I love bringing a trunk full of clothes and objects to my workshops because they hold stories we don’t yet know, identities waiting to be born, voices that are not ours but come through us. When you put on a hat, a scarf, a pair of shoes that don’t belong to you, something shifts—you’re no longer yourself, you’re someone else, and suddenly, the imagination takes over.
You begin to speak without knowing what you’re going to say, and yet it makes sense, the voice aligns, the body follows, and a language appears—one you’ve never used before, but somehow deeply know. It’s a mystery how quickly things connect when you allow yourself to not control them. Creativity becomes an unconscious force, a river of unexpected truths. Humor is the bridge. Laughter is the spark that activates your own endorphins and the audience’s heartbeat. It’s not easy for everyone—people fear looking ridiculous.
But I believe ridiculousness is an art form reserved for the brave few. When you embrace it, something magical happens: shame dissolves, the mask falls, and you discover the infinite characters you’ve always carried inside.