The Graceful Jon Boogz

Jon Boogz is no ordinary street dancer. Born in Miami, Florida in 1988, he grew up with dance and music a part of his life, but he’s decidedly had his share of hard knocks. When he moved to Los Angeles in 2009, he had no job, was living in a one-bedroom apartment with five other people and was ready to pack it all in and move back home. But his popping, replete with sublime body isolations, quicksilver contractions and explosive rhythms—and kinship with Memphis Jookin’ artist Lil Buck—proved, in a sense, his saving grace.

Jon Boogz. Photograph by Timothy Salaz

Since then, Boogz has become an Emmy-award winning movement artist, choreographer and director, as well as an innovative force in the global dance community. Acclaimed for his imaginative storytelling through movement, he’s been on a mission to change the perception of dance as a narrative tool across numerous mediums, including film, theater, and fashion. Currently directing and writing his first feature film, he’s also developing a Broadway show and dance-driven, action-adventure series with Anonymous Content, the producers of such award-winning films as The Revenant and Spotlight.

Boogz’ latest project is his short autobiographical film, Art of Resistance which was commissioned and platformed by D-R-G-N, a luxury men’s streetwear brand made in collaboration with the Bruce Lee family and is available on a slew of social media platforms. It features Boogz as both narrator and dancer, ultimately paying homage to the martial artist, actor and philosopher, as he embodies Lee’s iconic quote, “Be water, my friend,”

Fjord Review had the chance to speak with Boogz by video from his home in Las Vegas. Topics ranged from his process and connection to Bruce Lee, to how he came to choreograph and dance in a video with, yes, the one and only, Mikhail Baryshnikov. This conversation has been edited for clarity.

Okay, so was there dance in your family, Jon, and what attracted you to street dance, particularly popping?

Coming from an African American background, dancing started very, very young for me. It was a part of my family culture, a part of our everyday life. My mom knew I had rhythm and talent, and would always get me to dance at family and holiday parties. She was big into Michael Jackson and introduced me to James Brown and made me watch musicals like “West Side Story.” My uncle also had a bunch of VHS tapes, and when I was seven or eight years old, he would show me “Soul Train” tapes.

That made me start diving into finding out the who, what, where, when and why of dance. My particular style is popping, and I’ve been doing it since I was 11. I turn 38 in January, and it’s a long time to be dedicated to a particular style.

And we’re glad that you have! But how did you evolve from street dance to narrative-driven work, which is what you’ve been doing in your films?

I thank my mother again. She introduced me to the musical side of things and also made me watch Schindler’s List, Roots—narrative films that had depth, substance, meaning. She’s a huge movie goer and we went every week. As I got older, I thought how could I combine my loves—the greatest art form ever created, street dance—and film. I wasn’t seeing people do the vernacular I was doing and was going for deeper narrative substances. I want to try to be someone who uses the art of street dance, but [has] no boundaries of what we could say or do in the art form.

What’s your connection to Bruce Lee, who, in your film, you magnificently embody in his famous quote, “Be water, my friend,” and how has his philosophy impacted your work?

It started from playing video games, realizing they were using his likeness, and my father telling us who it is. That’s how we got hip to him. I watched his autobiography [Dragon: The Bruce Lee Story] and went down the rabbit hole of watching his movies, his charisma, his style. Bruce was way bigger than a martial artist. His artistry transcends that, which is why so many connect to him.

“Be water, my friend,” is one of my favorite quotes. It’s about being able to adapt to any situation. Put water into a cup, it becomes a cup. Water can flow, crash, and in life, you’re going to be thrown into so many obstacles, you’re going to be forced to adapt. I’ve been put in situations where I’ve really had to pivot, adjust and adapt.

Opening scene from Jon Boogz's “Act of Resilience.” Photograph provided by D-R-G-N.

You describe yourself as a movement artist and not just a dancer or choreographer. What’s that about?

When I started to make short films, I knew I was onto something, shall we say. I felt like I was doing more than just dancing. So many people used to tell me that it’s more, it’s stories. When I was living in L.A., I felt that dance had a certain stigma around it. When Gene Kelly, Fred Astaire were in the forefront, for me, in my generation, the dancer became background to the artist. It took a dip in prestige. My goal was to not only take this dance I love, but push the elevation of what a dancer could be. I felt like what I was creating was more than dance: It was movement, it was art.

What I’m creating has narrative, depth, substance, story. I’m not saying they have nothing to do with dance, but I’m using them as a tool to make something greater than dance. I’m also not saying dance hasn’t been doing that since the beginning of time, but dance wasn’t honored the way it should be.

Bringing it to the community was so unique, I needed to identify myself according to the quality of my work. Movement artist—so many people are calling themselves that—but when I first started doing that, it was more than just dance: Anybody can get up and dance, but movement art means something totally different, and we started to identify ourselves like that in 2009.

You and Lil Buck co-founded Movement Art Is, an initiative that uses dance as a tool for social change, healing and storytelling. Where did you two meet?

It was a tough time in my life. I was thinking, ‘Maybe I shouldn’t have moved to L.A. I’m broke and was prepared to go back home.’ Lil Buck and I met at the Debbie Reynolds [Performing Arts] Studio, and he was looking for a popper. What’s crazy, I realized the camaraderie I needed and what I was doing at that time came with Buck. That gave me the encouragement and spirit to do this.

I was also thinking that other people were struggling like me; I’m not the only one trying to figure it out. But I don’t like failing. I like to win. It’s a process, and you’re either built for it or not. On [Santa Monica’s] Third Street Promenade, I joined Buck’s performance group. We were close and both wanted to bring dance back to the greats—Astaire, Baryshnikov—to the forefront of artistry. We hit it off and were friends for about five or six years and started a company together: building a collective to take the art form of street dance to the highest levels. We worked on a lot of things and are working on our first feature film.

That sounds terrific. But before we get into Baryshnikov, I’d like to know about your process: music first, idea, steps?

It’s always music first for me. I live by, “How does it look, feel, sound?” But how does it sound is more like it. Even as a director, what do I see as the story, where is it taking place, what type of camera, stylistically, what am I wearing? How does it feel? What is the movement that is going to match the feeling I have? I want the audience to take this away from it. The perfect movement in my vocabulary is, ‘What do I want to pull out of an audience?’

Sonically, what music is going to take the film over the top? A lot of times you watch movies and don’t realize the score is creating [the emotion] that tears you up. Music is always first. When I listen to a song, I see the story, and ask how does it look? I want this person to play that role. What movement do I need to create?

And now, what was it like working with Misha?

Lil Buck and he were doing a campaign for [the clothing label] Rag & Bone. Buck was like my brother and was championing for me as creative director before anyone. He said, “I want to bring my friend Jon Boogz in.” I think they just brought me in at first to make Buck happy, but I prepared myself for opportunity, because I knew I was going to be in creative meetings.

My goal was to have the best ideas, so I came with a whole notebook of ideas. They didn’t realize I was tall—6’ 2,” so they said, “Can you, just for fun, try these clothes on?” I was there to be a creative consultant for Buck, but they asked, “Would you mind modeling this? We have Buck and Misha and all these models.” I thought, “Two different paychecks, I’m happy with that.”

During a lunch break Buck said that I was one of the best poppers in the world. I kept my mouth shut, but this was one of the coolest moments of my dance life, Buck bragging about me, so they gave me a solo and said, “We have five minutes, and whatever we capture, it may make the final cut.”

Then Misha comes behind the camera staring at me with a serious look, the pressure’s on. I start soloing, I blank out, I don’t know where I went, but I went somewhere. He walks up to me and has a big smile on his face, and we’re talking about technique. He asked, “What is that called?” If you look at that campaign, Misha wasn’t doing ballet, he was inspired by what Buck and I were doing. He was still [like] a student, inspired. It’s a memory I’ll hold for the rest of my life. That was empowering for me; I’m in the right place.

From left: Jon Boogz, Mikhail Baryshnikov, and Lil Buck. Photograph courtesy of Boogz

I love that story, Boogz! What prompted you to direct and perform in the 2025 film, Mother I Sober, that explores themes of mental health, trauma and healing, and which you recently performed live in Santa Barbara. And setting it to Kendrick Lamar’s deeply haunting song really adds to the power of the piece.

I wanted to break the stigma of mental health, especially among people of color. I had started therapy three years ago, and it changed my life for the better. If you’re going through some tough times, it’s okay for you to seek help. That’s why I created the original film to Kendrick’s piece.

Ava Duvernay, and a few directors I love and respect commented on it. The thing I did in Santa Barbara was for Juneteenth, and was a fundraiser for my new film project, Mental Wealth. I thought it would be nice to rechoreograph it and rethink it for a live audience. Now, I’m working on two films—directing my first feature, and Mental Wealth, a short film, but the goal is to submit it to be an Oscar qualifier.

The feature, with Spike Jones as executive producer, is a biopic on me and Lil Buck when we were living with five people and performing on the Third Street Promenade. It’s based on that.

Cool! You also made history in 2023, when you were the first Black street dance choreographer to win an Emmy for your work on the limited series, Blindspotting, where you actually retold the history of the N-word in dance. What was it like snagging the Emmy?

It was crazy. It was life-changing! So many dancers from back in the day reached out to me. They never thought somebody from the street dance community could reach that. It felt good, it was historic, and I’ll carry it for the rest of my life. Artists, sometimes we need validation. At that moment, all the blood, sweat and tears, and barely having enough money to eat, not having a car for five or six years—at that moment, all of those things came rushing to me.

‘You really made history,’ I thought; that’s going to last forever. Because art tends to be involved with activism, all the actors at that time were striking. It was not only aligned with my timing, but with the world’s timing that makes for a greater story: I won an Emmy in the time of civil unrest!

Have you always been an activist?

It’s hard to say. I’ve always cared deeply about things, and art has always been an outlet for me. Any time things are going on in the world that I feel strongly about, it’s easiest to pour into my art. This led to me being an activist: I use my art as activism.

What advice do you have for young dancers, especially those who want to use their art for social change?

My advice would be, be true to yourself; tell the stories you want to tell. One of my friends told me, “The more personal, the more universal.” Sometimes being more vulnerable would reach more people. This experience is so niche, but it’s actually the opposite. All the stories I felt were niche to my experience, reach the most people.

Never be afraid to invest in yourself. I’ve had good money coming in, but I didn’t know where the next gig was coming, but you do it for the love of the art.

And finally, Jon, where do you see yourself in the next five to ten years?

God willing, alive—first and foremost—because health is wealth. I’m still here breathing. It’s never a guarantee. In my artist brain, I’ll be directing more feature films. In five years, me and Buck’s film has come out and is successful. Continue to do what I’ve been doing; taking it to higher production values to create those lanes for artists like us who had a different mindset.

For people after us to think, ‘I could be a director, choreographer, look at him, he won an Emmy.’ That’s the goal; continue to do what we’ve been doing, leave some cultural currency behind. Sometimes

you gotta remove yourself from the ambition and look back. My wife helps me a lot, reminding me to celebrate myself a little more. Celebrate the wins, because before you know it, it’s a memory.

Victoria Looseleaf

Victoria Looseleaf is an award-winning, Los Angeles-based international arts journalist who covers music and dance festivals around the world. Among the many publications she has contributed to are the Los Angeles Times, the New York Times, Dance Magazine and KCET’s Artbound. In addition, she taught dance history at USC and Santa Monica College. Looseleaf’s novella-in-verse, Isn't It Rich? is available from Amazon, and and her latest book, Russ & Iggy’s Art Alphabet with illustrations by JT Steiny, was recently published by Red Sky Presents. Looseleaf can be reached through X, Facebook, Instagram and Linked In, as well as at her online arts magazine ArtNowLA.

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