 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.
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 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.  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 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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