How I create… with Thick & Tight’s Daniel Hay-Gordon

Daniel Hay-Gordon is a dancer, choreographer and film-maker and one half of dance theatre company Thick & Tight, which he established with co-director and fellow Rambert graduate El Perry back in 2012.

As Thick & Tight, Hay-Gordon and Perry take influence from the historical, the political and the artistic to create a mix of dance, mime, theatre and drag performances. Committed to presenting work in socially engaged contexts, they work regularly with the LGBTQ+ community theatre group Duckie, and have also presented work as part of The Posh Club – a glamorous performance and social club for older people. Having started out in small-scale pub rooms and gay theatres, Thick & Tight have gone on to work with Barbican Centre, The Lowry, Sadler’s Wells, and, most importantly, the Southbank Centre.

In April 2026 Hay-Gordon, and Perry as Thick & Tight, returned to our venues as they joined forces with Manchester Collective and multimedia artist CHAINES to present Papillons as part of Multitudes. Ahead of this we caught up with Hay-Gordon to gain this insight into his creative process.

When and where do you find yourself at your most creative?

I often feel creative within two different environments. The studio or stage, and out in nature. I enjoy the first environment because of the parameters, focus and need for an outcome. I often require this kind of challenge and pressure to create, and this is felt acutely when performing in front of an audience because I want to entertain them and be generous and attentive to them. In the lead up to a show I’m horribly nervous and scared, however once I’m out there it feels incredible and the pinnacle of my creativity. 

The other place I feel inspired is when I get away from everything, perhaps for a few days of hiking. Within nature I can forget everything and just observe the simplicity and the sublime. Within a few days in this environment, because there isn’t any pressure or a need for an outcome, new ideas always begin to circulate. I think I require this balance of spaces to remain inventive.

How do you know when an idea is worth developing into something more?

When I can’t stop thinking about it. Say I have an idea for something which I think will be funny, that idea might come back to me when I’m out and about and it will make me laugh once again. I’ll find myself thinking ‘I know other people on this bus would love this too, you’ve got to make it.’

Which tools are key to your creative process?

I think the main tools used by El (Perry) and I are rules. We give ourselves lots of parameters, things we can or cannot do, within which to create movement. This not only helps us stay focused and connected to one another, but inevitably allows us to be more original in our choices.

Who are you creating your work for, and how free are you to create the work you want to create?

Though most of our work is dance based, we’ve rarely made it specifically with dance audiences in mind. Our work (particularly pieces created through Duckie and Posh Club) has often been made for queer audiences and older working-class audiences. We want to keep people entertained and engaged with what we make, so have used lots of other forms of performance, including drag, lip-syncing, mime, to keep audiences on their toes. We’ve also been thinking more and more about how to create dance that is more accessible to audiences. We’ve begun using creative captioning and audio descriptions so that more people can access what we make, and also to help demystify what we make. Process is as special as product; it just comes down to how both are framed and shared.

How do you stay disciplined, and dedicated to your work?

Through the love of it. As hard as dance is (and it only gets harder!) I love it so much. For me to dance the way I enjoy requires me to be disciplined and focused. This is made so much easier now that I’m predominantly making the work I perform. I can give myself the space, time and encouragement to try things out without the pressure of pleasing anyone else. This has opened new avenues in how I think about discipline and how I push myself. 

I feel very lucky to still be dancing and for people to come and see the work I make. For the first time, I feel aware that people want to see me, that I don’t have to be aiming to be someone else, someone better. It has taken me years to come to this conclusion but it’s a very nice one and one which makes me feel even more connected and dedicated to my work.

What do you do when you hit a wall; when you feel unmotivated or uninspired? How do you overcome this?

I try to stay with it and not get distracted too much. Phones are the worst things to have around you in that situation – that little hit of dopamine is giving you nothing! So, if I’ve hit a wall I will listen to music, look at films or images, read, write or improvise, anything that inspires creativity. If that doesn’t help, and I can afford to (space and time is precious and expensive!), I’ll just let it go for that day and come back to it another time.

Who do you look to for feedback?

Everyone. I love to hear it. I definitely look for feedback from my family. The only thing I’ve never been keen on hearing is when feedback begins with ‘what I would have done is…’

How different is your creative process now to when you first began as an artist?

I didn’t have one at first! It’s taken me years to find one and I’m still trying. I think that’s what makes you an artist, finding your process. I think through finding out who I am over the years, I have found how I work. We’ve encouraged many collaborators to identify as being an artist, especially those who struggle with others stating what their identity is without their consent, terms such as ‘disabled’ or ‘queer’ for example. We’ve noted that pride in one’s identity seems to improve when there is an intersection, such as being a queer choreographer or a disabled artist. What I make is very much informed by who I am. Back then I was finding it all out.

What does success feel like?

Like a million bucks. No, the opposite I imagine. Success, when it lands, feels easy and simple, like all the things and people you care about are all in place and chugging along nicely. Success feels like being able to carry on doing what matters to me.

Is there a piece of advice you’ve received that you often find yourself returning to?

If you can make it for 50p then do it, don’t wait to make a masterpiece based on big budgets and a cast of millions. I love making little videos, bits of writing or creating dances in my room. They are the seed of everything I do really. I also don’t believe in genius, more in Brian Eno’s ‘scenius’, a belief in collective brilliance. I want to exist in a time with other people and to enjoy one another now, rather than hoping someone in the future might think I was dead clever. A collective legacy is much harder to achieve, especially a positive one.

What’s the most recent thing you learned about yourself through your work?

When I get work which some might view as being more successful (i.e. on big stages or with bigger names), this feels like a capitalist idea of doing well. It struck me last year that this sort of success has never meant that much to me. Don’t get me wrong, I love a beautiful stage and working with people who have lots of experience, but the art and culture that inspires me is normally far from those spaces. I’d rather be making tea and lunch for people I care about, people who are making art at a grassroots level, and for me to try and find ways to support and elevate them through whatever I can bring.

How do you know when you’re done?

Maybe I don’t, maybe I’m deluded and I was done years ago! I guess I know when I’m done when I’m totally bored, lost or angry – get away before it gets worse babe!