Who would have thought that 35 years after the fall of communism, Romanians would still be seeking healing? Cornelia Oncioiu is part of a generation of children raised in Romanian working-class families who, hardened by the shortages and horrors of the communist regime, didn’t know that the affection they showed their own children could matter more than what they put on the table.

Born in the commune of Dărmănești in Bacău County, at her mother’s insistence, she moved to Cluj when she was only 13 years old.

Today, she is one of the voices of the Paris National Opera, and her professional life is divided between the Opera Garnier and the Opéra Bastille, the performance halls that any artist or opera lover dreams of. She has shared the stage with international stars such as German soprano Diana Damrau and French baritone Ludovic Tézier and has worked with important directors like Robert Wilson and Andrei Șerban.

But her story is not that of a diva. Having lived in the French capital for over 20 years, mezzo-soprano Cornelia Oncioiu’s success is an example of courage, perseverance, and healing through music.

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We met Cornelia Oncioiu right next to the Opera Garnier in Paris. I immediately noticed her Transylvanian accent, but she told us she was actually born in Bacău. Destiny led her to Transylvania, the Banat region, and then to France, so her Romanian has no trace of a Moldovan accent.

“I lived with my parents until I was 13, and when I was 13, my mother said: you’re moving to Cluj! We had some relatives there, and there was a family wedding. Since she couldn’t leave, she said I should. I didn’t want to go, I cried, I hated the idea. But many times, life has shown me that even if I didn’t want something, it happened so that I would get to where I was meant to be.

Do you believe in destiny, that a certain path is written for you?

Yes, I clearly do, because I have lived it, I have seen it happen so many times.

“After I finished 8th grade, I enrolled in the Mining, Oil, and Geology section at the Racoviță High School in Cluj. And it so happened that I met a classmate who was enrolled at the Cluj School of Popular Arts. We both loved to sing, and she told me I could enroll too.

I went with my uncle to register, and the date of the exam fell exactly when I was sick; I had a throat infection. I was treating myself with walnut shell tea and onion tea.

At that time, I sang pop music; I didn’t sing classical music at all, I didn’t know what it was all about. I had no musical knowledge. In Dărmănești, I had an extraordinary teacher with whom I did four years of kobza. And he also played the violin fantastically; you can imagine what it means to have a teacher who plays the violin in Dărmănești, a very small commune! But I never even thought I could have a career in music. I never even dreamed of it. I didn’t know what talent was. I just liked to sing. That’s all.

At the exam for the School of Popular Arts, I sang ‘Nu-mi lua iubirea dacă pleci’ (Don’t Take My Love If You Leave), as I was a big fan of Angela Similea. I sang the first verse and the chorus, and the teacher said, ‘Thank you, that’s enough.’

Of course, I was inhibited; I thought I must have disappointed him, that he didn’t like it, that he wouldn’t take me. And then I experienced one of the most exceptional moments of my life. There was such a great silence that it seemed to last an eternity. And then he said: ‘A voice like that, you hear it once every 25 years.’ And that left me speechless because I didn’t expect it at all; it shocked me.

I think that based on those words, I actually built my career.

And I think I latched onto that. And my younger brother, Călin, was and still is my biggest supporter; he was by my side unconditionally, I always felt him close, even at a distance. He lived and continues to live my successes and failures with the same intensity.”

Deeply moved, with tears in her eyes, Cornelia Oncioiu tells us how a teacher can save the life of a child otherwise condemned to a life without opportunities. “Mr. Valeriu Sorescu was an extraordinarily interesting man; he gave me everything, he shaped me, he opened my eyes. He, with an imposing stature like Pavarotti, came to my school to talk for me because I wasn’t doing well in math.”

The same singing teacher later encouraged her to study at the Conservatory when her parents were calling her home to Dărmănești.

“After finishing high school, I joined the Cluj Opera choir because I needed a job. I had a lot of financial difficulties because I had no help, no one.

My mother told me: ‘You don’t have money, come home.’ The concept of music didn’t exist for her. And I said, no, I want to continue making music, and I stayed. My singing teacher told me at the beginning: ‘You have to do classical music; you have a voice for opera music, leave pop music. You won’t do much with it.’ I still wanted to do pop music, until in my third year of singing, he gave me an aria from Azucena, from Trovatore (n.r. The Troubadour, by Giuseppe Verdi).

This woman, Azucena, mistakenly threw her own child into the fire instead of the other one, wanting revenge. All of this had a very big impact on me because it overlapped with events from my personal life that were very significant, very painful, and so, I immediately understood the text. And I said: ‘If this is opera, this is what I want to do!’

It wasn’t complicated for someone with my experiences. When you come from a family with an alcoholic father, with a mother who yells from morning to night, the emotional burden is always within you.

The choir master of the Cluj Opera was very favorably impressed and said, ‘Yes, indeed, that is a true mezzo-soprano voice. When there is a competition, you will come to the competition and you will be part of our choir, if you want.’

I worked there for 3 years, until 1997.”

In parallel, she participated in and won the most important competitions in Romania, such as Hariclea Darclée, Eugenia Moldoveanu, Sabin Drăgoi, or Ionel Perlea. She began to build a career as a soloist, enjoying the trust and support of the great Romanian soprano Mariana Nicolesco. In 1997, she moved to Timișoara, where she was admitted to the Conservatory, and continued to perform as a soloist at the Cluj or Timișoara Opera, and to sing on the stage of the Romanian Athenaeum in Bucharest.

“In the 2001-2002 season, when I was finishing my studies, I applied for competitions at the operas in Bucharest, Cluj, and Timișoara and had passed the stages at all of them. But, at the same time, as a result of a project with the French Cultural Center in Timișoara, I was going to have an audition in Bucharest for Monique Devaux, who is still the director of the Auditorium at the Louvre.

I traveled all night by train from Timișoara to Bucharest to have the audition in the morning at the Opera, in front of Mrs. Devaux. I knew it was for a lady from France, but I didn’t know who she was.”

She waited all morning on the stairs of the Bucharest Opera to be let in for the audition, and the wait was worth it, as that was the meeting that would radically mark her career.

“She liked it very much and wrote a letter of recommendation for me to the Paris Opera Academy, which is a kind of school, but the admitted people are like employees, in fact. We had teachers, pianists, free training, and our duty was to sing on stage if requested, or to be understudies for some shows.

There were only 5 spots and 250 applicants. When I got there and saw that, I started to tremble and said, well, now it’s life and death. When you put me in a situation like that, I go and show everything I can; nothing can stand in my way, I don’t see, I don’t hear, I disappear into another universe.

I got in here, and at the same time, the competition at the Bucharest Opera was finishing, and I said yes, I choose Paris!

It wasn’t the money that attracted me, but the study; I wanted to learn as much as possible, to be in an environment where I had as much high-level information as possible, which I have to admit I didn’t have in Romania.

How many years did you study at the Academy here?

Two years.

And what happened after that?

Well, even before I was admitted to the Academy, they already offered me work. I did my first production as an understudy, right here at Garnier, with the role of Cornelia from Giulio Cesare (n.r. opera by Handel). The Opera also helped me with accommodation because I had only found a place for the period when I was starting the Academy. But until then, I had nowhere to stay. They found me an apartment right across from the Opéra Bastille.

Back then, there was a FNAC right in front. And they had the habit, as they do now, when there is an opera premiere, of highlighting all the records of that opera. And I didn’t know who those artists were, because at home we didn’t have YouTube, we didn’t have the internet, we didn’t have anything. I knew nothing about Mark Minkowski (n.r. French conductor) and a lot of other greats from here. I had the cast list, but it was only when I went into FNAC and saw Mark Minkowski, Mark Minkowski, Mark Minkowski everywhere, and all the people who were in the show, that I broke out in a sweat and said: ‘I can’t believe it, I’m going to go rehearse with these people tomorrow.’”

This year, Cornelia Oncioiu celebrates 21 years since her debut at the Opéra Bastille in Dialogues des carmélites. In all this time, her CV has become impressive, being a constant presence in the productions of the Parisian opera – Giulio Cesare, Elektra, Louise, The Barber of Seville, Madama Butterfly, Parsifal, Lucia di Lammermoor, Traviata, Le Soulier de satin are just a few of them. She has also sung at the Bordeaux National Opera in Rusalka, at the Grand Théâtre d’Avignon in Rusalka and Peter Grimes, and at the Marseille Opera in Madama Butterfly. Noticed by specialists in Paris, she has been invited to be part of performances staged in Amsterdam, Geneva, Monte Carlo, Tokyo, Santiago de Chile, and Shanghai.

“It’s not enough to sing beautifully or well; you have to be very responsive. That is, the moment you are told something, you have to immediately deliver what is asked of you. This is very important. Whether it comes from a conductor or a director. If you don’t react immediately to do what is said, in general, you are not given a second chance. In opera, at this level, no one really has patience with you.”

Although she was performing an episodic role, a critic from the New York Times noticed her in Traviata, alongside the main soloists – “Cornelia Oncioiu brings rich mezzo tones to the few lines she has to sing,” the New York Times article states.

Through music, she has seen different corners of the world, but she has collaborated least with Romania, being better known in France, her adopted country, than in her native country. In fact, this is the first interview she has given to a Romanian publication since settling in France.

How did you manage to integrate into everything that the world of Parisian opera means, beyond the artistic aspect?

It wasn’t easy for me. The difficulty comes from the difference in culture. The environment is not the same. We Romanians are more open; we get straight to the point. They are more diplomatic, they discuss things differently, they never say things to your face.

It’s hard at the beginning from a human point of view, until you make friends, until you get used to it. What most determined me to stay here was the cultural level and diversity.

If I had stayed in Romania, I don’t know what my life would have been like, but here I managed to buy an apartment, I managed to do so many extraordinary shows, to meet so many people, to sing under the baton of so many important conductors, to discover the world, to see art, to discover literature. You don’t feel like going back as long as you can benefit from all of this.

It’s true that for a soloist, as in my case, it’s very difficult because you always have to be well prepared, you always have to be at a high level. Any problem that arises puts you at a disadvantage and can quickly bring you down.

Whereas if you’re in a troupe in Romania, you don’t have the same problems. In general, you stay until retirement. It’s true that here you don’t have the same security or stability, but you have a lot of different soloists all the time, some of the world’s immense artists, the repertoire is very varied, the level of the orchestra is completely different, with extraordinary guest conductors.

Which work dynamic do you think is healthier, the one in Romania with all the artists employed or this one where artists are independent and work on a project basis?

I’m sorry, I don’t know if someone will accuse me or won’t like my answer, but I definitely opt for the second one. As a soloist, you realize you have to maintain your voice constantly, to work, to study. When the competition is high, of course, it makes you study and be prepared, because otherwise, someone else will take your place. This is also valid for directing, not just for soloists.”

Among the great directors she has worked with at the Paris National Opera are the American Robert Wilson and the Romanian Andrei Șerban.

“For me, Robert Wilson will remain hard to match, from many points of view. With him, I did Madama Butterfly at the Opéra Bastille, in 2009 and 2014, with me in the role of Suzuki. He insisted on the idea that when you perform and address someone, the feeling you want to convey doesn’t just go to the front. The energy circulates in multiple directions: up, down, front, back. If there’s a partner behind you, you don’t see them, but you have to feel them; you have to feel the energy with them, to make a connection with them.

A lot of soloists go on stage and care very little about their partners; they only focus on themselves, on shining, and that’s not okay.

With Andrei Șerban, I have some fabulous memories; I really liked Andrei! We are a bit made of the same dough. We both have a kind of simplicity and a direct style of communication, we understood each other very well.

I did L’italiana in Algerie at Garnier in 2010. And before that, Lucia di Lammermoor at Bastille. Andrei is spontaneous, he’s intelligent, he’s modest, he’s creative, free, he’s human, very human. He’s also charming, but it seems to me that the charm in people like this also comes from the fact that they have kept something of their childhood somewhere, that innocence in their soul.

What are the greatest satisfactions you have in your work?

The most satisfying moments are when you have partners you are on the same wavelength with and there is intensity. Intensity in emotions, in dedication, in responsiveness. It’s nice when your partner gives you a true look in the eye and isn’t the type who looks through you and sings their part, thinking about what they have to do.

With what partners have you experienced this?

Diana Damrau comes to mind now, for example, when we sang Traviata together, Sonya Yoncheva.

Then, there’s also the joy that comes from self-transcendence – when you manage to do difficult things that you never dreamed of.”

Having left a country that was still learning what democracy was and arriving in the heart of a culture that puts artistic freedom first, Cornelia Oncioiu has managed to build an international career through her own efforts and by eliminating any cultural barriers in her path.

The Paris National Opera, a benchmark of innovation and modernity, continues to work on dismantling clichés and brings multidisciplinary productions to the public, in which classic texts are sometimes combined with contemporary dance, minimalist scenography, and an international cast.

While street breakdancers were invited on stage there alongside the opera soloists in the revolutionary production Les Indes Galantes, the Bucharest National Opera was still trying to recover after numerous cases of corruption and the famous racism scandal in 2016 when Romanian artists demanded the removal of foreign collaborators and booed the great ballerina Alina Cojocaru, along with her partner, choreographer Johan Kobborg.

This year, the Bucharest National Opera again blundered with a campaign trying to “educate” the public – “How we dress at the opera” – presenting a hypersexualized and clichéd image of a fashion model wearing an evening gown. In contrast, at the Bastille, given that it is a common activity for them, many French people go to the opera directly from work, wearing casual clothes.

“I have been here for 20 years; it is a huge creative force, and the mix of classic and contemporary has become normal. But the audience here is much more open than in Romania.

In Germany, the role of Elvira from Don Giovanni was played this year by a man (n.r. the Brazilian Bruno de Sa), and this stirred numerous comments on the internet. What’s the problem? I mean, who are we to judge? And why should we judge? How does it affect us?

What do you think is the role of opera today, when the world is so dependent on digital technology, and the attention span for a subject lasts only a few seconds?

The role of opera is to make you live experiences other than the ones you are used to; it helps you see various stories from the past, many of which are still valid today, you see how people reacted back then, to know other cultures, other behaviors.

I believe that at the opera, you can experience feelings that I don’t know if you can experience in other forms of art. Of course, you can be moved in front of a painting, in front of a sculpture, or at a theater play, but when the vocal intensity is mixed with music, with scenography, with directing, with dance, with the text, with poetry, it is difficult for that to be equaled by anything else.

I’m curious if your parents got to see you singing on the stage of the Paris Opera.

Yes, my parents came to Paris a few times, and my father, before he died, came a few times and saw me in Paris, Nantes, and Bucharest. And my mother has come a few times.

My mother still lives in Dărmănești; she knows I’m here, but my parents were never very interested in my career, what I do professionally, my evolution. However, I am grateful because they gave me an education and what was necessary in my childhood. Now, as an adult, I have also understood the difficulties they went through.

What else connects you to Romania? Do you still visit your country, are you interested in what’s happening there?

Yes, of course, I’m interested. I was very affected and very preoccupied with the elections; I never in my life wanted a president to be elected as much as I wanted Nicușor Dan to be elected now. Oh my god, what a relief I felt when I saw he was elected. I think I would have cried for days if it hadn’t been so.

It’s interesting that you’re so interested, even though you no longer live there.

Well, you know why? (with tears in her eyes) I want to cry when I think of all the people who worked and struggled before so that we could have what we have now. It’s as if some people no longer appreciate anything. We no longer want Europe, we no longer want freedom, we no longer want anything, we only want ourselves, Romania? Because Europe is taking everything from us. I don’t understand. What is Europe taking from us?

I think about the people who died in the Revolution and the progress that has been made, because progress has been made. Some people don’t want to see it, but I say it has been made.

We are free to leave whenever we want, wherever we want. Isn’t that a good thing?”

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This article is part of the “France Week” series, an initiative by Cultura la dubă supported by BNP Paribas. So far, within this project, Cultura la dubă has presented the stories of 22 Romanian artists and cultural figures based in France.

The post From Dărmănești to the Paris National Opera, the voice of mezzo-soprano Cornelia Oncioiu is the cry of a generation appeared first on Cultura la dubă.

He left Romania for Argentina at 19, and dance opened his horizons to a new world, full of possibilities, to diversity and understanding. He studied ballet, modern dance, and contemporary dance, was part of a church choir, danced in one of Paris’s famous cabarets, and settled in the French capital, where he is a dancer, choreographer, and dance teacher.

Decisively influenced by the great Romanian choreographer Gigi Căciuleanu and trained by his partner, Ruxandra Racoviță, Daniel Pop carries on the love for contemporary dance and enriches it with his own ideas, movements, and emotions.

I met him in Paris just hours before he was to go on stage at the Opéra National de Paris, where he is part of the opera Manon.

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Daniel Pop’s story begins 37 years ago in Târgu-Mureș. Born in one of Romania’s most ethnically mixed communities, he grew up surrounded by diversity, which later helped him adapt to the different cultures he encountered.

“I was raised by grandparents, parents, teachers with this idea that if you learn a foreign language, you’ll have an extra chance in life. They told me: be curious, be open, accept diversity.

In Târgu Mureș, we have this cohabitation of space with those of Hungarian origin. Our neighbors are Hungarian, my mother went to primary school in Hungarian, and so I grew up with this exercise of multiculturalism. It seemed very important to me as an adult, a professional, if I have something to say and am encouraged and warmly welcomed into a new space, then to come and accept this challenge and propose such an exercise of artistic creation in several languages, where at some point, in fact, language was no longer a barrier,” says Daniel.

He always felt a magnetic attraction to dance, even if his father would have preferred him to box, because “boys need to know how to defend themselves.”

“Being a child with bronchial asthma, I had quite fragile health at that time and was forbidden to do sports. I danced from a very young age in front of the television, imitating stars like Marilyn Monroe, Britney Spears. I had a lot of habits that no one understood. I went to ballet somewhat secretly.

I was beaten quite a lot as a child, in front of the block. I was very whiny, often sick, I wasn’t allowed to eat ice cream. I went to classical dance because what I saw on television toughened me up a lot, and I told myself, ‘look how beautiful, how graceful, how good it is there.’

I used to imitate gestures a lot; I imitated my mother who smoked and I secretly smoked pencils. I watched some films about cabaret and taught imaginary children dance and all sorts of subjects.

And I say this now because, after all, I danced for many years in a cabaret, I became a dancer, and I also became a teacher. Somehow these childhood dreams became reality.

How were your childhood dance classes?

I went to ballet classes in Târgu Mureș, at the general school gym. At one point, my parents were called to give their consent for me to receive a scholarship to the Bolshoi Ballet in Moscow.

My teacher said it would be good for me to try to go to a ballet school in Russia because boys are needed and because I am tall and could develop very well.

I think ballet saved me from my medical condition, in the sense that I developed my lung capacity. However, my parents were still very worried and did not agree to my leaving for Moscow.

What did you do after that?

At 18, when I finished high school, I had the opportunity to go to Argentina to a dance school, through a very good friend from Târgu Mureș, who had been there for two years studying cinematography.

I was supposed to prepare for the choreography section of UNATC in Bucharest, but it didn’t inspire me at all to go to Bucharest. I think there were also these stereotypes about the relationship between the province and Bucharest. At that time, I was part of a church choir and a high school theater group.

Those at Ariel Theater in Târgu Mureș, where I was already working as an amateur, told me: “Dance is against the clock; go for dance because you can do theater at any age.”

And somehow my work is somewhere at the intersection of theater and dance. My personal artistic projects and interests led me on this path, so somehow I still managed to have some contact with theater.”

In Argentina, however, he was to discover contemporary dance, in a completely different way than he perceived dance, through the lens of the rigors imposed by ballet exercises. There he studied at a dance school and worked in parallel as a waiter to ensure an income.

At the time, Gigi Căciuleanu, who was to become his mentor, was the artistic director of the National Ballet of Chile.

“He was already working with professional dancers; I wasn’t prepared for contemporary dance at that level, and he proposed that I come to Paris to attend the Conservatory, where his lifelong partner, Ruxandra Racoviță, was a professor. She had the Contemporary Dance department, and I was her last generation of students. She trained me in contemporary dance, and after I finished, I started dancing in a company where Gigi Căciuleanu staged shows.

And I worked in that company for about 5-6 years, touring through Europe, dancing a lot here in France and Italy.

What convinced you to make the transition from ballet to contemporary dance?

A very great embarrassment I felt in a contemporary dance class in Buenos Aires where, effectively, after 10 minutes, I picked up my bag to leave. When I put my hand on the doorknob, the teacher stopped the class and said: “Are you sure you want to leave? I think there’s something for you; you just have to give it time.” And it was a challenge, because I’ve always been very agitated, very wild, preoccupied with a hundred things, somewhat dispersed in space, and contemporary dance opened up a vision where anything was possible.

But where did that embarrassment come from?

From some movements that were not necessarily in my comfort zone or in what I knew how to do, namely the very rigorous ABC of classical dance.

When I discovered contemporary dance, I didn’t know these elements; everything was about weight, about breathing, about falling to the ground, about slowing down, movement about speeds, different volumes, bodies. All these things I liked very much and embarrassed me at the same time.

I was somehow afraid to throw myself harder. I saw that there’s always room for more, and in classical dance there’s room for more and movements can be perfected, but classical dance goes through a certain repetition of movement until it becomes perfect, whereas in contemporary dance, that doesn’t exist.

Contemporary dance has more to do with movement that will be nourished by a thought, by an emotion behind it, with deciphering certain cultures and subjects. I think it’s something much more universal and much more open to people.

And you made the complete transition? You no longer danced ballet?

Yes, I continued classical dance as training, because it seemed very rigorous and very important for the body and for body posture. Continuing with classical dance is a kind of morning prayer, but I plunged into the world of contemporary dance, being very convinced that this is the path I want to take.

I also had this inclination towards the world of theater; I really liked talking about different subjects, having different characters, not necessarily being in this world of the romantic prince who has to carry the princess or the swan through space.

Then, in Argentina, I also discovered the world of modern dance, namely jazz, musical. And when I arrived in Paris, apropos of what you work to support yourself, I auditioned for a very famous cabaret here, Paradis Latin – the cabaret that is placed in the same line as Moulin Rouge and Lido. It was built by Gustave Eiffel in an architecture very similar to that of the tower.

It’s a cabaret where the cancan dance was invented and first danced in Paris.

I worked there for 5 years at night, so I could do what I liked during the day – contemporary dance. I was somehow between the two worlds, the world of night and the world of day.

And I also taught in a modern dance club and various body maintenance techniques.

Why did you choose to continue doing this in Paris? Was there no place for contemporary dance in Romania? Or in Argentina?

In Paris, I found my place, and I really liked the diversity. I think what I had to say had to do with something very universal; I liked having colleagues from all over the world.

Then here there is an artist’s status, an “intermittence du spectacle” regime.

This wage system is unique in the world. It is a self-sustaining system. Depending on what you declare and what taxes you pay to the state, they then ensure you a decent living between projects.

How has being part of this much more open world of contemporary dance changed you on a human level?

I believe that contemporary dance is about a lot of introspection and it is an intimate and very internal journey of one’s own self, of being. At the same time, you can be a messenger, a connecting point between cultures, between people, between different languages, between different forms of expression.

I don’t think I would be the same if I hadn’t lived in Argentina for three years and if I hadn’t immersed myself in a Latin American culture.

And regarding tradition, identity, and where I come from, I have always tried to preserve this very beautiful and varied relief of Transylvania, the land where I was born, and to bring it through movements, through a certain melancholy, into dance.”

At the time of our meeting in Paris, Daniel was preparing to go on stage at the Opéra Bastille, where he has been part of the production and cast of the opera Manon since 2020. Following an audition, he was selected for the dance corps. Then the celebrated tenor Benjamin Bernheim chose him as his stage partner for several scenes, so in some performances, he is an actor. In parallel, he was also appointed choreography assistant.

“The choreographic proposal for this show has quite classical and neoclassical content, but also has jazz, modern, and contemporary dance influences. Based on these competencies acquired through the multitude of aesthetics my body has gone through during my years of study, I managed to get this casting.

From the outside, it seems that this multidisciplinary approach is increasingly common in the world of opera and ballet in Paris. I’ve seen shows where hip-hop dancers have performed on stage alongside tenors and sopranos. How is this modernization of a classical world viewed from within?

I think France has always been avant-garde and has aimed to experiment with new forms. Artistic transversality and this interdisciplinarity have found a cradle in France, through its history, through its revolutions. These revolutions were also felt in the arts, because an artist is an active citizen of society through the work he does, through the risks he takes, and through this universality with which he responds to new challenges.

The last few years in France, it seems to me, have been about breaking these barriers, about trying to go hand in hand with this idea of democratizing dance, of opening up spaces a lot, of mixing the world of professional dancers with amateur dancers.

At the state level, cultural policies have been designed in such a way that dance reaches many new spaces, and even large institutions, such as the opera, bring new voices from certain territories very far from classical forms. Of course, there have been controversies, and there always are controversies. If you look, for example, at the Louvre pyramid, there was a big scandal because something totally innovative, something angular, was intervened in a heritage space, and there were all sorts of conspiracies.

It’s a very clear example that we can live in a very large diversity, and this was also the reason why I stayed here.

Because daily I met new people, from new cultures, from new countries, and it was somehow an adopted land where we all felt equal together.

And from a geographical point of view, it was a strategy to be in Paris because I could go anywhere, east, west, north, south, very easily and return here, as the French say, to a pied-à-terre, having a foot very anchored in this culture and in this diversity.

Have you also become a French citizen?

Yes, after 12 years of living here, as a European citizen with the same rights, after all, as the French. It was a personal decision to also take French citizenship because it seemed to me that it somehow crowns a certain effort I made to understand, without judging, why the French are cold and distant, when, in fact, they are just reserved. I came from a collective education, like communism, to the land of enlightenment thinkers, philosophers, great thinkers, where individualism is paramount and where a person, an individual, must learn to fend for himself.

For me, it was very clear that I am like them, and a citizenship does not cancel the one I have and the identities I have, but it is something that enriches me, something that completes me and makes me feel more complex.”

Although he is already perfectly integrated in France, Daniel frequently returns to Romania, where he has also laid the foundations for an artistic residency in Saschiz, Transylvania. This summer, his project, entitled International Artistic Residencies Camp “LEGĂTURI” (CONNECTIONS), is already in its 4th edition. Every year, international and national artists are invited to meet students from our vocational faculties, as well as the local community.

“I feel at home in Transylvania. And in the places where I grew up, where I am always welcomed with open arms, and where we have the camp, I feel that I receive a lot of trust in the artistic formats I propose.

In Saschiz, I propose a mix of different cultures and worlds: that of art school students, with internationally renowned and national artists, with children from culturally disadvantaged rural areas, with key people in their communities, namely those who work in education and tell children about our activities.

In the first year, they were a little more reluctant when they heard so many different languages on the street, in their village; it was something very new. But when I brought a fashion designer who presented at Fashion Week in Paris, they came, stood close to the door, very quiet, listened to this artist with whom I moderated a discussion about his journey, about how he markets his products, about how he creates in Paris. And at the end, when a video presentation of the Fashion Week runway ended, they were the first to shout bravo and applaud.

Then, I think of the children who took eco-fashion workshops with this designer; they learned to sew, to give new life to an old garment.

All through gestures and through body language, they were able to connect. And then, for me, that was clear proof that when we meet and try to communicate with our bodies, we overcome many barriers.”

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This article is part of the “France Week” series, an initiative by Cultura la dubă supported by BNP Paribas. So far, within this project, Cultura la dubă has presented the stories of 22 Romanian artists and cultural figures based in France.

The post Daniel Pop, Romanian-French dancer and choreographer: “When we communicate with the body, we overcome many barriers.” appeared first on Cultura la dubă.