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Ukrainian choreographer Anton Ovchinnikov says that contemporary dance attracted him through its complexity and its ability to encourage audiences to think. On April 29, at Kaunas City Chamber Theatre, he presents the dance performance “Once I Played War”. Theatre representative Gabija Chomskytė spoke with the choreographer about the performance and his creative journey.

– When you started dancing, what drew you to contemporary dance?

– I started dancing when I was fourteen. The only reason I began — it was ballroom dancing at the time — was my interest in girls. It may sound funny now, but I was very shy then. Like many boys my age, I found it difficult to communicate and meet peers. Dance classes helped me develop social skills and gain confidence.

Contemporary dance appeared in my life much later. I was already over twenty when I first attended a contemporary dance workshop. I’m not even sure I had seen anything like it on stage before. I probably ended up there almost by accident, at a festival where you could both watch performances and take part in workshops.

What struck me most was the complexity. I was overwhelmed by how incomprehensible it all seemed. I couldn’t see any connection between what was happening on stage and what was being taught in the workshop. It felt like two completely different things. I couldn’t understand what was going on — and maybe that is exactly why I decided to try to figure it out.

Since then, I am very critical of my work whenever it starts to feel too simple. From that first encounter, I formed the impression that contemporary dance is a way of speaking about the world in a complex manner — in a way that forces the viewer to think, to struggle a bit to understand, and to discover something new themselves.

– Do you remember your first time on stage?

– My very first performance was in primary school — probably first grade. I remember it because I completely messed up: I got lost and forgot everything. But I don’t recall feeling ashamed. I kept dancing and actually enjoyed it.

After that, many memories blur together. Only fragments remain — a few successful performances and a few unsuccessful ones. I clearly remember the first piece I created myself. But the first time I performed what could truly be called a contemporary dance work, I probably can no longer recall in detail.

– How would you explain contemporary dance to someone who has never seen it?

– Contemporary dance is extremely diverse. Everything depends on which choreographer’s work I would try to explain. Artists from different countries, with different experiences, can create works so different that it is hard to place them in a single category.

But if I had to explain it, I would say this:

Imagine aliens appear in your field of vision. They are busy with their own things, and sometimes it feels like they don’t care about you at all. They speak a language you don’t understand, produce sounds rarely heard on Earth, and move in strange ways.

You don’t understand what their movements mean, but as you watch, you feel there is meaning — that these are not random gestures. And at some point, a puzzle seems to come together. You feel you have understood what it was and why it happened. And then you say: “Thank you, I’ll be going now.” Because in truth, those beings don’t care whether you understood anything or not.

But the next day, someone tells you, “I met those same aliens, and they told me a story.” And yes — it was the same story, but about something completely different. The same performance becomes a different story in each viewer’s mind. And you are left with only one choice: to live with your understanding or keep trying to figure everything out.

– As a solo performer, how do you keep the audience’s attention and create a narrative on stage alone?

– I’m not sure it is actually necessary to keep attention — sometimes it might even be worth being boring. It is worth testing the audience’s patience, seeing how much monotony they can endure.

I don’t create performances to fully engage the audience and then “release” them. That could be an interesting ambition, but it would be a different kind of work.

I try to use different tools, and they are not always narrative-based. Still, the audience will likely construct their own story — not necessarily linear or synchronised. But in contemporary theatre, that is not the most important thing.

More important is presence: the performer’s presence on stage, developed through practice. It is a professional tool. To be. And for the audience, that presence can turn into tension — or into a story.

– While preparing the performance “Once I Played War,” you worked with dramaturg Juliia Hudoshnyk. How did she change your original vision?

– Although I have created many solo and group works, this was my first experience working with a dramaturg. This collaboration helped transform the initial idea into what the audience actually sees. We moved from fragmented thoughts and unclear ideas to something more coherent.

At some point, it was important to stop. And because we stopped, the performance became what it is now. The process began with the idea of creating a work about war — as a reflection on personal experience, without directly naming or referencing it.

The fact that the word “war” eventually appeared in the title was my later decision. That shift — from denial to acceptance — is in itself a result of working with the dramaturg.

– If you could speak to the child inside this performance, what would you say?

– I would say: be honest with yourself and your parents, and try to make them your closest people — those you can tell everything to.

I would say the world around you is unfair and cruel, but you can create your own world. And most importantly, you can decide what that world will be.

Sometimes you will do things you might later feel ashamed of, but you must deal with your “trash” — whether by apologising or acknowledging mistakes.

And I think it is very important to preserve the child within yourself. Not to be ashamed of it, and to allow yourself to enjoy it — regardless of what others think.