Leading workshops, to me, is not a side activity — it is central to my research. Practice is where the thinking happens. It’s where ideas are not just spoken but tested, trembled through, “sweated” through, forgotten, and remembered again. Each workshop becomes a shared space of inquiry, where certain techniques and intuition meet. Where presence is shaped through repetition, failure, and attention. In my guidance, I don’t seek to deliver answers, but to hold questions — about the body, presence, memory, repetition, vulnerability, courage, risk, gesture. Facilitating these encounters keeps the work and the research alive, it allows me to stay close to the material, to keep listening, to return to the unknown, not alone, but with others, and to keep getting lost and reoriented.
It’s not about transmission of any sort of knowledge; it’s about cohabiting an edge — together.

The workshops I conduct emerge at the crossing of bodily practices, feminist theory, autobiographical research, and performance. Some are built around shared reflection — on memory, trauma, and the haunted body — while others unfold through physical training, movement, and presence. Over the years, I’ve worked with themes such as feminist gestures, reenactment, autobiography, and embodied decolonial perspectives, offering spaces for critical exploration as well as intimate physical inquiry. Today, my workshops may also include somatic and yogic approaches, not as healing formulas, but as tools to listen, disorganize, and recompose the body. Whether through writing, improvisation, shared readings or floor-based drills, the common thread is always the same: to invite a kind of thinking that begins in the flesh.