 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.
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 Magyar Dipló (MD): MagyarAlkotóművész vagy, szerző, közösségi aktivista, és kulturális vállalkozó. A School of Disobedience megálmodója és igazgatója, a Gray Box társulat társalapítója, művészeti vezetője és koreográfusa, a Vadvirágok Fesztivál alapítója és kurátora, a Radikális & Experimentális Performansz Est programsorozat kitalálója, szakmai referense, és producere. Szerteágazó az alkotói praxisod, darabokat csinálsz, érzékeny és hibrid tereket hozol létre, közösségeket építesz. Mit hozol ebből a 1111 Galériába? Lesz-e a rezidenciádnak kifejezetten fókusza?
Ádám Anna (Á. A.): A hét hónapos rezidenciát négy egymással szorosan összefüggő tevékenység köré építem: kutatás, alkotás, oktatás és közösségépítés. A kutatás elsősorban a performansz művészetre fókuszál. Nyitott, kreatív platformot, szabad kísérletezésre alkalmas laboratóriumot kell elképzelni például tematikus workshopok performansz estek formájában, amihez felhívások révén lehet majd csatlakozni. Az alkotás saját előadás előkészületeire utal. Egy szöveget és táncot ötvöző duetten dolgozom novembertől, amiben egy táncos és egy színész a személyes múltjukkal való szembenézés és megbékélés rögös útján csatangolnak. Tehát próbateremként is fogom használni a galériát, de ennek is lesznek nyitott alkalmai, fázis bemutatói. Oktatás alatt azt értem, hogy a School of Disobedience radikális, kritikus és experimentális performansz művészeti iskolának a galéria lesz az elkövetkezendő időszakban a székhelye. Ide hozom az órákat, a házibemutatókat, a nyilvános előadásokat, és az összes ingyenes szatellit programot, ami az iskola szellemiségében marginális esztétikákat, hangokat, víziókat kíván megszólaltatni, bemutatni. Végül a közösségépítés együttműködéseken alapuló közös programokat, művészi és nem művészi eseményeket takar. Ennek egyik példája a 3. Performance Now! fesztivál, amit két másik helyszínnel összefogva (STEREO Művház és AGORA Community) idén a Képzőművészeti Egyetem Képzőművészet-elmélet Tanszék hallgatói szerveznek, vagy a tavaszi első Kortárs Költészeti Biennálé, ami szintén társintézményekkel való szoros együttműködések révén valósul majd meg. MD: A relációesztétikát tovább gondoló és pedagógiai tartalommal kiegészítő School of Disobedience-re alkotói munkásságod egyik állomásaként, szinte műtárgyként tekintesz, holott nincsen se képi se tárgyi mivolta. Kifejezetten közösségi művészeti alkotásként utalsz rá, de nekem úgy tűnik, a gyökerek a Black Mountain College, sőt, a Bauhaus School, a radikális és kritikai pedagógia, valamint az underground politikai mozgalmak esztétikájából is merítkezik. Hogyan fér össze a gyakran kritikus, radikális és intézményellenes retorikád azzal a gesztussal, hogy hét hónapra beköltözöl egy 11. kerületi szépen felújított white cube-ba? Á. A.: Az, hogy megvan az akadémikus oktatásról a véleményem, nem jelenti azt, hogy elhatárolódok a felsőoktatási művészeti intézményekkel való együttműködéstől. Ugyanígy, szerintem lehetek egyszerre kritikus az intézményrendszerrel, de együttműködésre nyitott. Nekem a radikális nem azt jelenti, hogy dacosan kizárok és elhatárolódok, hanem azt, hogy vannak dolgok, amikben nem értünk egyet, és ennek hangot merek adni. Én nem gondolom azt, hogy mindenkinek mindenben egyet kellene értenie, ahogyan azt sem, hogy jobb lenne a világ, ha csak olyan iskolák lennének, mint az enyém. Van, akinek az akadémia jön be, van, akinek meg az én iskolám. És ez teljesen rendben van így. Tudod, én egy plurális álláspontot próbálok képviselni, amiben a különböző nézetek nagyon szépen megférnek egymás mellett. Sőt, szerintem sokat tanulhatunk a különbségekből, talán többet is, mintha csak olyan emberekkel vennénk körül magunkat, akikkel mindenben megegyezik a véleményünk. Tehát én a cselekedetemmel pont hogy azt próbálom hangsúlyozni, hogy esélyt kell adni a párbeszédre, a közös gondolkodásra. Lehet, hogy több munka és nagyobb kihívás, de azt gondolom, mindenkinek többet is ad, többet tudunk tanulni belőle. MD: Ez egy elég fontos állásfoglalás egy politikailag élesen polarizált országban, ahol az ideológiai viták, különbségek, néha családi kötelékeknek, barátságoknak, szakmai együttműködéseknek vetnek véget. Abból amit mondasz, nekem az rajzolódik ki, hogy az elfogadás és más nézőpontjának a befogadása meghatározó számodra, és olyan tereket szeretnél létrehozni a 1111 galériában is, ahol a különbség nem probléma, hanem szinte egy lehetőség az egyéni és közös fejlődésre. Ez a gondolat a kutatási területeddel is szépen rezonál, ami a diferenciálódás témájára reflektál különböző perspektívákból. Mesélsz erről? Á. A.: Igen, valóban fontos a tereimben a különbségek érzékelése, megértése és elfogadása. Sőt, szerintem egy alkotás attól nyeri el politikai dimenzióját, hogy a különbségek kontextusában van megjelenítve. Egy rendszerkritikus performansznak egy underground közegben nincs tétje, de talán művészi értéke se sok. Megtapsolnak, mindenki egyetért veled, na bumm. Ha a parlament lépcsőjén adod elő, az egészen más… Akkor tényleg eléred azokat az embereket, akiknek egy új, szokatlan, alternatív perspektívát tudsz valamiről felmutatni. És jól látod, a darabjaim is azokról a belső vagy külső konfliktusokról szólnak, amik a mássággal, különbségek felvállalásával kapnak teret. Secret Garden egy belső vívódást, a Right for Fight egy szerelmi párbajt, az Utopia/Dystopia pedig az egyén és egy globális jelenség (klímaváltozás) közötti egyenlőtlen harcot jeleníti meg. Az új előadásomban, amin a galériában fogok dolgozni, a megfutamodás a szembenézéssel kerül majd konfliktusba. MD: Konfliktus tehát a fő kutatási területed, mindemellett birkózol, 2023-ban a Francia Intézet támogatásával Szenegálban töltöttél egy hosszabb tanulmányutat, ahol a helyi birkózás technikáját sajátítottad el. A Right for Fight darabod többek között ebből a mozgásanyagból inspirálódik, közben Feminista Fight Klubbot is tartasz több éve, ahol az önbizalom izmait erősítitek, fejlesztitek női közösségben. És mégis, a tereid nem harcosak! “Puhák és érzékenyek. Elfogadóak és befogadóak. Nyitottak és empatikusak.” - írod. Ezt hogyan tudod garantálni? Mitől lesz biztonságos egy tér? Á. A.: Szerintem attól, hogy van kerete, a határok és a célok tisztán és érthetően vannak kommunikálva, és mindenki tudja hova jön és miért. Azt talán nem is pontosan, hogy ott mi fog vele történni, azt viszont igen, hogy például egy kreatív, és nem terápiás közeghez csatlakozik. Nálam szét van választva a kettő, és ugyan bőven foglalkozom személyessel, a módszertanom is gyakran szomatikus és az érzetekből inspirálódik, mégsem megyek bele semmilyen kimondottan önismereti, terapeutikus megközelítésbe, ettől szigorúan elhatárolódom. Ezt a résztvevőktől kérem is, hogy erre figyeljenek, hogy ez egy hol szakmai, hol alkotói kontextus, és traumákat például explicit módon egyáltalán ne hozzanak be. Sajnos az utóbbi 5-10 évben egyre gyakoribb, hogy a művészi és terápiás terek össze vannak mosva, így az ezekkel kapcsolatos elvárások is. A gazdasági válsággal és a szakmai nehézségekkel sok művész csapott fel megélhetési “gyógyítónak” - jelentsen ez bármit -, és sajnos megfelelő képzettség nélkül néha többet ártanak, mint használnak. Utálom azt a szót, hogy “queer”, ahogyan azt is, hogy “safe space”, mert kitágult, így kiüresedett, és elveszítette politikai jelentés tartamát. Nem elég valamire rámondani, hogy ez egy biztonságos tér, mert attól még, hogy rámondod, vagy kiteszel egy matricát, sajnos nem lesz az! Ez egy hosszú és kemény munka, megteremteni azokat a kereteket, amitől egy tér valóban biztonságos lesz. Az én programjaimon folyamatosan ezen dolgozunk, hogy a határok kijelölésével és nyitott kommunikációjával megteremtsük azt a biztonságos teret, amiben valóban bátran önmagad lehetsz, hiszen felszabadulni, szerintem, csak így lehet.  During my time teaching at the Academy of Fine Arts in Vienna, my students often asked, "What is the role of the artist today?" I believe the artist’s role is not just to observe but to learn how to truly see, to make visible the tangled web of existence we so often overlook. While political rhetoric, religious doctrines, and dogmatic ideologies attempt to streamline reality—bending it to fit their agendas—artists dive into the mess of contradictions, paradoxes, and uncertainties that shape our lives.
Politics simplifies. It reduces the complex to digestible slogans, aiming to persuade, not to explore. Religion and ideology, too, provide comforting frameworks, but these frameworks can flatten the intricacies of perception, imposing truths where there are often only questions. What is lost in this process? The richness of life’s diversity, the subtle interactions, and the contradictions that make us who we are. Artists, on the other hand, reject these shortcuts. They reveal the layers, the connections, the things that don’t fit neatly into a box. They lean into ambiguity, embracing the shades of gray that others avoid. Their work does more than capture a moment—it uncovers how emotions, culture, social structures, and our environment are woven together in ways that are impossible to reduce to simple answers. Through this exploration, artists present a more honest, pluralistic view of existence. When we engage with art, we are asked to look deeper, to push past surface interpretations. Art reflects back at us the complexity of our own lives, inviting us to question, to reflect, and ultimately to embrace the uncertainty that surrounds us. That’s why artists are feared by those in power: they disrupt the narratives, they expose what’s hidden, and they inspire change in ways that shake the foundation of rigid systems.  In the world of political activism, we often talk about systems and structures, about dismantling the forces that oppress and silence. But rarely do we start where all true transformation begins: with ourselves. Self-empowerment is not about ego, nor is it some isolated act of self-improvement divorced from the larger fight. It is the essential root of any lasting change, the bedrock from which all activism must grow. Without this foundation, any movement risks being hollow, a mere reaction to external forces rather than a force of its own.
Self-empowerment is not just personal growth. It’s about seeing yourself clearly, owning your strengths and weaknesses, and recognizing how deeply intertwined your internal battles are with the external struggles you fight against. When we learn to empower ourselves, we’re not just becoming better activists; we’re learning to dismantle the internalized narratives that keep us complicit in systems of oppression. And this is where the real work begins. When you begin this journey, you don’t just change how you move through the world—you change how you see the world. The personal becomes political, and suddenly, what seemed like small, individual acts of transformation—speaking out, reclaiming space, challenging your own conditioning—become threads in the larger fabric of revolution. And this is how movements grow. From the ground up. From the individual outward. Self-empowerment also brings with it a necessary resilience. When you’ve worked through your own fears and limitations, you don’t just learn to stand in your truth—you become unshakable. In a world that constantly pushes back against change, it is this inner strength that sustains you, that keeps you fighting when the stakes are high and the obstacles seem insurmountable. And in that steadiness, others find their strength. Self-empowerment is contagious. At the School of Disobedience, we teach that your personal transformation is never just yours. It’s a spark. As you change, so does the world around you. This is why we insist that activism and self-empowerment are inseparable. You cannot fight to free others if you are not free within yourself. Every personal breakthrough, every layer of social conditioning you peel away, every step you take toward your own liberation adds momentum to the broader struggle. We don’t pretend that self-empowerment is easy. It’s not. It requires a deep willingness to confront the ways we’ve been shaped by the very systems we seek to undo. It asks you to examine your place within those systems—where you’ve benefited, where you’ve been complicit, and where you’ve suffered. It’s uncomfortable work, but it’s necessary if we want to create something more than just another iteration of the same old power dynamics. When individuals do this work, something extraordinary happens: the collective shifts. A movement becomes more than just a reaction to injustice; it becomes a vision of a new way of being, a new way of existing together. This is where the real power lies, in the ability to see beyond the immediate struggle to the world we want to create—and in knowing that the world we want to create starts with us. At the School of Disobedience, we teach you to see yourself as a vital part of this transformation. Your growth is not a side effect of activism—it is activism. By aligning personal empowerment with collective action, we forge a path that leads not just to resistance, but to creation. We’re not just fighting against systems; we’re building new ones, ones that make space for everyone, that reflect the values of equality, justice, and freedom. This is the future we envision. A world where self-empowerment is not a luxury but a necessity, where personal transformation feeds directly into social revolution, and where every individual who dares to confront their own shadows becomes a beacon of possibility for others. The systems that bind us fear this kind of power because it cannot be controlled, and it cannot be stopped. This is your invitation to step into that power. To transform yourself, and in doing so, transform the world.  Human desire revolves around the idea of lacking what we do not have, making it a central part of our existence. We constantly yearn for what we perceive as missing, and this perpetual desire keeps us from true contentment. Desire equates to lack, and lack brings suffering.
Happiness is often thought of as having what we want, but it's not about having everything we want. Kant suggests that true happiness is more an ideal of imagination than reason. Real contentment comes from fulfilling a significant portion of our desires. However, we only desire what we don't have, so we are perpetually seeking and never completely satisfied. When a desire is fulfilled, it ceases to be a desire. Sartre said, “Pleasure is the death and failure of desire.” Once we get what we want, it loses its allure, and we start longing for something new. Therefore, happiness isn't about having what we once desired but continuously having new desires. Unfulfilled desires cause frustration and suffering, while fulfilled desires lead to boredom, as the lack and longing that drive us dissipate. The object of our desire, when unattained, seems to hold unparalleled value. But once achieved, it loses its significance, and we quickly move on to desiring something new. Eastern philosophies, particularly Buddhism, emphasize the idea that attachment to desires is the root of suffering. The Four Noble Truths teach that recognizing the nature of suffering, understanding its cause (attachment and desire), and following the Eightfold Path can lead to liberation from this cycle. By letting go of attachment and learning to be present, one can find peace and contentment that transcends the ups and downs of desire. As Schopenhauer states, happiness is not the presence of desire but its absence. You might think, "I would be happy if..." but whether the "if..." comes true or not, true happiness is rarely found. Instead, we oscillate between suffering from unfulfilled desires and boredom from satisfied ones. This leads to the grim realization summed up by Schopenhauer's quote: "Life swings like a pendulum, from right to left, from suffering to boredom." George Bernard Shaw poignantly summarized this paradox by stating: "There are two tragedies in life. One is not to get your heart's desire. The other is to get it."  My Fight Clubs are arenas for reappropriation. Here, through practices like self-defense, wrestling, and playful fighting, we not only reclaim but also assert our ownership of voices, bodies, emotions, and spaces that rightfully belong to us but have been unjustly taken away.
My Fight Clubs are also brave spaces where we dare to challenge societal norms and personal limitations. In this nurturing and secure environment, participants are encouraged to explore their physical and emotional boundaries without fear of judgment, allowing for deep personal growth and empowerment. My Fight Clubs are political soft spaces for tactical and strategic thinking, where we learn how to navigate power dynamics, resist domination, and stand up for ourselves. Here, I empower individuals to become agents of transformation, starting with their own personal development. My Fight Clubs are spaces of leadership outside of the capitalist framework. Here, we explore our unique leadership styles and reclaim agency, fostering confidence, and developing the skills necessary to occupy space and effect change.  Azt hiszem engem nem az érdekel, hogy milyen ösztöndíjak vannak a piacon, hanem például hogy milyen más lehetőségei vannak egy mai magyar kortárs képzőművésznek arra, hogy konkrétan ne haljon éhen. Az ösztöndíj rendszer, mellesleg romokban, mellesleg egy szűk szekta kezében, egy-egy kivétellel, alamizsna, semmiképpen sem megoldás.
A pályázati rendszer egy iszonyú toxikus függőség. Egy drog, amire rászoktatják a művészeket, egy kiszolgáltatott helyzet, ami észre sem veszed milyen megalázó és hitvány. Amikor pályázol, és elfogadod, hogy a rendszer része leszel, tudd, hogy ezzel leginkább egy szűk réteg hatalmi pozícióját erősíted. Feletted. Ettől függetlenül nem a művészeket hibáztatom, értem miért pályáztok, én is volt, hogy pályáztam. De nem is a pályázati rendszert, hiszen maga a rendszer teljesen logikus, hogy létrejön, és ultra liberális kapitalista eszmével kapva kap művészek nyomorán. Én a művészetoktatási rendszert hibáztatom, amiért erre a cuccra szoktatja a diákokat. Amiért nem mutat nekik mást. Amiért megnyomorítja művészek önbecsülését egy demagóg, hazug retorikával. Amiért nem hisz a diákokban, és nem nyit ki előttük új kapukat! Nem az volna a dolga a jelenlegi művészetoktatási rendszernek, hogy ismerteti a diákokkal a létező pályázatokat, hanem hogy támogatja és bátorítja őket abban, hogy megtalálják a függetlenségük útját, segít nekik abban, hogy művészként hogyan tudnak a saját lábukra állni. A School of Disobedience ebben is más, hogy az akadémiával ellentétben nem a függőségre, hanem az önállóságra nevel!  Q & A with Anna Ádám, Founder of the School of Disobedience
Q: Anna, could you tell us about the inspiration behind founding the School of Disobedience? A: The School of Disobedience was born out of a deep commitment to challenge conventional norms in art education and beyond. It merges my passion for creation, research, non-formal education, and community activism into a cohesive vision aimed at fostering personal and social transformation. Q: How does the School of Disobedience integrate non-formal interdisciplinary performance art education? A: Our Multidisciplinary Dance Performance Studies Program is at the heart of our educational mission. It offers a space where participants explore art not just as a skill but as a tool for personal liberation and social change. We blend embodied practices with theoretical insights to create a dynamic learning environment that encourages experimentation and critical thinking. Q: What role does empowerment play within the framework of the School of Disobedience? A: Empowerment is central to our ethos. Through our Fight Club, we utilize play fighting and self-defense as pathways to reclaiming body autonomy and voice. This practice empowers individuals to confront societal norms and stereotypes, fostering self-confidence and resilience. Q: Could you elaborate on the transformative aspect of the School of Disobedience’s retreats? A: Our summer and fall retreats are designed as spaces of transformation. Here, participants engage in activities that promote emotional and spiritual well-being, using art and community support to navigate personal and societal challenges. It’s about creating a nurturing environment where development and growth can flourish. Q: How does the School of Disobedience contribute to research in non-formal education and community activism? A: We see ourselves as a laboratory for exploring alternative approaches to education and activism. By blending artistic practices with critical inquiry, we aim to push boundaries and challenge established norms. Our goal is to contribute new insights and methodologies that can inspire broader social change. Q: What are your hopes for the future of the School of Disobedience? A: I envision the School of Disobedience as a catalyst for a more inclusive and liberated society. My hope is to continue reaching more individuals who seek to explore their creativity, reclaim their agency, and challenge the status quo. Together, we can co-create a world where disobedience becomes a powerful tool for personal and collective transformation.  For years, I've been turning down institutional requests disguised as "theater education programs" or "museum pedagogy workshops." These methods, with their demagogic smiles, infantilize and playfully manipulate audiences of children, adults, seniors, or marginalized groups. "Taste-shaping" becomes propaganda and manipulation, especially when institutions mold artists into producing similar works that fit their own agenda. Convincing people that this is "the" art, or this is how it "should" be interpreted, is akin to telling someone what to think, what qualifies as art, what to applaud, and when. These sessions don't aim to foster critical thinking; instead, they promote indoctrination and dogmatic worship.
Most museum pedagogy and theater education programs can be seen as mere sales strategies—a means to expand the institution's target audience and promote the artists it represents. But in terms of pedagogy and education, they're utterly irrelevant—don't be fooled! In fact, neither theater education programs nor museum pedagogy would be necessary if artists created art directly for their audience, rather than relying on intermediaries like curators, critics, and art historians who interpret and explain artworks in cryptic language. These intermediaries are like translators decoding jargon and unraveling academic puzzles. But why? I believe that, eventually, artists will create directly for their audience rather than for intermediaries. They won't aim to please a narrow circle but to reach broader audiences. They won't seek to prove themselves but to connect. They won't close off but open up. They'll share and give. To achieve this, I think we need a radical transformation in academic art education. Artists must be socialized in a platform where they learn to break free from conventions. They shouldn't aim to fit into art history but to break out of it. They shouldn't seek continuity and assimilation but rupture. They shouldn't look back to the past, rely on existing rhetoric, follow trends, or boast about following someone else's path. Instead of writing a new chapter in the book, they should come up with something entirely new. Therefore, what we need today is an art education that doesn't produce cannon fodder but independent and critical artists who create freely, experiment boldly, and aren't afraid to explore new territories. The School of Disobedience is exactly that.  "This event doesn't want to be anything more than a performance evening.
This evening is radical because it's simple, honest, and generous. It doesn't compare people and it doesn't think in terms of competition. Its courage lies in its freedom. Its freedom is where it finds its courage." WHY CHOOSE A REHEARSAL ROOM FOR THE PERFORMANCE EVENING? ➤ To foster an environment of experimentation. Rather than presenting a polished performance, we aim to explore and refine our ideas. This process invites spectators to actively engage and participate in the creative journey. It's an open invitation for those intrigued by the creative process to join us. For those seeking a more traditional experience, the theater awaits. The setting is deliberately informal, devoid of judgment or pressure. Here, freedom reigns supreme — freedom to create, to experiment, to play. WHY OFFER THE PERFORMANCE NIGHT FREE OF CHARGE? ➤ Performance Night operates on a non-curated basis, eschewing judgment in favor of inclusivity. By limiting submissions to the first 8 entries, we sidestep the pitfalls of canonization, ensuring diversity and spontaneity in our lineup. This approach liberates us from the constraints of uniformity and predetermined expectations regarding form, content, or professionalism. Embracing contingency and unpredictability, we open the door to limitless possibilities. The evening remains free as a collective effort, sustained by the contributions of all involved — organizers, performers, audience members, and venue hosts alike. Let's nurture this shared endeavor, fostering a space where freedom thrives within a supportive framework. Together, we uphold the essence of our community, cherishing our collective autonomy and creative expression. IS THIS WHERE ORBÁN BASHING AND SYSTEM SMASHING GO DOWN? ➤ No, Performance Night isn't a platform exclusively reserved for anti-establishment discourse. While we encourage taboo-breaking and critical thinking, divergent opinions are welcome, even if they challenge mainstream narratives. However, if you're performing, we urge you to uphold freedom of expression and individual liberties, respecting the distinction between political activism, political art, and propaganda. It's essential not to impose personal beliefs on others. In essence: express yourself freely, but do so with consideration! Over the past year, we've cultivated an audience that's wonderfully diverse, spanning age, culture, and ideology. This diversity enriches our event, and it's something worth preserving. Let's work together to ensure Performance Night remains a space that's free, inclusive, and respectful of differing perspectives. Let's refrain from turning it into a platform for any specific political, religious, or ideological agenda. Let it remain what it is: a beacon of freedom, inclusivity, and acceptance. |
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 Wildflowers 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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