Interview with Daphnis Kokkinos, 27/9/2023 (2/2)

The Window Washer would be the next piece then.

The Window Washer was a co‑production in Hong Kong. I had long hair then. Pina forbade me to cut my hair. Suddenly my hair was down to here (shows) — unbelievable. I had this very long hair for quite a while. Sometimes I tied it back, sometimes it was completely loose — depending on how she wanted to see me. And my hair was quite curly back then. I remember that hair very well. In The Window Washer, there was this clapping‑dance. I had to call out the cues. Then a lock of hair ended up in my mouth, and I had to count in and pull the hair out at the same time. That was awful. I remember these hair stories. She told me, 'Don’t cut your hair.' Okay — for so many years. And then we were here in Wuppertal performing 1980. Then I had to tie the hair back — the men in suits must be very elegant. I wanted to cut my hair but was afraid to ask. She also wanted me to cut my hair — and she was afraid to ask me. (laughs) And then we both realised that we both wanted me to cut my hair. And then before the performance, Marion Cito cut my hair. Before the show! I cried because Marion just did a rough job (shows). I couldn’t believe it — I wept. Then I went to the hairdresser and he asked, 'What happened to you?'

The Window Washer in Hong Kong was a completely different world for me. It was fantastic to work in these cities because each time it was a different world. I was transported to another world — totally different worlds. Whether you’re in Hong Kong or New York or Vienna or Istanbul — unbelievable. It’s always a different world. Still, people have basically the same needs. We are people — we hate, we love, we all have the same needs. But depending on where we are born, in which culture we live, we show it or act it out differently — even though we are all the same. We do the same things, but a bit differently. And that was very interesting to observe. How do you greet in Japan, in Crete, in Hong Kong, or in London? That is really fantastic. We worked on The Window Washer during the Christmas season. Before Christmas she gave us a video of a group of dancers from Samoa doing a clapping dance. Then at Christmas I stayed home and learned this dance day and night — one count at a time. My eurhythmics studies at the International School in Greece really helped me, because I could divide the whole bar into eight eighths and phrase it. So I learned every single move. After the holiday I showed Pina that I had learned it. Then she tried another music — of course, a very fast one. I had to change a few moves. Then I showed this clapping‑dance to my colleagues. That’s the clapping‑dance we do in The Window Washer. It’s beautiful and a lot of fun. And that’s how it turned out — a Christmas present (laughs).

And then we have Masurca Fogo.

Masurca Fogo — we’ve come to Lisbon now. Mr Corvino was there, our teacher. I remember the swimming pool — oh, that was so nice in Lisbon. I love Lisbon; it’s such a beautiful city with so much history. That’s when I broke a finger on my left hand. I did a grand battement with a very high leg, hit my finger and broke it. I was looking for a movement with my leg up high. In the end that movement isn’t in my dance — I don’t know why — but my finger was broken. I remember once Amália Rodrigues visited us in the studio. There is also a film shot there — my finger is huge in it. As Amália Rodrigues was leaving, she asked me how it happened. I showed her my leg up so high, and Pina was laughing in the back. It’s so nice in the video. Masurca Fogo had a wonderful working process. The piece is fantastic too. And I think it’s one of the pieces we toured the most around the world. I think we performed Masurca Fogo even more than Nefés. I think we even went to Sydney for the Olympic Games with Masurca Fogo. Such a lovely piece. I really like my role — my dance is beautiful. It’s a pity we’re not performing it anymore. I hope it comes back, because the piece is a lot of fun for a dancer. It’s really a lot of fun on stage. I love Masurca Fogo.

You say that the piece was played a lot. Is this an indication that Pina Bausch particularly liked the piece?

Certainly, because it was a beautiful piece, and it was also in great demand. Various theatres wanted to have this piece. It really is a wonderful work. There is also a moment in the piece — the line dance — which appears in Almodóvar’s film Talk to Her (Hable con ella). At the end you see this line dance from the piece. Masurca Fogo was truly wonderful.

O Dido comes in the 1998/99 season.

That’s right. In O Dido I wasn’t there at the beginning of the piece. My father died in 1998, so I wasn’t present at the start of rehearsals. I was supposed to have a break for this piece, because I had danced in all the pieces up to that point. So I was meant to be off for this one. But just before the premiere, two boys were injured, so I had to jump in. I took on a few roles and scenes from my colleagues — some of the group parts. Then Pina asked me to do a little dance. I did something very small — not even 20 seconds. And it was a hit. It was a fantastic moment. It was just a little slapping with the women and a very short, quick dance — almost nothing. But the way she placed this dance in the piece, at that moment… It was another one of those moments, just like in Danzón: from nothing, something beautiful. That could have been one of her questions: 'From nothing, do something nice.' It was really wonderful. I was surprised myself — that I came so late to the piece, and yet she managed to give me something wonderful.

I don’t know if you learned this, but that season there was a revival of Arien, an important piece. Did you learn it?

That’s right. Arien was extremely important for us who were not in the original cast. It was important for our development as artists. And suddenly we had to dance on water — that was completely new. The sounds, the costumes, the wet costumes, the movements in the water, the screaming, the lines, the situations — everything was new. Very fragile too. You had to be very careful. You had to relearn many things. And that was super important. I really liked Arien. And now I love watching Arien — it is beautiful. It’s truly fantastic. I really liked it. What is this? Another world. Another window opened.

Did the piece perhaps look old, or timeless, or transported to another world?

Not old at all. Transported to another world? Certainly. But I never have the feeling that any piece is old. I don’t understand that concept. I mean, I also read Medea or Oedipus, written 2,500 years ago. I feel it’s a different world, but I also feel: 'Oh my God, we are humans. Always.' With Pina, I feel the same with every piece — whether it is 50 years old or one year old. I think: 'Okay, we’re still people. We’re human. We react like people. We think and feel the same way.' Whether it is 2,000 years ago or now — it is the same. We react the same way. Maybe we have the Internet now, we have other things — but we are still human. We still have our feelings. I have never felt that a piece is old, ever. I just kept working. My fear has always been: when I am in the process, will I manage it or not? I always felt I was not good enough. I needed to persevere. I had to try again. As Pina said when a journalist asked: 'Why do they repeat themselves on stage?' She said: 'It’s not repetition; it’s a new attempt.' And that’s true. We tried something here every day. Every day. Regardless of whether it was an old piece or a new piece — I never thought: this is old, this is new. No. I thought: okay, let’s dance. We’re dancing another piece by Pina. I never thought: old or new? No.

I think you’ve got two key words there. One is 'timeless' and the other is 'always trying anew.' This way you can express the work in a timeless frame. It’s a nice one. We are in the 1999/2000 season, a new millennium — and Wiesenland.

For Wiesenland we were in Budapest. That was an incredible research programme. Oh my God! We went to the border with Romania — to villages where people dance a lot, make music and dance.

Drove across the border with Romania — and then?

Exactly — Romania, to villages where the Roma live. We visited many different villages. We danced and danced because they were playing music and dancing. It was amazing. They all loved Nayoung Kim. Nayoung danced and became the princess of all the villages. It was fantastic. And once — I never drink alcohol, I hate alcohol. By the way, there is another story; I’ll come back to it later. I went to restaurants with Pina very often, everywhere we were guests. She brought me along. Sometimes I was exhausted and didn’t want to go. But afterwards I was glad I went, because it was beautiful. I don’t drink alcohol. By nature, I don’t like it at all. But I always had to toast with a glass of wine — cheers! I always had to drink a glass of wine with Pina in the restaurant. I once told her, 'Pina, if I drink a glass of wine, I can’t sleep at night.' And she said, 'Darling, drink two!' That was great. Maybe two was the solution after all. Anyway — that was in a village where we all ate together and there was lots of music, violin music, dancing and drinking. There were a couple of boys at another table. I don’t know why, but suddenly I was sitting at their table, drinking schnapps with them. This sweet liquor was so delicious, and I drank it. 'Chin chin!' We couldn’t communicate — we didn’t have a common language. So we just kept drinking. We were staying in the same hotel, same building. The dancers had gone. I was there alone with these boys, and we drank and drank. Then I got up to go to my room. You could hear everything — going up the stairs, opening the door — everything. My colleagues could hear me upstairs. I went into the room, closed the door, lay down — and vomited. I will never forget that. I cried. It was awful. I didn’t know what to do. It lasted all night. I thought I was dying. It was awful. And of course everyone heard it. Everyone. The whole company. The whole night. The next morning we had to leave. The boys were pale like me. I was the same. Oh, that was terrible with the alcohol. But we danced so much. It was Budapest, and those villages were fantastic. We also went to the bathhouses, where people were in the water up to here (shows) and played chess in the water. That was really great. Yes, what a town. Cafés, wonderful coffee houses — old, fantastic coffee houses. Really nice. Super nice. And the piece is also very nice.

What was it like on stage, then, with the stage design?

Yes, it was a big surprise that suddenly there was a stage set that stood vertically (shows). The stage design was not horizontal as usual. It was vertical before the interval — suddenly the whole wall slid forward. That was a nice surprise for us. Because the stage design arrived very late, and we always rehearsed with an imaginary set: 'Imagine this, imagine that.' But the Wiesenland stage set arrived very, very late. And it was very difficult for me. Before my dance, we were on top of the set, up on the grass, dancing as a couple. Then I had to run away and jump down to the stage floor and do my dance. But my shoes were wet from the dripping water on the grass. Then I ran, jumped down, moved another two metres to the side — but it was so slippery. Many times I slipped. So I always had to think about how to get down from there and continue those two metres without falling, to start dancing. My shoes were completely wet, and my dance was also super difficult. I remember it very well now. The first time I showed my dance on stage was in April, and Pina saw that. Every April I have terrible hay fever from the birch trees. I have asthma — I always use the spray, otherwise I can’t breathe. I always have to pump the spray three to five times so that I can breathe. And while I was dancing, I heard Pina on the microphone: 'My God — and that with asthma!' Because it was a super heavy dance — still she didn’t change any movement. For other dances yes, but not this one. It stayed as I showed it. I didn’t like the music because I couldn’t hear properly on stage and I needed something to help me. I told her the music wasn’t helping me. Pina couldn’t understand that because from the audience the music is very, very loud. As I listened to it on stage, I thought I needed more assistance. So I said that — and of course I got that support. I needed something to help me, and I learned that over time.

As you talk about music and how music helps you — in this period the dances were mostly composed without music, and the music came later. Which music gave you new colours, new discoveries, or really supported you? Is there any of your dances with a special music that stayed in your memory?

Oh, many. For example, the music from Danzón — oh! When I hear it, I tremble — from those movements with the women. In the film by Wim Wenders there is different music, because I think they didn’t get the rights. That is different music for my movements from what Pina chose for the stage. It’s completely different for me. The original music from Danzón is the right one. In my opinion, that music is the right one for the dance. For Nefés, the music does something else to the dance — especially because the dance has grown together with that music. Although when I created it — like all my colleagues — we created the dances without music. The music came later. In Danzón I don’t dance alone to this music. The music is already playing when I enter, but it fits my feelings beautifully. Suddenly I don’t have to dance to the music — I don’t even need to hear it. I just do my dance, and the music guides me to the right feelings for what I want to say. In Sweet Mambo, the last piece I danced with Pina, the music really helps me because the dance is also super difficult — short but difficult. The music helps me a lot. I feel this music was written for those moments alone. How did Pina do it — pairing this music with this dance, on top of everything else we’re dancing? I can’t imagine it with any other music. It has grown together. Even though everyone created their material separately, when Pina brought it together, it all belonged together. I can’t think otherwise. So it helped me a lot — not just for how I feel, but for my strength. For strength, for what you want to say, your anger, your everything. Sometimes the music helped a lot. As I said, for these pieces it helped me a lot. Now? I don’t know.

In Wiesenland there was this huge set design — and in the piece for the next season, the action takes place on stage level. The set is a bit more minimal in the piece Água. Do you have any memories of that?

That’s right. In Água we were in São Paulo, and there was this beautiful lady who invited us to her apartment. We were all there. It was a wonderful apartment — lovely people, music, food. It was a very nice evening. She had a bathtub — like a barrel for beer or wine — in the middle of the room, filled with water all the way up, with rose petals floating. That was unbelievable. Her son and his friend held a party for us on a terrace — with banana trees, beautiful green large‑leafed plants, white sofas — all very elegant. And this became our stage set in Água: the white sofa, the beautiful palm trees that are hidden and suddenly appear. Besides all this we experienced in São Paulo, we also went to see these dances — I don’t remember the name: these ladies dressed in white…

They’re the 'Baianas' — the mothers from the north of Brazil.

Yes, and they performed these ceremonies, and we took part in them. That was unbelievable. We met a musician — I need to remember his name. We went to various favelas. The boys there played music and drums. You can see this in Água — we saw them live. Then three or four dancers — I don’t know how many — went with Pina to Bahia. We also saw a lot of music and dancing on the beach. We saw fish on the beach. That’s when I saw Pina in the water while swimming. Yes, that was amazing. It was very paradisiacal. Brazil was very colourful — lots of music, lots of dancing. Lots of greenery, lots of fruit, lots of rich people, lots of not‑rich people, lots of poor people. That was everything we saw. It was a lot. What a country!

I think that shapes the piece. I think the piece has so much of it — for my eyes as a Brazilian, it has so many of these elements you describe here.

It really touched us — Brazil. It’s true. We’ve been performing it up to now, thank goodness. The last time was in New York. The piece has the music, the dances, the power of these situations. That is really nice.

At this point you’ve been with the company for more than ten years. And you started… or maybe you started earlier — assisting Pina. What is this new position?

That was very surprising to me. In 2002 we started creating the piece For the children of yesterday, today and tomorrow at the end of August. Pina then announced who would be dancing, which country we were going to, and which co‑production partner was planned. By then I had been in every piece, and we were sitting in Lichtburg. She announced who was dancing the new piece — and she didn’t say my name. That’s when I thought: 'Oh my God, I’m going to Crete, I’m off, I’m not doing this piece. I can go see my family. I haven’t seen them in a long time. I haven’t been to Greece for seven years, to avoid military service.' I longed to see my mother, my brother, my family. So I thought: 'Ah, maybe for the first time I’ll have some time off.' Then Pina said: '…and I want Daphnis to be my assistant.' My jaw dropped. After the meeting I went to her and she said, 'Well, are you happy?' I said, 'Yes, I’m very happy. I just have no idea what I need to do.' I had no idea — I had always been on the other side. And she said: 'Open your eyes and ears.' Okay. Because I didn’t know what to do, I did everything I could. I opened my eyes and ears and wrote down everything my colleagues were doing. EVERYTHING. I wrote everything down very quickly: the questions, what they did, what they wore, what they said, how Pina composed it together, what she had already tried, what music Matthias Burkert and Andreas Eisenschneider played. I wrote everything down. Anything, everything, all of it. Suddenly I couldn’t write anymore. My hand hurt from so much writing. I thought: 'Oh God, I’ll go to her and tell her my hand is hurting. She’ll say: ‘My boy, go home, rest, come back in three days.’' That’s what I thought — as a dancer. So I went to her and said, 'Pina, I can’t write anymore, my arm is damaged.' And she said: 'Ah, poor boy! Try with the left.' (laughs) What? I can’t even write my name with my left hand. I can’t do anything. I thought: Why is she telling me that? What does that mean? Then I thought: 'Okay — maybe it means: find a solution. There is a solution. I don’t see it now, but I’m sure it’s there. I just need to find it.' And then I actually found one. I spoke everything my colleagues did into a recording device: 'He came from the right…' — I spoke it all, the whole time. And when my arm was good again, I listened to it and wrote it down. The solution was there. When I was so tired, I couldn’t see it — but it was there. That was a big lesson for me: 'You don’t have to give up. You just have to find the right solution.' The solution is there. When you’re tired or angry, you don’t see it — but it’s there. You just have to find the right angle, and then you move on. There is another story — very typical of me. The plumber came for the heating and said I had to buy a hose to fill the radiator with water, otherwise it wouldn’t work. I thought: 'I can’t do that. If it’s broken, I’ll call you and you’ll do it for me.' And he said: 'Yes, but maybe I’m not in Wuppertal, and you’ll freeze. You have to learn this. Buy this hose and buy this…' — what is that thing called? I don’t know. Something you screw onto the tap to connect the hose to the heater. He told me exactly what to buy. I went to the hardware store and bought it. I went home. I tried to connect it to the tap. It didn’t work. It didn’t fit. Shit. What did I think first? Of course: the seller gave me the wrong thing. I was angry — I could only think he gave me the wrong thing. I went back to the store by bus. I looked for the same attendant — because he gave me the wrong thing. I found him and said: 'Excuse me, half an hour ago I asked for something and you gave me the wrong thing. It doesn’t fit on the tap.' And he said: 'From the other side.' (shows) Oh God. Oh God.

I learned a great deal from this. Before I make a decision when I’m angry or tired — think. Think that if it doesn’t fit, maybe it fits from the other side. These were two big lessons: the thing with the hose, and 'writing' with the left hand. Two things that really, really helped me.

Over time, did you write down more selectively — were you able to choose what was important — or was it always such a surprise that you still wrote everything?

Of course I learned a lot with this first piece. A great deal. And I worked a lot — ten to twelve hours a day. Weekend? There is no weekend. I wanted to do it well because it was my first time. I wanted to do it well and I wanted to learn. It was probably very good, because Pina told me afterwards that it was very good — and next time she asked me to assist her again. Which piece was next?

Nefés

She knew I wanted to dance in Nefés, because Nefés would be created in Istanbul. My mother’s family comes from Cappadocia — we were Christians from Cappadocia. She knew I wanted to dance in Nefés, yet she asked me if I could assist as well. That’s when I started doing both — but eventually I said: 'I can’t. I need three lives. I need twenty hours a day.' I told her: 'I can’t do that. I have to dance. I want to dance.' So I only danced in Nefés, even though I started doing both. After that she alternated: one piece as a dancer, another as an assistant. Then, for two years, I only assisted. But of course, every year I developed my skills. I didn’t just write everything — I recorded videos. I started using the computer. At first I only wrote notes by hand, but over time videos and computers were added. I kept up with the technology. And so I was able to find things faster. When Pina asked me something — 'Where is that?' — in two seconds I had it. With paper notes it was slower. So technology helped me a lot to help Pina.

As an assistant, you experienced the corrections from the other side. Can you tell us what happens after a performance — how are the corrections first from the dancer’s side and then from the assistant’s side?

Pina watched all performances — almost always. She was there. So as a dancer you knew she was there. You sometimes saw her — sometimes just the glare of her glasses was enough. You knew she was sitting there, the glasses reflecting the stage light. You knew she was there — so you danced for her. And she gave corrections after every performance. The next morning we had class, and then two or three hours of corrections. She went through the whole performance and gave notes on everything: movements, situations, music, lighting, placement — everything possible. That was how she kept the pieces alive and evolving. These corrections were super important — otherwise we would always go in circles (shows). But because of her saying 'Try again,' we didn’t repeat the piece — we tried to play it anew. With every correction we had to go one step further. And that continued over the years. As I said, I received many corrections in my life — and then I gave them when I was on the other side as an assistant. That’s when I saw my colleagues. First of all, I was shocked by how beautiful my colleagues were — because on stage I admired them differently than from the other side. I couldn’t believe I was dancing with these people. Not at all. They were amazing. It took a while until I realised what was right and what was wrong. For example, once Pina told me something, and I asked: 'What?' — 'But you saw it.' I didn’t see it. In the beginning I couldn’t tell the difference. Now I know very well. With time I learned what works and what doesn’t. But it wasn’t obvious in the beginning. It was obvious for her — not for me. I had to learn that. I had to learn why something worked, why not. What is right and what is not. It was a learning process — when you observe for ten, twenty years. Of course now I notice it immediately: when the music isn’t right, or the movement isn’t right, or the mood. Sometimes I know something is wrong but I don’t know what — so I research to find what’s wrong. That is a process that requires experience. You can’t do that immediately. It took a while — but I had a good teacher. She helped me a lot. Every moment that needed a correction — she corrected. I wrote many corrections. Sometimes she told me to write something; sometimes I wrote it myself next to her if I noticed something was wrong. And the next morning I would say: 'There was something — I think it didn’t work, and that’s because something else didn’t happen.' Slowly I learned how to say that. And that was a wonderful collaboration. That’s why she wanted me to assist every year. I said yes, gladly — because I love it — but I also wanted to dance in new productions. And thank goodness I danced Nefés and Sweet Mambo.

Also in Rough Cut?

Yes, I also danced in Rough Cut.

Now I’d like to return to a question. When you learned The Rite of Spring, you spent a lot of time with Pina, and she gave you many corrections. My question for you — as a dancer and later as an assistant — is: How important is it to hear corrections like: 'That’s not right.' 'That’s not correct.' 'This needs to be fixed.' 'Try that again.' What do such statements actually do? And how does this process work in general — hearing something like that and then starting again?

Of course, because we are all very sensitive, when you hear a correction you feel: 'Oh, I messed it up!' But she knew how to speak to each individual. Each person reacts differently to criticism. You might tell someone to move their arms a little slower, and that person might be completely depressed afterwards. One must find the right way to say it. That is very important: to find the right words that bring out the best in that person. For example: I was once very upset because something happened on stage — I was very aggressive. I told her: 'How can you allow that to happen?' I wanted to go up onto the stage. But she was completely calm, and she told me something that was very helpful to me — even after she was no longer here. Now in Greece, at school, in my position, this has also helped me. She told me: 'Yelling at someone on stage is the easiest thing to do. And of course you’ll feel better afterwards. You yell, release a bit of pressure, you feel better. But that’s all you did — you made yourself feel better. But that is not the solution.' She said: 'Whoever is on stage has priority. He or she must dance, must do their best. We sit here in the audience — no matter what happens to us, whether we cry or scream — no one is interested. So we have to create the best atmosphere for those who are on stage. Give them the best conditions so they can give their best. We have to do that while we are sitting in the audience. And when we are angry and want to scream, no one is interested. We keep that to ourselves.' That was a very big lesson for me. The person on stage has priority. They have to dance, they have to feel good to give their best. No one is interested in you in the audience or the staff — because they don’t see us. Priority is given to the person on stage. And that was very important for me to learn and apply — now that I give rehearsals. I always try to build a working environment that is best for the people up there, not for me. They are on stage. I am down here — maybe I am nervous or want to scream. But no one is interested. And I don’t need to show that either. Otherwise I go into my room and scream into my pillow. That is the most important thing: what happens on stage. And how they can make the best of it on stage — that is my work. I learned it from her. That was very important for me. It helps me to this day.

She brought back a piece every two years. In 2001, when For the Children of Yesterday, Today and Tomorrow was created, she brought On the Mountain a Cry Was Heard back again. Bandoneon, a very controversial piece, was also replayed and shown once again in Paris.

And in Buenos Aires before that. Very, very early — it was in Buenos Aires. That’s when I did it, probably in 1994. It was really, really early — Bandoneon.

Do you have thoughts about this, or have you observed something that gave you clarity about how she maintains her own repertoire?

Yes. I think it was very important for her not to lose the pieces she really loved. Nearly every two years she wanted to do a revival. She also wanted us — the new generation — to learn these pieces, so that we would have them in our bodies, in our repertoire, to pass on to the next generations. Otherwise the pieces would be lost. She always tried to bring the older pieces back. Not everything. She always wanted to bring back Walzer — we kept checking the video over and over again — but we never performed it in my time, in the last 30 years. Or we watched Renate Emigrates again and again, and she kept saying: 'This year we’re doing this piece.' We never did either. Unfortunately. But we did Viktor again. I don’t know when — very often. And then again in 2006, did you say?

2006/07.

We hadn’t done it for a few years. We used to perform the piece often.

That’s right — until the year 2000.

Maybe. I remember the piece quite well from way back. I like this piece because it is such a beautiful piece — just like that. It has so many contrasts, and many wonderful music pieces. A fantastic men’s dance, women’s dance, situations. It is a co‑production with Rome — one of the first co‑productions. And the piece is so rich — it is played in a pit. And the music! Now when I suddenly hear a piece of music in a café that is also in Viktor, I can only think of Viktor. I feel that this music was composed especially for Viktor. I love performing this piece — a lot. I studied the piece very well. Later, in London, I also had to assist during the Olympics. Well — I danced and assisted at the same time. That was huge. Huge work and huge responsibility. The responsibility was really huge — but the result was that the piece is so beautiful. Viktor is on the must‑see list — and then you know it’s a wonderful piece.

In London, in the 2011/12 season, shortly after Pina Bausch’s death, twelve pieces were performed for the Olympics alone — the pieces created in cities of the world — and there were a total of 18 different pieces in the season.

I think I performed all the pieces — either on stage or in the audience as an assistant. In London, I did those ten or twelve pieces.

Twelve.

It doesn’t matter how many. I did all the pieces — either on stage or as an assistant — and in Viktor both on stage and in the audience. London was… I don’t know how we did it. It was fantastic — so many pieces at once. We just bounced back and forth from one theatre to another. The Olympics were also a marathon for us.

Only You hasn’t been performed much otherwise. Wiesenland wasn’t performed much and was suddenly seen again in London.

Because they wanted all the pieces created in collaboration with other cities. Because the Olympics bring many cities and countries together. Yes — they wanted our pieces that were not from Wuppertal but from all over the world. And that’s huge. It was really intense — but beautiful. I would love to experience that again. Why don’t we do that at every Olympics? It would be fantastic. Pina had this thought for the Olympics — maybe to do the circle from The Rite of Spring in a stadium with 3,000 people. It would be so cool. She loved this idea. It would be fantastic. At the Olympics they do so many group things — and the circle from The Rite of Spring would fit right in. It would be great.

In the last years you’ve been doing a few things outside of the Tanztheater. Pieces, choreographies, even choreographing a version of The Rite of Spring. Can you give us an overview?

When Pina Bausch was here, I only worked with Pina. I never thought that I needed or wanted anything else. It wasn’t my priority. Maybe one or two workshops — and Pina said, 'Go and try!' For example, I gave a workshop in Korea when Pina was here. But I did almost nothing except work for the Tanztheater. When Pina left us, I wanted to do something for her. So I slowly put together a small piece — an hour‑long solo. I did it for the Tanztheater for the evening Underground, the first and second editions. I made a piece for Pina and gave it the name of a beautiful Italian song, 'Adio Adio Amore.' So I created this solo for her. It’s called Adio, Adio Amore, and Savina Yannatou sings this song. Savina was in Wuppertal — we once went with Pina to a Greek restaurant. It was my birthday, I think my 30th. Savina came from Greece very often because she worked with Peter Kowald. And she sang for my birthday. Pina loved her because she was a beautiful singer. Then Pina used Savina’s music in her next piece, Danzón. We met again in Athens. They were very good friends — they loved each other very much. That’s how I made this piece for Pina. I danced it in Chile, in London, in Italy, in Greece, in Germany. I haven’t done it for two or three years now — but it is still there. Then I made a few pieces as a result of workshops in Brazil, Chile, Istanbul, Athens, Crete. Then suddenly in 2018 the National Opera Dance School asked me to make a piece for the final‑year students. Actually, it ended up involving the whole school.

That was the first time I did something substantial in Greece — and with the Opera School. It was very intense; I really liked it. And then in the next season, 2018, the Opera Dance Department asked me if I would choreograph The Rite of Spring for the dancers of the opera. I said no — when I listen to Sacre’s music I only see dance like this (shows). I can’t think otherwise. I only think of Pina’s movements. But they told me it wasn’t the orchestral version — only two pianos. Two pianos. 'Okay, let me hear that.' I listened to the two‑piano version — and it was different from the orchestra. I didn’t see Pina’s choreography in it. Of course I can count the music perfectly because I know it very well — but it helped me that it wasn’t the orchestral music. If it had been the orchestra, I wouldn’t have done it. I couldn’t. So I tried — and we made a nice piece in Athens, at the opera, with the dancers. I always did that during summer holidays from Wuppertal. I probably haven’t had a summer holiday for decades. And then in 2020 I was in Lithuania. I made a piece in the dunes, in the sand, together with Tsai‑Chin Yu from our company and Gabriel Gaudray‑Donnio from the Folkwang Tanzstudio, a company from Lithuania, a contemporary dance company, and a folklore group. It was a very interesting piece in the sand. I’m doing it again this year, 2024. It was really good — we really liked it. When we were there, in the sand, it was the 30th of June — the anniversary of Pina’s death. I posted a photo of her on Facebook — one we took when we were in Chile, in Atacama, in the desert. I was in the desert; Pina was in the desert. I wrote on Facebook: 'I miss you, love you.

And so much sand, so much desert — please Pina, send us a little rain.' On that day I received information from Greece — from the Ministry of Culture. The minister called me and asked if I would be the director of the Greek National School. Whether I was interested in the position. For me, it was amazing. I had never thought of that. It is the school where I studied. For me it was simply the school where I studied — nothing more. And suddenly — on the 30th of June, Pina’s day — I was always very sensitive about that — and then this information. It was overwhelming. 'Oh God, I just asked Pina for a little rain — and then a tempest comes and there is so much rain.' Okay. I told the Secretary: 'Give me three days. I have to think it over. I need to talk to the company. I don’t know if I can do this.' And then I thought a lot about Pina. I asked myself: 'What am I doing? Am I doing this?' I always thought: 'Take risks. Risk it. Try it — you have to try.' So I said: 'Okay — I’ll try.' Then I went to Athens, July 2020. The director before me usually had a four‑year contract. After two years she left — she resigned. So I got the remaining two‑year contract. I read the contract — and at the end it said the contract ends on 27 July — Pina’s birthday. Oh my God. But that is not true — I don’t know what happened there. And then I saw that the school was originally a private school from the 1930s — Ms Koula Pratsika’s private school — which became a state school in 1973 because she donated it to the government. And that means Pina also founded the Tanztheater in 1973. The school is 73 too! We will also have 50 years this year. My God — so many coincidences. Pina’s death. Pina’s birthday. Founding of the Tanztheater. Good — I’ll do it this way. And now I’m here. It’s my third year. The two years were done, and then they gave me a four‑year contract. Super interesting. I love it — I love working with the dancers. It’s super hard. I have to work at least 12 hours a day. Saturdays too. Sundays sometimes — for three months I might not have a day off. Otherwise it won’t work. You have to work with civil servants; you have to work with the Greek state. Everything is a bit different from Germany. I only worked in Germany — I have a completely German brain for work. Thank God. That helps me sometimes. I am very direct — but sometimes I have to be. I go straight to the point because it has to happen. It must happen. I don’t know many things either — that helps me too. Sometimes it is very difficult. Okay — I’ll try again, as Pina said. I’m trying again. Here in Greece, in Athens — and here with the pieces I assisted, or the pieces where I need to be on stage. I’m trying again. I mean — I need to work out. I need to go on a diet. I need to be fit. I need to do research. I need to learn lyrics. Yes — I’ll try again. Yes — I really miss Pina. But thank God that I met Pina Bausch in my life. Thank goodness. I don’t think I would have survived if Pina hadn’t been there. If dance hadn’t been there. I wouldn’t have been able to manage life. But dance — and then Pina — helped me stay alive and be creative. That was… yes. That was great. Thank you so much too.