 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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 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.  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.  A successful workshop is not necessarily one where we laughed a lot, where the atmosphere was pleasant, where human relations were easy, and where we had a good time. For me, a successful workshop is a useful workshop—a space where we learned, unlearned, and relearned things, regardless of the circumstances.
There is no hierarchy between theoretical, practical, technical, or methodological workshops, just as there is no hierarchy between lexical knowledge and personal experience. They are simply different entry points, each valuable in its own way. The question is not what you learn in a workshop, but how you learn it. The role of a teacher (Unlearning Facilitator) is not only to transmit knowledge, tools, experiences, but also to invent a framework, to choreograph a context that encourages individual initiative, responsibility, and independence. A useful workshop is one where we make progress compared to ourselves, not others. It’s a place where we are encouraged and respected, where we can move forward and grow at our own pace. It’s important to remain open to the idea that sometimes the learning and unlearning will come from unexpected sources, and the lesson may not be where you anticipate it to be.  Egy valódi experimentális munkafolyamat az olyan, hogy elkezdesz valamit, de fogalmad sincs mi lesz belőle. Olyan eszközökhöz is nyúlsz, amikhez amúgy nem szoktál. Kipróbálsz dolgokat, amiket egyáltalán nem tudsz kontrollálni, mert vagy nincs rutinod a médiumban, vagy nem tudod hogy a dolog hogy fog elsülni, miből mi lesz. Az experimentális munkafolyamat bevállalós, nem azt keresed, hogy mi néz ki jól, mi a szép, hogy mi a hatékony, nem reprodukálod azt, amit tudsz, ami bejáratott, hanem ismeretlen vizekre evezel. Rizikó, elveszettség érzése, rengeteg kudarc, de csodálkozás, ráébredés, adrenalin, meglepetések sora, ez az experimentális munkafolyamat!
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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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