CREATIVE WORK Logbook
TO ENGAGE…
One of the essential purposes of creative work is simply to engage with something: with a point of interest, with an element. A kind of play. The opposite would be to deliberately do an activity that must produce a certain result, a product, or serve a specific function. When we engage with something without the pressure of the outcome, we dive into sensory observation, into a visceral pool, into a state.
To be in the state is something more than learning a couple of rules from a book. To succumb to the state is to become part of a unique connection with the element I’m engaging with. It is a practice of energetic exchange. Through that connection I gain knowledge not only of how that element works or reacts, but also of how I myself function as an entity. I learn about my unique dynamics and about the triggers that this element evokes in me. I observe my intentions and forget about them at the same time, as I step into the unknown while playing and letting the point of interest affect me deeply, even sweep me.
Such creative engagement does not follow a specific priority system regarding what should be learned first, because I’m learning everything at the same time. I’m creating meaning, creating matter, creating substance. I feel, I act, I sense, I provoke, I yield, I respond.
What, then, is the difference between an experimentarium, a lab, fieldwork, and the arts?
I think that the masculine side of the arts is the decision about what form and shape we want that creative exploration to take. That decision should not be the result of necessity or ego. It should arise from an abundant sense of goodness—even if I choose to place my art within a frame of provocation. The intention of that provocation should be to engage with higher vibrations, with our developing side, with something that is growing or simply prospering as it is. Something that supports the organic process, not the reductionist one. Eternal life. I don’t think growth and eternality are the same things. Growth can be useful in keeping life alive, but it is not the only way of maintaining life. Life is also cherishing, and art can strongly support that. Though art is a fantastic tool for innovation and development, it is also an incredible means of contemplation and appreciation, which are equally important for our existence and energetic prosperity.
LIBERATION…
I cannot imagine involving myself in the creative process without the practice of liberation. To understand our constraints and to pierce through them—or to nudge the tough spots into letting go through softness. Liberation can sometimes feel like being unapologetically present with the needs of your soul, sharpening your listening to it, and being on standby to act when your inner entity calls for something.
Without awareness of my constraints, how can I explore complex topics with my body if I am limited by shame of moving it, or even of being in it—limited by the non-acceptance of the self? How can I taste the fruits of discovery that the present moment brings when I cannot escape thinking about what I should be? How can I communicate if I am paralyzed by the fear of ostracism?
Can the solution to many of these dilemmas be found in love and courage? Love: the radical acceptance of the human shape that you are—your history, your current form, your seeming prospects, your needs and emotions in this very moment, before you succumb to inevitable passive or active change. And courage: the courage to grow in the way your soul dictates, the courage to explore through gaining and losing.
ODE TO SURRENDER
ODE TO SURRENDER
Introduction
On the verge of an environmental crisis created by no other than human civilization, I cannot help but ask: what wisdoms have we overlooked in the name of progress? Some will blame materialism, politics, or ignorance. But what is the root mindset that has brought us here?
Looking around, I long for spontaneous human connection—free from fear, suspicion, or the threat of being seen as naïve. I want to make sounds and move freely, to let my emotions flow without raising concern for my mental state. I want to be slow, to feel the tactile presence of the ground, the walls, the trees, the air—without being labeled reckless or strange.
I want to surrender to the world, to another human, to my own senses. And yet I know this will collide with a social code, upholding a rigid system that does not reward such vulnerability. This inability to surrender makes me feel disconnected, tense, framed—as if I am only a cog in the machine of rationality and utility. I am expected to function, but not to feel. Surrender is reserved for the defeated, while the pursuit of power is lauded as the path to progress.
Surrender as an Inherent Part of Being
Quantum physics tells us something profound about reality: any given system contains both determinate and indeterminate variables. These are complementary and reciprocally dependent—where one is clear, the other is undefined (Barad 2007). This suggests that everything that exists consists of both active, assertive elements and vague, receptive, passive ones. There is a transmitter and a receptor in all things.
This echoes theories of human nature. G.H. Mead described the self as containing both an active source of behavior and a passive object of behavior (Mead 1934). Neuroscientist Karl Friston notes that humans, like all living organisms, experience both sensory (passive) and active states. The sensory state influences the internal world but not the external; the active state influences the external world but is itself uninfluenced (Friston 2020). Our “self” lives in the brain, and the brain lives in the body, relying on sensory epitheliums to gather data and affirm its existence.
Movement is essential. Through surrender to movement, we explore our sensory states. This process enriches our self-reflection and perception of the world. We learn through the action–perception cycle: “Perception and action are functionally intertwined—perception is a means to action, and action is a means to perception” (Sperry 1952). To truly sense, we must surrender ourselves to the world we wish to explore.
Our Perception of Surrender
How do we currently perceive surrender? Let’s start with language. The Cambridge Dictionary defines "surrender" as yielding to a force, often connoting failure or defeat. In pop culture, we find quotes like:
“Death is not the greatest loss in life. The greatest loss is what dies inside while still alive. Never surrender.” —Tupac Shakur
Surrender is thus framed as weakness, submission, even self-betrayal.
Compare this with Eastern thought:
“To the mind that is still, the whole world surrenders.” —Lao Tzu
Here, surrender is not defeat but a gateway to wisdom, stillness, and unity.
This contrast reveals a cultural imbalance. We overvalue action and dismiss the receptive. This mirrors colonial mindsets. Enlightenment ideals, which justified colonization and the reification of nature, were based on Cartesian dualism: the mind and body are separate; the mind dominates, the body obeys (Descartes, Skirry 2020).
Today, neuroscience and embodied cognition challenge this. But centuries of privileging reason over sensation have created a world suspicious of surrender. This ideological barrier contributed to exploitative systems—capitalizing on dominance, severing us from our sensory intelligence. The effects are evident: in gender dynamics, in ecological destruction, in national aggression, and in personal crises of mental health.
“The domination of one group over another is always endorsed by a set of beliefs that explains and justifies that domination.” —Newman (1997)
The glorification of action, rationality, and control—without honoring the value of surrender—has left us incomplete. We are taught to see worth only in assertion, strength, and productivity. Vulnerability becomes a liability. Nature is expected to yield to our power. But we fail to see that surrender is not the opposite of strength—it is its complement.
My Ode to Surrender
This essay is my act of reclamation. I wish to glorify surrender, to lift it out of the box of defeat, and reveal its beauty and liberation. In my practice, there is no preset choreography—only the immediacy of improvisation. I allow my body to respond before my rational mind can explain why. This, for me, is freedom.
Through exploring quantum physics, neurobiology, embodied cognition, semantics, and social theory, I have followed a personal need for deeper connection. This research has led me to create a physical and visual performance, born from a wellspring of sensorial knowledge. It is this knowledge I now offer to my audience.
ODE TO SURRENDER
Slow. I open my valves before I
Know. The concrete and the air and the moss on the stones, I
Dare. To let you, it, all into, to
Feel. There is no difference
Between. And yet, the body bursts to
Respond. To hold the pace of my want.
On the verge of an environmental crisis created by no other than human civilization, I cannot help but ask: what wisdoms have we overlooked in the name of progress? Some will blame materialism, politics, or ignorance. But what is the root mindset that has brought us here?
Looking around, I long for spontaneous human connection—free from fear, suspicion, or the threat of being seen as naïve. I want to make sounds and move freely, to let my emotions flow without raising concern for my mental state. I want to be slow, to feel the tactile presence of the ground, the walls, the trees, the air—without being labeled reckless or strange.
I want to surrender to the world, to another human, to my own senses. And yet I know this will collide with a social code, upholding a rigid system that does not reward such vulnerability. This inability to surrender makes me feel disconnected, tense, framed—as if I am only a cog in the machine of rationality and utility. I am expected to function, but not to feel. Surrender is reserved for the defeated, while the pursuit of power is lauded as the path to progress.
Surrender as an Inherent Part of Being
Quantum physics tells us something profound about reality: any given system contains both determinate and indeterminate variables. These are complementary and reciprocally dependent—where one is clear, the other is undefined (Barad 2007). This suggests that everything that exists consists of both active, assertive elements and vague, receptive, passive ones. There is a transmitter and a receptor in all things.
This echoes theories of human nature. G.H. Mead described the self as containing both an active source of behavior and a passive object of behavior (Mead 1934). Neuroscientist Karl Friston notes that humans, like all living organisms, experience both sensory (passive) and active states. The sensory state influences the internal world but not the external; the active state influences the external world but is itself uninfluenced (Friston 2020). Our “self” lives in the brain, and the brain lives in the body, relying on sensory epitheliums to gather data and affirm its existence.
Movement is essential. Through surrender to movement, we explore our sensory states. This process enriches our self-reflection and perception of the world. We learn through the action–perception cycle: “Perception and action are functionally intertwined—perception is a means to action, and action is a means to perception” (Sperry 1952). To truly sense, we must surrender ourselves to the world we wish to explore.
Our Perception of Surrender
How do we currently perceive surrender? Let’s start with language. The Cambridge Dictionary defines "surrender" as yielding to a force, often connoting failure or defeat.
In pop culture, we find quotes like:
“Death is not the greatest loss in life. The greatest loss is what dies inside while still alive. Never surrender.” —Tupac Shakur
Surrender is thus framed as weakness, submission, even self-betrayal.
Compare this with Eastern thought:
“To the mind that is still, the whole world surrenders.” —Lao Tzu
Here, surrender is not defeat but a gateway to wisdom, stillness, and unity.
This contrast reveals a cultural imbalance. We overvalue action and dismiss the receptive. This mirrors colonial mindsets. Enlightenment ideals, which justified colonization and the reification of nature, were based on Cartesian dualism: the mind and body are separate; the mind dominates, the body obeys (Descartes, Skirry 2020).
Today, neuroscience and embodied cognition challenge this. But centuries of privileging reason over sensation have created a world suspicious of surrender. This ideological barrier contributed to exploitative systems—capitalizing on dominance, severing us from our sensory intelligence. The effects are evident: in gender dynamics, in ecological destruction, in national aggression, and in personal crises of mental health.
“The domination of one group over another is always endorsed by a set of beliefs that explains and justifies that domination.” —Newman (1997)
The glorification of action, rationality, and control—without honoring the value of surrender—has left us incomplete. We are taught to see worth only in assertion, strength, and productivity. Vulnerability becomes a liability. Nature is expected to yield to our power. But we fail to see that surrender is not the opposite of strength—it is its complement.
My Ode to Surrender
This essay is my act of reclamation. I wish to glorify surrender, to lift it out of the box of defeat, and reveal its beauty and liberation. In my practice, there is no preset choreography—only the immediacy of improvisation. I allow my body to respond before my rational mind can explain why. This, for me, is freedom.
Through exploring quantum physics, neurobiology, embodied cognition, semantics, and social theory, I have followed a personal need for deeper connection. This research has led me to create a physical and visual performance, born from a wellspring of sensorial knowledge. It is this knowledge I now offer to my audience.
ODE TO SURRENDER
Slow. I open my valves before I
Know. The concrete and the air and the moss on the stones, I
Dare. To let you, it, all into, to
Feel. There is no difference
Between. And yet, the body bursts to
Respond. To hold the pace of my want.