 Panel Magazine: How did your method emerge? Was it a sort of epiphany, or did it come to you through experience?
Anna Ádám: It was an incredibly slow and organic process. For this reason, I can’t even say when exactly I “opened” the school. It wasn’t an event, but a layering, built step by step, brick by brick. I followed my interests, desires, instincts… and slowly, everything emerged. And it’s still emerging. It’s a living material, always transforming. Movement is everywhere in my methodology. First, the school itself is nomadic, we don’t have a fixed address, and this is intentional. Second, the method is a moving thought, always shifting through observation, analysis, adjustment. And third, I work with performance, so movement, the movement of the body, its meanings, its rhythms, is my main raw material. These three kinds of movement coexist in me and in the school. That’s why it feels like floating. It’s fluid, and that fluidity is what allows flexibility. Panel Magazine: Who comes to the School of Disobedience? Who are your "students" and your audience? Anna Ádám: Good question. Honestly, I don’t know. People just find me. There is no typical profile. They come from all over, recently, I had applicants from the Galápagos Islands, Colombia, New Zealand, the UK... Same for age: between 25 and 65. Backgrounds are diverse, some from art, some from theory, some from social practice, and some from unexpected places. But what unites them is sensitivity, they are receptive to my language, to my values. They care about agency, autonomy, and independence. They are warriors who still believe, in this cruel world, that other options are possible. My school wants to be that option. An island of hope. Collaboration instead of competition. Friendship instead of rivalry. Curiosity instead of fear. We all agree: we want to open. Relate. Make things happen. Panel Magazine: What’s a moment at the school that almost broke you—but also made you certain you were doing the right thing? Anna Ádám: Oh, many. Many times I felt I was done. Tired. Exhausted. Desperate. Sad. Disappointed. I wanted to quit, to leave, never return. But then… things shifted. I understood situations, understood the “why.” I saw my own responsibility. I took it. I accepted it. I learned from it. And I continued with more clarity, more strength, and more experience. Panel Magazine: Participants come from many different countries to your retreats. How does this diversity of backgrounds, cultures, and artistic traditions shape the energy, challenges, and discoveries at the School of Disobedience? Anna Ádám: Diversity is beautiful, but I’m not just talking about where someone comes from. Cultural difference is easy to applaud. What’s harder, and more interesting, is diversity of thought. Of perspective. Of political and emotional position. That’s where it gets challenging. Because unfortunately, in my milieu, there’s a kind of “clivage”, ideological fractures. There are certain topics where only one interpretation is acceptable. It becomes dogma. And when disagreement is no longer allowed, that’s a problem. There’s a formatted mindset. And it’s hard to say out loud that the mainstream artistic discourse is just one way of reading reality. So yes, at the School of Disobedience, I’m proud that we question everything. Even what’s uncomfortable. Especially that. Panel Magazine: If you could ban three "rules" of traditional art education forever, what would they be? Anna Ádám: I’m not sure banning helps. I come from a world where punishment and bans were everywhere, and they didn’t work. But I can tell you what I consciously challenge: One: the idea that we’re in competition. We’re not. Each of us has our own singular place. I choose collaboration. Two: the belief that intensity equals quality. No. I value digestion. Distance. Breaks. These are part of the process. Three: big groups. No thank you. I work with a maximum of four people per program, so I can offer deep, individual mentorship. Otherwise, it’s just noise. Panel Magazine: What’s something you secretly wish people would stop expecting from an "art school founder"? Anna Ádám: I don’t care what people expect from an “art school founder.” That’s their story. I have mine. Panel Magazine: You talk about “unlearning.” What’s the most dangerous or damaging thing we’ve been taught about art or being an artist? Anna Ádám: So many. And the worst ones are invisible — because they live inside us without our knowing. Just a few: Art is not a hobby. Art should be paid. You don’t need to fit in — you have a choice. You don’t need a gallery or a production house to be valid. Success is plural. Not being inspired is normal — and necessary. No art form is superior. Painting is not “better” than performance. It’s all dogma, all layers of bullshit that we have to unlearn. Panel Magazine: For me personally, it’s hard to imagine such a state of inner freedom — not caring about validation, or even about the result. Is it really possible to reach this level of independence, or is it more about the journey toward it? Anna Ádám: I think it’s possible. It takes time. But yes, it’s reachable. Panel Magazine: When was the last time you disobeyed yourself? Anna Ádám: Beautiful question. Often in my personal life. I make huge efforts not to follow old patterns. In my professional life a bit less often. Panel Magazine: What are some of the most powerful or surprising moments you've seen unfold during a retreat? Is there a moment that has stayed with you? Anna Ádám: So many. That’s what keeps me going. Watching someone open up, liberate, unfold, it’s sublime. That gives me energy. That gives me joy. I’m genuinely happy for them. Proud of them. Panel Magazine: At your retreats, you ask people to unplug and reconnect with nature. What have you personally learned from nature that no teacher could have taught you? Anna Ádám: To slow down. And to dare to slow down. To observe in detail. These are more valuable to me than perfectionism. They demand maturity. Honesty. Courage. Panel Magazine: Why are the camps and retreats outside of Budapest important? How does being in nature add to artistic research and transformation? Anna Ádám: I love the countryside. And I love the rhythm: city in winter, nature in summer. It gives shape to undisciplined thoughts. Suddenly, no more walls. More space. More sky. More horizon. More freedom in movement, but also in how we see: the horizon is suddenly enlarged. Panel Magazine: How does the environment we live in — urban, rural, digital — help or interfere with the creative process? Anna Ádám: It’s essential for many reasons. First, it defines the frame. Why do people come? What the space is for. The goal. I’m not saying the effect can’t be healing, it often is. But healing is not the function. We need to differentiate not just spaces, but also purposes and roles. That’s where verticality matters. I hold the space with both hands, gently, but firmly. With clear structure. That structure helps things unfold. It’s the container that allows transformation. Panel Magazine: How do you keep a space radically open—but still safe? Especially when creativity touches on identity, politics, and even pain. Anna Ádám: That’s where experience speaks. It’s subtle. Case by case. But again: the more solid the frame, the more fluid the space can be. The more it is structured, the more it can give shape to the shapeless. Panel Magazine: What makes someone ready—or not ready—for the School of Disobedience? Anna Ádám: Openness. And courage. Openness to the unknown. Courage to face what they find in the mirror. Not easy. Panel Magazine: In times like ours, who and what helps you keep going? Hope. Simply and deeply. Panel Magazine: If you could plant one seed under the soil of Hungary’s future culture—something invisible now but vital later—what would it be? Anna Ádám: Hope. Again. Always. Panel Magazine: Imagine the School of Disobedience in 50 years. What strange, wild, or radical practices do you hope will be happening there that would shock even you today? Anna Ádám: I don’t care about shocking, I never did. Maybe surprise me instead. I’ll be 94. If it still exists, that would be the surprise. Projects have a beginning, a blossoming, and an end. I love what I do, but I don’t need to do it forever. I’m an artist first, I evolve, I change paradigms. Who knows? Maybe by then I’ll open the Pension of Disobedience for elderly rebels. Let’s see. Maria Gyarmati and Masha Kamenetskaya Panel team www.panel-magazine.com
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 MAD Zine for Arts and Culture (MAD): Anna, thank you for joining us. You’ve often said that holding space is a kind of art. Can you start by telling us what “holding space” means to you?
Anna Ádám (AÁ): Holding space is about presence, not performance. It’s the quiet work of creating a container where others can unfold, express, break, rebuild, risk, play, or simply be. It means not filling the room with your own voice, ideas, or ego, but instead shaping an invisible architecture of safety, clarity, and permission. To hold space is not to dominate, but to anchor and allow. To offer foundations and frames others can build on. To hold space is not to pretend to know everything, but to take responsibility. It’s not fixed. It’s a practice in movement, in constant evolution and adaptation to each singular person and group. Holding space is choreographing attention: observing, analyzing, adjusting. Getting closer and closer, step by step. It’s the art of the case-by-case. MAD: That’s beautifully said. What does this look like practically, in a workshop or group setting? AÁ: First, I arrive. Fully. I check in with myself before I check in with others. Because your nervous system, whether regulated or rushed, sets the tone for the room. Then I tend to the basics:
“Everything here is an invitation. You are always allowed to jump out, and jump in again when it feels right.” It sounds simple, but it changes everything. MAD: You often work with groups that are vulnerable, marginalized, or unfamiliar with artistic spaces. How do you ensure the space remains safe and brave? AÁ: There’s no such thing as a totally safe space, because we each carry our own histories, sensitivities, and wounds. What looks safe to me is not necessarily safe to you. So I don’t impose preconceptions and rules. But we can build safer spaces through slowness, consent, and attunement. And we can learn to become our own safe space. We make spaces brave by normalizing the unknown, and valuing curiosity. By not rushing to conclusions or final products. I acknowledge the process itself as part of the artwork. I name tensions when they arise, without panic. I communicate, I ask, I frame and reframe. Practically:
MAD: Many people think of the facilitator as the leader. You describe something different. AÁ: Yes. Maybe the name of the School (School of Disobedience) creates some preconceptions. But I do build vertical spaces where the facilitator takes responsibility and holds the space. That’s not oppression, it’s care. At the same time, I withdraw. There is a part of altruism in this work. My role is not to shine, but to create the conditions where others feel seen. I hold the frame so that the picture can appear. I open the door, so participants can cross it when it feels right. I never push people out of their comfort zone. I simply make sure the conditions are there, so it can happen when the time comes. It’s an active role, rooted in observation and deep listening. It takes intuition, empathy, and a sincere belief in others' potential. But it’s not about control, it’s about response-ability: The ability to respond to the moment, the people, and to what wants to happen. To adapt. To adjust. MAD: What advice would you give to someone just beginning their journey in space-holding? AÁ: Begin with yourself. Learn to hold space for your own discomfort, your own uncertainty, your own growth. Notice what grounds you. What softens you. What makes you curious. Then you’ll have something to offer. You will make mistakes for sure. Assume them. Accept them. Learn from them. Don’t imitate. Be yourself. Assume your voice, your preferences, your values. Facilitate from your own center. Are you quiet? Be the quiet facilitator. Are you playful? Use that. What matters is not how you perform the role, but how you relate to others inside it. And don’t try to be perfect. People don’t need perfect. They need real, sincere, and present. MAD: And finally, what do you wish more people understood about this work? AÁ: That it’s layered. That it’s political. That it’s art. That it’s alive. Holding space is not just a technique. It’s a form of relating to others. It’s organic, constantly transforming, and perhaps most importantly, it changes you and others in the same process.  I don’t think of ecological practice in performance as just a question of materials—it’s about methods, about how I work, how I build, how I shape and reshape. My approach is one of constant recycling, a continuous process of reusing, repurposing, recomposing. It’s part of my collage method, a way of working that comes probably from my background in visual arts, a kind of inheritance I carry into performance. In collage, nothing is entirely new; everything is made of fragments, remnants, echoes of something else. I treat performance the same way. I compose, choreograph, through layering, assembling, repurposing.
My pieces exist as trios, but they are assembled from solos that I have worked on, broken apart, and recycled further. Each piece is a layered archive of past works, fragments that resurface in new contexts, revealing new meanings. The same goes for my settings and props: they are not just objects, but tools, spaces, carriers of memory and transformation. "Secret Garden" and "CLASH" are both solos and part of a trio. Their props are not merely decorative elements but also serve as settings and toolboxes for workshops. My work is built on multiplicity and a refusal to obsess over "the new." I stopped wanting to be original and singular the day I understood I was supposed to be. That expectation of novelty, of radical individuality felt like a trap, a limitation disguised as freedom. Since then, I have shifted my focus toward something else. Detail. Precision. Focus. Depth. Instead of constantly inventing, I refine. Instead of discarding, I transform. Instead of chasing innovation, I explore what already exists—in my work, in my body, in the echoes of past movements, past words, past spaces, past experiences. I see myself as a fishermen from the black hole, searching for those things that are lost, pieces, particles, which I carefully store, recycle, and reuse later.  The choice of an open call format is a conscious decision that aligns with the core values of the Performance Now! Festival and the School of Disobedience: curiosity and openness to experimentation, the new, the unusual, the unknown, the unpredictable, the unexpected.
Had the festival been invitation-only, we would have remained within a closed circle, favoring and prioritizing the work of known, recognized, or already established artists over and over again. This often leads to the reiteration of the canon, which—while significant—does not necessarily bring fresh perspectives or new artistic voices. Such curatorial decisions risk reinforcing familiar bubbles and networks while leaving little space for artists on the periphery, for more radical, experimental creators, or for marginal voices. In contrast, the open call creates opportunities for unexpected encounters and for continuously questioning and expanding canonical artistic discourse. It is more democratic, as participation does not depend on prior connections or institutional affiliations but is determined by the submitted works and their relevance. This approach resonates with the ethos of the School of Disobedience, which seeks to provide a platform for disruptive, subversive, and non-canonical aesthetics, discourses, and performative semantics. Moreover, the open call signals that the festival operates as an inclusive and welcoming community, where anyone has the opportunity to contribute to a shared artistic and intellectual exchange. This is not only liberating for the artists but also makes the experience more engaging for the audience, allowing for a more diverse, unpredictable, and dynamic program. Over the course of two days, 68 artists from 14 countries will present their work—emerging and established artists, young and experienced practitioners, solo performers and collectives—offering glimpses into the vast and often hidden spectrum of contemporary performance and community art practices, revealing less visible, overlooked, and unconventional artistic territories.  A nyílt felhívás műfajának választása tudatos döntés, amely összhangban áll a Performance Now! Fesztivál és a School of Disobedience alapvető értékeivel: kíváncsiság és nyitottság a kísérletezésre, az újra, a szokatlanra, az ismeretlenre, a kiszámíthatatlanra, a váratlanra.
Ha a fesztivál meghívásos lett volna, azzal megmaradtunk volna egy zárt körben, amely az ismert, elismert vagy már bejáratott művészek munkáit preferálja és helyezi előtérbe újra és újra. Ez gyakran a kánon újrajátszásához vezet, amely – bár fontos – nem feltétlenül hoz friss perspektívákat vagy új alkotói hangokat. Az ilyen kurátori döntések kockázata, hogy a megszokott buborékok és kapcsolati hálók tovább erősödnek, miközben a periférián lévő művészek vagy radikálisabb, kísérletezőbb alkotók, marginálisabb hangok nem kapnak teret. A nyílt felhívás ezzel szemben lehetőséget teremt a váratlan találkozásokra és a kanonikus művészeti diskurzus folyamatos megkérdőjelezésére és tágítására. Demokratikusabb, mert nem előzetes ismeretségeken vagy intézményi beágyazottságon múlik a részvétel, hanem a beküldött művek és azok relevanciája alapján dől el. Ez a hozzáállás rezonál a School of Disobedience ethoszával, amely a diszruptív, szubverzív, és kánonon kívüli esztétikák, diskurzusok és performatív szemantikák számára kíván platformot teremteni. A nyílt felhívás egyben azt is jelzi, hogy a fesztivál befogadó és elfogadó közösségként működik, amelyben bárki számára adott a lehetőség, hogy művészetével hozzájáruljon a közös gondolkodáshoz. Ez nemcsak az alkotók számára felszabadító, hanem a közönség számára is izgalmasabb, hiszen így egy sokszínűbb, kiszámíthatatlanabb és élőbb program jöhet létre. A két nap alatt 68 művész mutatkozik meg 14 országból: pályakezdők és ismertebbek, fiatalok és idősebbek, egyéni és csoportos formációk, akik művészetükkel bemutatják a “kortárs performansz és közösségi művészeti praxisok” széles és szinte beláthatatlan spektrumának egy-egy elrejtettebb szegmensét, kevésbé látható zegzugát.  Ecological consciousness has many shapes, and none is more valid than another. We have learned to sort waste, to separate materials, to recognize which bin to use, how to contribute to recycling. But what about the waste we generate in performance art? Not just the material—sets built for a single show, costumes discarded after one run, endless prints, props, and objects created in the name of ephemerality, only to be thrown away—but also the immaterial.
The movements that are too much. The gestures that do not serve. The ornaments, the unnecessary, the redundant. The excess we produce in rehearsals, the layers we build only to strip away, the hours of exploration that never make it into the final piece. What happens to all that energy, that labor? Does it disappear, or does it linger, an invisible residue of overproduction? Curiously, the very system that claims to champion ecological awareness—through thematic open calls, through mandates for slow travel, through application requirements that demand artists prove their ecological sensitivity—is structured in a way that perpetuates the exact opposite. It demands constant production. More and more, in less and less time. It forces artists into cycles of relentless creation, where the expectation is always to present something new, to justify funding by producing more, to adapt to an ever-accelerating system that leaves little room for reuse, reflection, or sustainable practice. What if ecological practice in performance wasn’t just about the physical materials we use but about how we work, how we create, how we rehearse, how we move? What if it was about stripping away—not out of lack, but out of precision? About embracing used, secondhand material instead of looking for endless novelty? About resisting the pressure to overproduce, to overfill, to overcomplicate? How do we break this cycle? How do we create without excess? Can we resist the pressure to generate always something new, accumulate, discard? Can we learn to create from what is already there? To recycle not only objects but also ideas, movements, entire pieces? To work with an economy of means, where nothing is wasted: not energy, not time, not movement. Where we rehearse less, but with more presence. Move less, but with more clarity. Speak less, but with more weight. Do less, but with more meaning.  Simple doesn’t mean easy. Simple doesn’t mean superficial. Simple doesn’t mean empty, nor boring.
The opposite. Simplicity is sharp. It cuts through the noise, the excess, the unnecessary weight we carry in our movements, in our words, in our art. Simplicity is direct. It demands precision. It forces us to strip away the ornament and stand bare, exposed, with only the essence remaining. And that—standing in essence—is the hardest thing to do. To be simple is to be bold. It is to trust that what is essential is enough. It is to resist the temptation to decorate, to fill space just because emptiness makes us uncomfortable. It is to make choices with clarity, to take responsibility for each movement, each pause, each breath. Simplicity does not mean less effort—it means more presence. More listening. More trust in the weight of each action. It is a raw, condensed intensity. A single movement that speaks louder than a hundred. A single gesture that carries the whole story. A single word that lingers longer than a scream. A single movement that holds everything. That echoes, expands, takes root. And that is never easy.  The Performance Now! Festival is not merely a festival. At least, not just that. Above all, it is a community art practice that aims to provide space for other community art practices. A mise en abyme: art within art, community within community.
Thus, Performance Now! uses the form, the means of expression, the medium of a "festival," but fundamentally represents different goals and values than festivals typically do. Here, collaboration, joint creation, and community building are clear priorities; the aim is to function as an arena where people meet and connect. It's a priority to hold space and give space: for creation, experience, learning and teaching, mutual development, and reflection. The "together" is important, that everyone matters here, that the "festival" as an artistic form structures, organizes, and systematizes, provides a framework, thus offering safety, creating opportunities, and opening doors. It connects and forges. Builds and enables. The "together" and the "equally" are important: here, everyone gives and receives, teaches and learns, puts in and takes out. The festival is practically organized by a community of 100 people, of which you are also a part. There's the organizing team, students of the Art Theory and Curatorial Studies Programs of the Hungarian University of Fine Arts, and those who have connected with us: either by hosting a foreign artist, writing about us, providing dramaturgical consultation to the artists as theoretical experts, attending professional programs to network, students who photograph, friends who collect tickets, people who, in one way or another, contribute their knowledge and time to then gain the experience, the learning, the connection that the festival offers. This is barter trade, an alternative to the capitalist system, proof that it can be done this way too. Differently, and like this. I'm not claiming this is "the" solution, but I'm actively experimenting to show that creating quality art, forging relationships, developing, and learning doesn't cost millions; there's no need for NKA, Creative Europe, scholarships, grants, or sponsors because everyone contributes a little. This is the essence of this festival: everyone contributes a little to create something big together. And here, "big" doesn't mean visible, glaringly shining, overflowing from everywhere, but valuable and essential. Defining. Because it's human. The fact that, instead of the obvious capitalist setup, barter trade is our business model means that we've eliminated monetary transactions as much as possible; our currency is not the forint but the festival pass; this is the basis of our system. You don't have to agree with this; the formula is very simple: if you don't want to be a member of our community and trade with your time or knowledge, you can still buy a pass; we keep this option open, but we don't specifically support it. Why is it designed this way? For the reason I started with: because the focus here is on "together." That this festival is primarily a platform for meeting and connecting. And the entire organizational model is nothing more than a sincere gesture in this direction. It's a filter, and the filter is a focus. At this festival, with this organization, the people present over the next two days are those who believe in these values, who understand this, and who see the "deal" in this, that they actually get much more if they come to collect tickets for three hours than if they buy a pass... Those who are here now, and those who will be present over the weekend, are primarily those who want to join the project, and only then the festival. So, those who were captivated by the community in this, our values, and only secondarily the program. Because, essentially, here the community itself is the program, the value, and the goal. I warmly welcome, therefore, at this press conference, members of our community who have joined this in one form or another:
Thank you for being here and for this being important to you too! February 7, 2025 3. Performance Now! Festival Press Preview  A Performance Now! Fesztivál tulajdonképpen nem egy fesztivál. Legalábbis nem csak. Ez mindenek előtt egy közösségi művészeti gyakorlat, ami teret kíván adni más közösségi művészeti gyakorlatnak. Egy "mise en abym"e: művészet a művészetben, közösség a közösségben.
A Performance Now!-nak tehát csak a formája, a kifejezőeszköze, a médiuma “fesztivál”, de alapvetően más célt és értéket képvisel, mint általában a fesztiválok. Itt egyértelműen prioritás az együttműködés, a közös építés és a közösség-építés, prioritás, hogy arénaként működjünk, ahol emberek találkoznak és kapcsolódnak. Prioritás, hogy teret tartsunk és teret adjunk: alkotásra, tapasztalásra, tanulásra és tanításra, közös fejlődésre és gondolkodásra. Fontos az “együtt”, hogy itt mindenki számít, hogy a “fesztivál”, mint művészi forma, struktúrál, rendez, és rendszerez, keretet nyújt, tehát biztonságot ad, lehetőséget teremt, és ajtókat nyit ki. Összeköt és kovácsol. Épít és lehetővé tesz. Fontos az “együtt”, és az “ugyanannyira”: itt mindenki ad és kap, tanít és tanul, beletesz és kivesz. A fesztivált gyakorlatilag egy 100 fős közösség szervezi, aminek Ti is a részesei vagytok. Van ugye a szervezői stáb, a Magyar Képzőművészeti Egyetem Képzőművészet-elmélet szak hallgatói, és vannak azok, akik kapcsolódtak hozzánk: vagy elszállásolnak egy külföldi művészt, vagy írnak rólunk, vagy dramaturgiai konzultációt biztosítanak a művészeknek, vagy eljönnek a szakmai programra ismerkedni, hallgatók, akik fotóznak, barátok, akik jegyet szednek, emberek, akik ilyen vagy olyan formában beleteszik ebbe a tudásuk, az idejük, hogy aztán kivehessék az élményt, a tapasztalást, a kapcsolódást, amit a fesztivál nyújt. Ez cserekereskedelem, egy alternatíva a kapitalista berendezkedésre, egy bizonyíték arra, hogy így is lehet. Máshogy is, és így is. Nem állítom, hogy ez “a” megoldás, de aktívan kísérletet teszek arra, hogy igényes művészetet csinálni, kapcsolati tőkét kovácsolni, fejlődni és tanulni, nem kerül milliókba, nincs szükség NKA-ra, se IZP-re, se ösztöndíjra, se pályázatra, se szponzorokra, mert mindenki beletesz egy kicsit. Ennek a fesztiválnak ez a lényege: mindenki beletesz egy kicsit, hogy együtt létrehozzunk valami nagyot. És itt a nagy nem azt jelenti hogy látható, hogy harsányan csillog, hogy mindenhonnan folyik, hanem hogy érték és lényeges. Meghatározó. Mert emberi. Az hogy a kézenfekvő kapitalista berendezkedés helyett a cserekereskedelem az üzleti modellünk konkrétan azt jelenti, hogy a pénzforgást amennyire lehet kiiktattuk, a valuta nálunk nem a forint, hanem a fesztiválbérlet, ez a számrendszerünk alapja. Ezzel nem muszáj egyet érteni, a képlet baromi egyszerű: ha nem akarsz a közösségünk tagja lenni, és az időddel vagy a tudásoddal kereskedni, még mindig vehetsz egy bérletet, ezt a lehetőséget fenntartjuk, de kifejezetten támogatni nem támogatjuk. Miért van ez így kitalálva? Azért, amivel kezdtem, mert itt a szempont az “együtt”. Hogy ez a fesztivál elsősorban platform legyen az ismerkedésre, és a kapcsolódásra. És az egész szervezési modell nem más, mint egy őszinte gesztus ebbe az irányba. Ez egy szűrő, a szűrő pedig egy fókusz. Ezen a fesztiválon ezzel a szervezéssel olyan emberek lesznek jelen az elkövetkezendő két napban, akik ezekben az értékekben hisznek, akik ezt értik, és akik látják ebben az “üzletet”, hogy igazából sokkal jobban járnak és sokkal többet kapnak, ha eljönnek három órát jegyet szedni, mintha vásárolnak egy bérletet… Azok vannak most is itt, és azok lesznek hétvégén jelen, akik elsősorban a projekthez szeretnének csatlakozni, és csak utána a fesztiválhoz. Tehát akiket a közösség fogott meg ebben, az értékeink, és csak másodsorban a program. Hiszen, tulajdonképpen, itt a közösség maga a program, az érték, és a cél. Sok szeretettel üdvözlöm tehát ezen a sajtótájékoztatón közösségünk tagjait, akik ilyen vagy olyan formában csatlakoztak ehhez: Hallgatókat - szervezőket Helyszíneket Művészeket Sajtós kollégákat Önkénteseket Köszönöm, hogy itt vagytok, és hogy ez nektek is fontos!  Hungarian Dipló (HD): You are a Hungarian artist, author, community activist, and cultural entrepreneur. You are the founder and director of the School of Disobedience, co-founder, artistic director, and choreographer of the Gray Box company (France), founder of the Performance Now! Festival, as well as the creator, curator, and producer of the Radical & Experimental Performance Nights series. Your artistic practice is vast, spanning performance creation, crafting sensitive hybrid spaces, and community building. What are you bringing to 1111 Gallery? Will your residency have a specific focus?
Anna Ádám (A.A.): My seven-month residency is structured around four closely connected activities: research, creation, education, and community building. The research will primarily focus on performance art. Think of it as an open, creative platform or experimental laboratory with thematic workshops in the form of performance nights, which people can join through open calls. The creation aspect refers to preparing a new performance. Starting in November, I will be working on a duet combining text and dance, where a dancer and an actress navigate the challenging journey of confronting and reconciling with their personal pasts. The gallery will serve as my rehearsal space, but there will also be open sessions and work-in-progress presentations. For education, the gallery will become the headquarters of the School of Disobedience—a radical, critical, and experimental performance art school. I will hold classes, house presentations, public lectures, and host all the free satellite programs dedicated to amplifying marginal aesthetics, voices, and visions in the spirit of the school. Lastly, community building will involve collaborative events, both artistic and non-artistic. For instance, the third Performance Now! festival, organized this year in collaboration with STEREO Művház and AGORA Community, will be co-created by students of the Art Theory Department of the Hungarian University of Fine Arts. Another example is the first Contemporary Poetry Biennale in spring, which will also emerge from close collaborations with partner institutions. HD: You view the School of Disobedience, which extends relational aesthetics with a pedagogical framework, as a milestone in your artistic career—almost like an artwork itself—despite its lack of a physical or visual form. You refer to it explicitly as a piece of community art. Yet its roots seem to draw from Black Mountain College, Bauhaus, radical and critical pedagogy, and the aesthetics of underground political movements. How does your often critical, radical, and institution-challenging rhetoric align with the gesture of moving into a beautifully renovated white cube in Budapest’s 11th district for seven months? A.A.: The fact that I have a strong opinion about academic education doesn’t mean I avoid collaborating with higher art education institutions. Similarly, I believe I can be critical of institutional systems while remaining open to cooperation. To me, being radical doesn’t mean stubborn exclusion or rejection—it means voicing disagreements where necessary. I don’t believe that everyone has to agree on everything, nor do I think the world would be better if only schools like mine existed. Some people prefer academia, while others resonate with my school. That’s completely okay. I strive for a pluralistic approach where diverse viewpoints coexist harmoniously. I believe we can learn a lot—perhaps even more—from our differences than from surrounding ourselves with like-minded people. My actions emphasize the importance of dialogue and collective thinking. It may require more effort and present bigger challenges, but I believe it offers greater rewards and opportunities for growth. HD: That’s a significant statement in a politically polarized country where ideological differences often sever family ties, friendships, and professional collaborations. From what you’ve said, it seems acceptance and embracing other perspectives are central to you. Are you creating spaces in 1111 Gallery where difference isn’t a problem but an opportunity for individual and collective growth? This idea also aligns with your research on differentiation. Could you elaborate on that? A.A.: Yes, embracing, understanding, and accepting differences are crucial in the spaces I create. My works often explore inner or outer conflicts arising from embracing otherness and difference. Secret Garden delves into internal struggles, Right for Fight explores duel in the context of a love relationship, and Utopia/Dystopia depicts the unequal battle between an individual and a global phenomenon (climate change). My new performance, which I’ll develop at the gallery, will revolve around the conflict between confrontation and evasion. HD: Conflict is clearly a central theme in your research. At the same time, you wrestle—literally. In 2023, with support from the French Institute, you spent an extended research trip in Senegal, learning local wrestling techniques. Your performance Right for Fight draws from this movement vocabulary. You also run the Feminist Fight Club, where you strengthen self-confidence muscles in a female community. Yet, your spaces are not combative—they are “soft and sensitive, accepting and inclusive, open and empathetic,” as you write. How do you ensure that? What makes a space safe? A.A.: I believe a space becomes safe when it has a clear framework that is transparently communicated. Participants should know they are entering a creative, non-therapeutic environment. While I often engage with personal themes and draw inspiration from somatic, sensation-based methods, I maintain a clear distinction between artistic and therapeutic contexts, deliberately avoiding explicitly therapeutic approaches. I also ask participants to respect this, ensuring the space remains a professional or creative context where explicit trauma should not be brought in. Unfortunately, in the past 5–10 years, artistic and therapeutic spaces have become increasingly conflated, leading to blurred expectations. I dislike terms like queer or safe space because they’ve been overused, diluted, and lost their political significance. Simply labeling something as a safe space or putting up a sticker doesn’t make it so. Creating a truly safe space requires hard work: establishing boundaries and fostering open communication. My programs constantly work towards building such an environment—one where you can genuinely be yourself because, in my view, liberation is only possible under these conditions. |
Author"I graduated from both ESSEC Business School and ENSAPC Art School in France. As a choreographer, cultural entrepreneur, and community activist, I harness the transformative power of art to build spaces, experiences, and communities. My artistic practice explores new poetic, fragile, and hybrid forms, spanning multiple mediums, including text, image, object, and movement. I create full-length dance pieces, short-format performances, immersive installations, multi-sensory community experiences. Over the past two decades, I've founded the School of Disobedience, established my own performance art company (Gray Box), and launched the annual Performance Now! Festival. I embrace everything unusual, unexpected, and nonconformist. I am not kind with assholes and have learned to forge my own path. I am here to guide you in thinking outside the box and achieving independence. To me, the real party is outside the confines of the established canon." Archives
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