 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.
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 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.  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  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.  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. |
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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