Very scary. And at the same time — endlessly exhilarating.
That’s how my first immersive exhibition began, where I presented my project Pearls of Memories and an art video for the very first time, and stepped into the role of director and scenographer for the first time. It was the moment when I truly took responsibility for an entire world.
I chose every detail myself: the light, the music, the textures, the rhythm of the evening, the spatial scenography, the logic of how the viewer moves through the space.
For the first time, I rehearsed a performance created especially for this event. For the first time, I lived through how an idea becomes body, gesture, breath.
Two projects intertwined into a single dialogue — about human relationships, about memory, about intimacy, about what we carefully carry inside. And I am still in a light state of shock about how everything came together.
How many people came. How many stayed. How long they remained inside the space.
But the strongest thing was the reaction of the guests. Tears while watching my video. Silence that settled during the performance. Eyes. Breath. And a dialogue that arose right in the middle of the pantomime. It wasn’t “watching.” It was being inside.
In a miraculous way, with God’s help, we managed from the very first time to create a true immersive space where every guest became part of what was happening.
Not an observer. A co-author.
And honestly — that is the greatest reward.
Now, honestly about the downsides. Because growth begins exactly here. There was fear. And because of that, I didn’t push for active invitations as much as I should have.
We didn’t remind people that a link to Eventbrite was required for entry. We wrote texts that were too long — texts no one will read in semi-darkness. A simple explanation of the projects on a screen would have helped guests orient themselves faster.
Although… I remember the words of a great director: “Don’t chew everything for the viewer. Let them think and imagine.”
And I suppose I’m still learning how to hold this balance. And yes — hire narrowly focused specialists to spread information about your event. It’s a separate profession. And it truly matters.
How This Experience Changed Me
This experience changed me. It showed me that I can. That my inner voice deserves to be heard.
That fear is not a sign to stop, but a sign of growth. And perhaps most importantly: I became even more certain that I want to keep creating spaces where people feel. Where you can slow down. Cry. Think. Be close.
Thank you to everyone who was there.
Who believed. Who came. Who lived this with us.
This is only the beginning.