“My bedroom was my first stage. I shared a room with my brother. Our bed became a boat, an adventure, a stage. I played everything, my sister also dressed me up; gender was never a question. It was just a game, my fantasy world. No one stopped us, no one explained either; it was just a game.”
“I grew up in a countryside nearby Ghent, it was the eighties. There was no theatre, no dance classes, no cultural activity. It was not that it was remoted, but it was a small world. I call it a small world. My family had values linked to hard work. So we had to help them a lot at home. Playing, in my family, was seen as a reward.
“I did not understand the world I lived in, and my only way out was fantasy. My turning point was at eleven, a theatre teacher from outside came to my school, to teach students theatre. It was the highlight of my week. I worked obsessivelyfor each assignments I needed to do, always going further than what was asked and aiming to perfection. Soon after, I discovered African dance in a school gym and circus performances passing through the village. I copied everything. My body learned before my mind did. Theatre gave me a place where questions were allowed.”
“I knew I was different, even before I understood I was gay. I didn’t fit the expectations of masculinity around me. Boys laughed, I didn’t stop. Sometimes I was bullied, sometimes ignored. I learned to survive by becoming more myself, not less. Oddity became a shield: if they thought I was strange, I could be even more strange, that’s how I thought.”
“At fourteen, I sneaked into an audition for a youth theatre in Ghent. My name wasn’t on the list, but at the end they let me in. That moment changed everything. For the first time, I felt seen. But I was also terrified. Two gay boys from my village had died by suicide. I believed I might be next. On stage, I hid behind technique, behind overacting, behind walls. Until a choreographer looked at me and said: why don’t you try dancing? He was openly gay, alive, respected, I was shocked about that.”
“Dance allowed me to exist without explaining myself. Sensuality, vulnerability, strength: they were not contradictions. They were my language. The first time I performed femininity openly on stage, it was very direct. The choreographer simply asked me if I wanted to do it. When I said no, he accepted it immediately. That freedom made me realise I could choose.
So I did it anyway. I simply put my genitals between my thighs and put on a skirt. I went on stage without explaining my body, without protecting it. People were shocked. But I wasn’t scared of the audience. On stage, I’ve always felt safe. If I don’t feel safe, I don’t do it.”
“I was rejected by theatre schools later on, and my identity collapsed. I thought I was an actor. Suddenly, I was nothing. But work kept coming. Ballet, internships, international tours. I didn’t plan to become a dancer, but it saved me. I played. I explored. I let go of the form and followed the impulse.”
“After finally entering the theatre world I start working internationally, it changed everything. In Papua New Guinea, in Russia, across Europe, I learned that aesthetics, masculinity, even freedom are inventions. What is considered high art in one place can be meaningless in another. Travelling taught me that the rules we obey are not who we are.”
“Today, my relationship with my body is one of respect and listening. It teaches me faster than thought ever could. Masculinity, to me, is not something to define but something to play with. It is dynamic, relational, personal. I am attracted to it, inspired by it, unafraid of bending it. It’s funny, because when I consciously use sensuality, for example at a party, it often doesn’t work at all. Nobody cares.
And then, when I’m not thinking about it, when I’m just being, people suddenly say: you’re so attractive.
The moment I try to control it, it becomes fake. And people feel that immediately. Sensuality only works when it’s not a strategy.”
“Sometimes I am proud. Sometimes I am not. But I am still here. And my body still knows where to go.”