Five Juilliard dance students (Antonio Brown, Laura Careless, Caroline Fermin, Kate Hirstein, and Joseph Watson) who didn't even know how to write a grant proposal decided, on a collective whim, to continue our dance education by way of community outreach and apply for a Juilliard summer grant. Our idea was to create a traveling dance troupe that would reach as many people as possible in one isolated area: Laura Careless's British home of the Isle of Wight. Our mission: to form a passionate, diverse, and giving group that would illuminate a community that, due to its geography, has little exposure to the personal and social benefits of multicultural artistic expression, and thought of dance merely as something for the very young or the very drunk. What follows is a personal account drawn from the diaries of our two-week project.

During a primary school workshop, Kate Hirstein leads her group of children in a rhythm game.

Lying two miles south of England's mainland coastline, the Isle of Wight is shaped like a diamond and measures 11 by 23 miles. We woke each morning at Laura's home in the village of Bonchurch, gazing out over the sloping chalk cliffs that supported the Victorian stone house. In order to reach 14 schools over the next two weeks, we would crisscross the Isle's narrow, winding rural lanes, passing rolling green hills, open pastures, and thatched cottages that appeared as if straight from the pages of Tolkien's Lord of the Rings. By the end of the first day, we had already learned to recognize the smell of wild garlic at the roadside, the sounds from the local Donkey Sanctuary, and how to spot native red squirrels.

While four of us were settling in, we were safe in the knowledge that soon the group would be completed by the arrival of Antonio—or so we thought. Little did we know that he was on a delayed bus into New York from Cleveland, and would miss the plane to England. But Antonio was determined not to miss the trip's first performance, and once he finally arrived at Laura's house a day behind everyone else, there was no time for him to relax while adjusting to the five-hour time difference. It was crunch time for the Fantastic Five. We hadn't seen each other for three weeks, and now had to re-rehearse the presentation we would be giving to a room full of schoolchildren the following day (not to mention rechoreograph the parts we couldn't remember!). That night was crammed with rolls, jumps, turns, and jet-lagged minds until 2 a.m.

A week of successful school visits preceded our first two public performances—but we arrived at our second venue that day, Ventnor Seafront, a fatigued and divided group. Laura's legs were still pocked with gashes from the splinters plucked after dancing on a plank of rough wood earlier that day at Robin Hill, and indecision became argument as we debated whether the plywood platform Ventnor Seafront had provided for us, or the glass-littered concrete alternative, would make a preferable stage. Performing yet another program, in this mood, of the same old dances for a crowd of happily tipsy people by the sea felt like a sick twist in an escalating nightmare, but their enthusiastic applause and cheers lifted our spirits and brought our group back together. Later Laura professed that she finally felt accepted and celebrated as a part of her home community. Having only felt awkward and odd before, she now realized that, in the process of teaching schoolchildren to shed their inhibitions, she had overcome her own. As we danced to the music of Laura's dad's band later that evening while the salty island breeze whipped our hair, Laura said she finally knew what home was—and it had nothing to do with geography.

Throughout our trip, students, teachers, and community members surprised us with their enthusiasm and willingness to accept what we showed them. We worried that one particularly abstract dance titled Preen—choreographed by Juilliard alum Adam Barruch and featuring the three of us girls picking at ourselves like neurotic vultures—might seem too foreign and intimidating for audiences new to dance. But Preen proved to be a crowd-pleaser, and we realized that this beautiful, isolated, rural community thirsted for visitors bringing new knowledge and the exciting expressive possibilities of the arts. The island revealed to us that reaching smaller and more remote communities is just as (if not more) important as reaching the more accessible urban areas.

This realization became particularly clear on what began as an average day but became (in Caroline's words) "The Day It All Clicked." After a relatively uneventful morning, we traveled the winding roads to our next school. Middle-school children are at the hard age—the boys are too cool, and the girls insist their bodies are inadequate for dancing. We went armed with persuasions and compliments, hoping to reach these self-conscious, reluctant children. To our surprise, their faces immediately lit up with curiosity. As they followed our every movement, they slipped into a new world—smiling when they were touched, gasping as we fell to the ground—and even offered feedback on the various dances they had seen. We were excited by the fact that everyone was invested in what they were saying, secure in his or her own interpretations. The children felt safe to express themselves in the space we had created for them. Caroline whispered to the rest of us, "So this is art." Dance had triumphed in a tiny but magnificent way.

As the two weeks came to a close, our final event was intended to underscore our accomplishments, and give all those we had touched the opportunity to come together and celebrate the arts. We planned a day of free workshops in music, dance, and visual art, culminating in a final performance that included local dance and music groups. We wanted to put people in touch with local resources that would help them continue their artistic activities even after our departure. The day was particularly important for, if people came, it would prove that we had stirred up interest around the island. It was an amazing success; the workshops and performances were packed. By the end of the evening, we were all tired, but really sad to see it end. As we said our final goodbyes, we did not give up encouraging people to stay active in the arts, and promised to try our best to see them again.

In the end, our trip to England had as much impact on us as it did on the people we taught. We learned new things about ourselves, both as artists and colleagues. The Isle of Wight reminded us what art can really do, and demonstrated that human beings, no matter where they are, are naturally creative, and anyone has the potential to create art.

Dance students Antonio Brown, Laura Careless, Caroline Fermin, Kate Hirstein, and Joseph Watson collaborated on this article.