Black body politics, representation, and power structures. What do you hope audiences carry with them after experiencing your work?
Even though my work centers specific questions, I don’t have a single wish for how it should be experienced. Audiences are very diverse, and the way a work of art is read is always contextual. If we performed one of our pieces in Dakar, it would likely be experienced very differently than in Stockholm. Even within Finland, a fellow choreographer, a teenager attending their first performance, and my sibling would probably all experience the work in different ways. Universality is a hoax I don’t really believe in.
What interests me is creating work that operates on multiple levels simultaneously and offers different entry points. Someone might simply enjoy the dancing or the set design, while someone else notices the references and layers beneath.
While I don’t have specific expectations for audiences, I do have many expectations for myself, the institutions I collaborate with, and the field as a whole. Being an artist is also a position of power – we are creating worlds. I have a clear mission to diversify the Finnish art field and to work with decolonial, anti-racist, and intersectional practices.
When it comes to audiences, my focus is on creating stage work with diverse casts, narratives, stories, and expressions that will also attract diverse audiences. In the capital region of Finland, 25% of the population has heritage from outside the country, yet we don’t see that diversity represented on our stages. Representation alone isn’t enough, but it still matters. Diversity on and off stage – among makers, performers, staff, and audiences – would not only change how and what kind of work is created, but also make art more accessible and meaningful to more people.
You are the founder and artistic director of UrbanApa, a community for culture, arts, and events. In the early days, the motto was “shit and diamonds.” What does that stand for?
Haha, yes – that was our motto when we founded the organization back in 2009 with Anniina Jääskeläinen. UrbanApa strives to be an anti-racist and intersectionally feminist art organization that operates as a platform for new and emerging ways of creating and encountering art. From the beginning, our mission has been to act as an art institution of the future and to create working structures that center equity, diversity, community, sharing, and joy – things we felt were (and still are) lacking in the field.
Art institutions are surprisingly often conservative, even preservative, by nature. Structural changes – whether to diversify organizations or to create more sustainable working conditions for artists – are extremely slow, sometimes non-existent. Of course, there are exceptions, but there is so much fear in the field. From an institutional perspective, many things are seen as risks: employing people from different backgrounds who don’t speak Finnish as their first language? A risk. Taking a public stance against the ongoing genocide in Gaza? A risk.
So while “shit and diamonds” sounds tongue-in-cheek (which it was), it also served as a reminder. When working with art and striving for change, we are constantly doing things we don’t yet know how to do. Many of the artists UrbanApa collaborates with are at the beginning of their careers, sometimes creating their very first performance work. The motto reminded both artists and ourselves not to be afraid and not to avoid risk. How do you create work as if you have nothing to lose? In art-making, we are bound to create both shit and diamonds – but it can still be joyous, anti-racist, and feminist.
As a choreographer, performer, and facilitator, what has collaborative work and community taught you?
Oh – absolutely everything. All art is created in some kind of context, to and within a community, even if artists sometimes forget this. Every artist and maker is shaped by their history, education, and surroundings. Everything I do has been created with a community, from a community, and for a community. In the performing arts, this feels especially tangible.
Ubuntu is an African philosophy and value system that describes our inherent relationship to community: I am because we are. I would not be here without the work, struggle, and support of those who came before me and those around me. Through community, I’ve learned not only how to work, but why we do the work we do. Now, I strive to be a good ancestor for future generations.
We’re living in a hyper-capitalist era where everything has to be measured and priced, and even in Finland we’re seeing cuts to art and culture. How are these pressures affecting artists and the role of art in society?
Like many in the field, I’m feeling a lot of things: furious, exhausted, scared, deeply disappointed. We are witnessing the intentional destruction of what used to be a welfare society – of a Finland that at least aspired to democracy and equal opportunity. The weakening of social support structures affects not only artists but everyone. Child poverty, mental health issues, illiteracy, and unemployment are rising. People with full-time jobs are struggling to get by, and people who have built lives and careers here are being pushed out.
With the current government and the rise of conservative, racist, nationalist, and generally inhumane politics, I fear for people’s survival and for society as a whole – not just the art field.
From an artistic perspective, these times are extremely difficult. The field barely had time to recover from the pandemic before drastic budget cuts hit. Freelancers in precarious positions, young artists, and marginalized makers have taken the biggest blow. In the free scene, there is a sense of hopelessness. Working conditions that were already unsustainable have become unbearable. Many are leaving the field, or worse, leaving the country. We are losing incredible artists who have created new spaces, discourses, and ways of thinking, making the field richer and more vibrant.
The future doesn’t look bright. Current cultural policies will lead to a more exclusive field. Hard-won progress toward diversification risks being undone. Those who remain won’t necessarily be the most talented, but the most privileged, or those creating commercially viable work. And yet, Finland is still among the richest countries in the world. Compared to many other contexts, we still have resources. That’s why apathy or giving up isn’t an option. We have to fight.
That said, the art field is not without fault. A lack of diversity, exclusivity, inaccessibility, and high ticket prices all contribute to the idea that art isn’t for everyone.
Funding structures in Finland can feel quite rigid. How have they shaped the work you can make, and what needs to change to support more diverse and experimental voices?
Changing funding structures alone won’t be enough, as the challenges are systemic. For many, including myself, the path to artistry begins in childhood. Every child – regardless of background – should have access to art, culture, and education. In a truly equitable society, where everyone could pursue art if they wished and institutions were inclusive and accessible, the field would naturally be more diverse.
That said, we have to start somewhere. When it comes to funding, we need to examine multiple aspects: the criteria, who makes the decisions, and who sits on funding boards. What is considered “high quality”? And what kind of competence exists within committees to understand diverse forms of art and expression?
Many people working in culture feel a sense of hopelessness right now. How do you cope with uncertainty?
Tough times call for soft measures. Friends, art, community, play, and joy keep me going. Long walks in the woods, big hugs, sweaty nights at clubs where friends are DJing, great meals in good company – or dancing alone to your favorite song.
Life is magical in so many ways, and I try to remind myself of that magic. Anti-racist, decolonial, and feminist practices also give me hope. Structures can be changed – and they have been changed before. Activists, artists, lovers, and fighters before us have shown us that. I remind myself that I have power and can contribute to change. I can’t do everything, but I can always do something.
Why should everybody dance?
Dance is eternal. Humans have danced since the beginning of time – to rejoice and to grieve, to build community, and to communicate with one another and with other worlds. We dance to remember and to forget. Dance travels through time and space; we dance with our ancestors, who live on in our DNA. Dance is deep and light at the same time.
As Pina Bausch said: Dance, dance, otherwise we are lost.
Interview and photography by Eva-Liisa Orupõld
Photo edit by Elina Kuhta