Choreographer Maciej Kuźmiński first visited Hungary twelve years ago and was then captivated by our folk dance gatherings, their deep‑rooted culture and the communities built around them. Born in Poland and based in Rotterdam, he has now created a piece titled Four Seasons for the Central Europe Dance Theatre’s ensemble, presenting life’s cycle and its human stages through his pulsating choreographic work. On the occasion of the Hungarian premiere, we spoke with dance pedagogue‑producer Maciej Kuźmiński—who teaches at some of Europe’s most prestigious conservatories—about the platform offered by art, the value‑choices of Generations Z and Alpha, the situation of Ukrainian artists, and the state of contemporary dance in Central and Eastern Europe.

 

 

Let’s start at the end! Why does the piece conclude with spring, which usually symbolizes a beginning?

For me, the seasons as a concept and philosophy are about continuity. It’s not four separate chapters, but rather the cycle of life, fate, things eternal, the infinite. At the same time, I wanted to close the piece with something hopeful, with the promise of rebirth. Lately I’ve dealt with very difficult themes through my work with Ukrainian refugees. This time I really wanted to create something more uplifting, positive, full of life force.

You mentioned working with Ukrainian refugees. How do you see contemporary dance as a channel of information? Does it have to respond to social issues or current political events?

Every artist is free to decide what they want to create. For me, art—and particularly the performing arts—is very special, because it provides a platform to present your views and beliefs. People come and for half an hour or an hour they focus on what you want to say. That’s quite rare these days. So it’s both a great privilege and an opportunity to give voice to Ukrainian artists and refugees. Their theatres have been bombed, they had no work, no prospects, nowhere to live, no money, no future, and in a sense their careers were gone. I felt it was partly my responsibility to give them that opportunity. Back then I could think of nothing but the war—it was so immense, so stressful, probably the biggest event I’ve experienced in my life.

Six to seven million people arrived in Poland in two months. They were suddenly everywhere—homeless masses. I have no personal stake in this, yet I thought we must constantly remind people that it’s not over, that these people are still refugees, that their homes are still being bombed. We must not forget, and we must bring genuine testimonies to the stage. In the end I made six pieces on the theme and felt it was time for a break.

And to do something more uplifting, as you put it?

Yes, though it’s important to note that Four Seasons is not a cheerful piece. It’s more about the power of nature and perpetual change—something that moves us. It could be war, fate, nature—something greater than ourselves of which we are part. Maybe it even moves us emotionally. It’s also about communities.

 

Central Europe Dance Theatre – Four Seasons by Maciej Kuźmiński. Photo by Grzesiek Mart.

 

Something that guides us?

If we use the word “guidance,” it implies logic and purpose. I think that’s rarely true, because in reality you move with a current you don’t even know the source of.

I love the vitality of this piece. It’s truly about life: a beating heart, pulsing veins, society. It shows how people organize, experience the rush, grow into communities and remake them, how they evolve and accumulate experiences. But life itself is the force. In the piece, part of the seasons was inspired by the mythical Slavic goddess Živa, whom you might define as an “Earth Mother”—nature’s own living form.

You also use well‑known cultural elements in the choreography, like Antonio Vivaldi’s Four Seasons or Hungarian folk‑dance. Did you choose them for their accessibility?

Yes—I want this and all my pieces to be accessible to a broad audience. Using these elements can convey many things, including a sense of harmony and virtuosity.

When I first came here about ten years ago, I attended a folk dance gathering and what I saw was unique. In Poland and other countries people dance folk, but not in this communal format. Here, people really come together to have fun within a large community, filling tents and dance halls. I found it astounding—a special phenomenon I wanted to immerse myself in. In the piece that phenomenon is represented by summer.

And spring?

Spring—the first spring—is when you are in your mother’s womb, waiting, formless life. Formless, yet pure in the sense that you haven’t been socialized. That ends when you’re born and learn to speak, because you grow into a culture that shapes who you are, how you interpret the world, how you think, to whom you belong. That “people” you are born into is symbolized by folk dance. It is both a gift and a burden—the context we arrive in. It also determines how we structure our society, how we organize, how we develop into a socialized people.

Next comes autumn, which for me is a metaphor for a certain span of time, the experience of duration. Yesterday was your first working day, today is your thirtieth. Yesterday your child was born, today they’re fifteen. It’s a continuous repetition, almost a religious routine of work day after day, year after year. You immerse yourself in the flow of continuity, which can be burdensome or uplifting, but it goes on around the clock.

Then winter. For me winter is the season when you look back on your life, perhaps with melancholy, and bid farewell in the sense that you know you will pass away—that you prepare for death. It can also mean saying goodbye to things that will never happen because you grow old. You make decisions and life unfolds so that certain opportunities never return. Through those decisions your fate winds this way and that, and you change as a person. There is no turning back—this section is about continual farewells.

Finally, spring returns, more like a return to rural life in some space between worlds, between life and death, where the goddess Živa and life itself renew hope.

You’re working with an entirely Hungarian staff. How comfortable is that for you?

In a sense our histories overlap: both our countries have a communist legacy, and in terms of customs and lifestyle we aren’t so different. I feel much farther from myself when I go west. But here I feel at home—familiar, though not linguistically. This is a new piece, a new team, and also a new shift in my choreographic compositional language. So it’s also a greater challenge.

 

Central Europe Dance Theatre – Four Seasons by Maciej Kuźmiński. Photo by Grzesiek Mart.

 

The Central Europe Dance Theatre ensemble recently underwent changes. As a choreographer, how do you see this company?

Young but very good. Committed, talented, and developing very quickly. I must note that I brought here a very challenging piece. It’s a huge challenge to perform, but they work incredibly hard in rehearsal and make it happen. They’re so good that they deserve a place in the national repertory portfolio.

You just mentioned the West, and this has come up several times in connection with projects like Beyond Front@: Bridging Periphery – is it truly possible to offer real perspectives for our talented young people here in Central and Eastern Europe?

Here in Central Europe and in Western Europe they must understand that our histories aren’t the same. And that’s not just geopolitical history but also the history of how our art forms have grown. We can’t expect Central Europe to reach Western Europe’s level—it’s simply not fair. The momentum is different, the context is different, and the cultural heritage is different too—like the folk dance gatherings I mentioned. Why would we let them vanish just because they have no counterpart in the West? On the contrary, that’s precisely why we must preserve them!

So the situation, history and context here are different, yet there are solutions and structures you can borrow from the West and adapt to work here. And I’m not talking only about Hungary but Central Europe as a whole. You don’t need to reinvent the wheel—you can take it and develop it so it works for you too. Of course this requires a stable system of institutional support; then a company like this can grow and evolve into an internationally recognized portfolio. Dance is a very personal yet universal language. Many countries consider dance their primary national programming portfolio because it can travel anywhere. Dance holds incredible possibilities, but it needs institutional backing.

That backing must be stable; otherwise these young talents will leave and won’t come back. Why? Because a dance career is very short. You can’t expect a young person to wait five to ten years for their career—it already lasts only about ten years. We wouldn’t ask athletes to sit out even a year. I see immense talent here, and I see that the local independent scene is very ambitious and versatile.

I think that’s the point: when you compare East and West, and when people come to see this performance, what do they see? Do these dancers come on stage with passion? Do they give all of themselves sincerely? That’s what matters. That’s what I look for. It’s much more important to me than, say, technical level. And these dancers are entirely honest; they put everything into this piece. It’s beautiful!

Speaking of young people, you teach at several universities as a dance pedagogue. Generations Z and Alpha are often criticized for a lack of enthusiasm, for nihilism. What’s your view of these generations?

They are different, of course—that’s undeniable. It’s harder to hold their attention because of the overwhelming digital environment. But I wouldn’t say it’s a rule. When you work with young people who want to become professionals, at some point they have to decide: a hobby turning into a profession.

This is not an easy vocation. You’re constantly tired, mentally and physically. You have aches. Of course it’s a beautiful profession, but it’s also a huge challenge. Many of the young people I teach, aged sixteen to twenty‑five, will honestly ask themselves at some point: “Do I want to do this?” It’s a struggle to make that decision, and a struggle to be honest with yourself. I don’t think it’s a generational issue. I think it’s more about the profession itself and growing up. Sometimes I was lazy, too. We all have those moments. You need to know when to push boundaries and when to work smartly, and when to rest. You can’t give a hundred percent for an eight‑hour rehearsal straight through—that’s impossible.

That’s something a young person must learn—and I love them, because they’re wonderful!

 

Central Europe Dance Theatre – Four Seasons by Maciej Kuźmiński. Photo by Grzesiek Mart.

 

This interview was originally published on bethlenszinhaz.hu and was conducted by Erika Bodnár.

The performance The Four Seasons, choreographed by Maciej Kuźmiński, is being created as part of the Beyond Front@ Bridging Periphery project.

Co-funded by the European Union. Views and opinions expressed are however those of the author(s) only and do not necessarily reflect those of the European Union or the European Education and Culture Executive Agency (EACEA). Neither the European Union nor EACEA can be held responsible for them.