Lesta Woo’s hypersensitivity to sound has unlocked new opportunities for blind and visually impaired dancers to thrive.
In training for her vintage jazz dance classes, visually-impaired performer and teacher Lesta Woo moves around the room blindfolded, stepping and jiving between a trio of chair obstacles, clapping as she goes. Her claps echo around the room, bouncing off every surface, allowing her to build a mental image of her environment without the need to see it.
Woo’s method takes inspiration from the echolocation techniques used by dolphins, bats and other animals to judge the proximity of their surroundings. With practice, most people have the potential to use sound in this way, but for Woo, who became visually-impaired due to multiple eye conditions as an adult, this skill was “a coping mechanism to function in life, to navigate the world.”
Now the only VI Lindy Hop professional of color globally, Woo’s relationship to dance began as a child. “Like a lot of little girls in the U.K., I learned to dance ballet, modern jazz and tap when I was very small.” What started as a hobby grew into a passion, with Woo taking the occasional dance job for extra money at university.
“I found swing in my twenties. I just thought it was really joyful and freeing.” Woo specializes in a vintage jazz style commonly known as Lindy Hop or swing, where dancers kick, hop and spin to the upbeat tracks of the 1930s.
“I still experience forms of oppression, but when I dance I feel like myself, and I don’t have to deal with anything else.”
“I was drawn to the technical and social side of swing, but also the historical relevance,” Woo explains. “It has its roots in African-American culture, with black people in the 1930s and 40s dancing, effectively, as a form of escapism.” As a disabled person of color, Woo resonates with those brief moments of joy; “I still experience forms of oppression, but when I dance I feel like myself, and I don’t have to deal with anything else.”
Woo was an established dancer and performer when she gradually lost her sight, and she felt the impacts of her disability in every area of her life. “Doing anything like cooking, using the bathroom, walking down the street, going to the shops, became difficult, let alone dancing. It was like learning to walk again.”
Struggling to find spaces which included or uplifted blind and VI dancers, Woo began to attend dance socials with friends she trusted, figuring things out on a trial-and-error basis. Slowly, but surely, altering how she did a certain move, how she positioned her body, how she utilized her senses.
“I have usable sight when I am stationary, typically, but when I move, I feel hysterically sick,” she explains, “I basically choose to switch it off and dance blind.”
When Woo could no longer rely on sight as her dominant sense, she developed a hypersensitivity to sound. Having existed in both the non-disabled and disabled dance realms, she began to carve out a space between the two, where all bodies could exist and thrive. In 2022, she received a bursary from People Dancing to refine her accessible teaching approach, which she now puts into practice in her weekly Jamboree classes.
“I love teaching all sorts of people,” Woo says. Her inclusive class sizes have ranged from intimate, five-person soirees to a wonderfully chaotic party of forty. Attendees are transported back in time to an authentic, backstreet speakeasy, dancing beneath twinkling lights to retro jazz tracks.
“24% of the U.K. population is disabled, yet many don’t have access to dance,” she explains, “it feels so rewarding to open up this peaceful plane to people who have never had the opportunity. And they feel that too. They feel that joy and they understand it.”
“Is there not more to a disabled person than just someone who needs help? Different people need different things, and I’ve personally trained myself not to need help.“
In creating inclusive spaces, Woo also hopes to challenge perceptions around blind and VI dancers through increased representation. In light of Chris McCausland’s Strictly Come Dancing win in 2024, there were calls for reasonable adjustments to be made for disabled people to learn to dance. However, Woo argues that accessibility is just part of the solution.
“Is there not more to a disabled person than just someone who needs help? Different people need different things, and I’ve personally trained myself not to need help. It was through those individual adaptations that I formed my echolocation skills, which can be useful for any dancer. There is power in what I bring as a dancer and teacher with a different perspective.”
Woo’s talent and ethos have garnered a recent nomination from the Scope Awards 2025 and landed her a role in Ed Sheeran’s Azizam music video: “It’s so amazing to have that kind of recognition on a national level.”
“I have been hired in the past by people wanting to use my disability to promote their work. This was not like that at all. It was the most diverse cast I’ve ever seen, not just in terms of disability, but in ethnicity, sexuality, everything.” This year has been the first time that Woo has felt able to stop hiding her disability within commercial spaces, and her recent positive experiences have reaffirmed her determination to continue pursuing high-profile dance roles.
“Unfortunately, most commercial work is ableist. There’s not a whole lot of opportunity out there for disabled talent, but I think it’s still important that I put myself out there. Even though I get less work, whatever work I do get, I’m going to have the right care.”
All images courtesy of Lester Woo.
