In Autothérapie, you take the literal idea of unbolting and apply it in a more personal sense. How do you achieve this?

Inner unbolting is a process that allows me to interrogate the underlying myths that shape how we see the world. Autothérapie gave me a space to identify ideas that we internalize without challenging them and that sometimes hold us back. Unbolting is an act of displacement, not of destruction. It’s a positive way of reconfiguring certain ideas without rejecting them, simply by displacing them from the centre.

In this work, text and movement coexist in a non-hierarchical way. How did you develop this approach?

In the process of creating Autothérapie, it was obvious to me that there should be a place for words and discourse, because I believe that sometimes it’s important to listen, to leave space for thinking about complex matters that go beyond the physical. I didn’t want to limit myself by focusing on a single choreographic medium consisting only of dance. It was important to put the subject matter into words, to embrace its radical nature, to be as concrete as possible rather than going in a more abstract direction. Poetry plays a central role in my work, while dance is a way of releasing trauma. It promotes healing through gestures and understanding through repetition. Autothérapie is a work of both memory and homage. It was important to let all the elements co-exist naturally.

What themes did spiralism help you explore in Autothérapie?

Spiralism emerged in the 1960s, during the years of Papa Doc’s dictatorship. It’s a way of writing and thinking which, at that time, involved passing on messages in a roundabout way so that you wouldn’t get captured or killed. The pioneers of spiralism sought ways to exist by working with circularity, new beginnings, and reconstruction so that they would never be caught. Irregularity and fragmentation is fundamental to this work. It’s not a style: it’s a necessity. As a Franco-Haitian, I never had access to linear narratives. There were breaks, gaps, and discontinuities in my genealogy. What is important is accepting that reality is not made up of straight lines. There is no continuous chronology as we understand the term today.

Spiralism therefore shaped the way I receive things, how I think and create. Working this way is a necessity rather than a formal choice. I contacted one of the movement’s pioneers, Frankétienne (1936-2025), while working on this piece. My exchanges with him played a key role in my research. It was also an essential way of paying homage across generations to the pioneers of Spiralism.

You have developed a technique you call the “snakebone” (couleuvre vertébrale). How do you incorporate this into your work?

At a certain point in my career, I started to think seriously about the nature of dance. I examined the gestures and choreographic habits I had acquired over time in an attempt to rediscover what was essential in my movements. As a result of this questioning, I undertook a process of unlearning in order to grasp what really drives movements. That was when I realized that some areas of my body were naturally active and functioned like motors. Based on this discovery, I went back through the dances I’ve practiced—hip-hop, ballet, jazz, traditional Haitian dance, yanvalou—to develop a technique that could contain all these histories in the same movement. That led to my concept of the snakebone. It’s also an homage to Haitian Vodun: yanvalou is related to the spirit Dambala, who is represented by a serpent. All these elements support a keen awareness of the body, which is integral to the therapeutic process.

Does presenting Autothérapie in different settings change what the performance is about?

I’m passionate about history and also sensitive to the spaces around me. I can’t pretend that pursuing my artistic process in a specific setting has no impact on my practice; it inevitably has an influence on it. To give you a specific example, the first performance took place in Hamburg, and the piece was designed based on sessions tailored to that particular setting. It’s important for me that Autothérapie can be adjusted to suit the venue where it’s presented, because there is a historical dimension running through my work. Whenever I change place, it means that the work changes too. There are basic elements that are always the same, but some things are adapted in response to the setting. At the moment, for instance, I’m working with the history of Montreal and Haiti, and the piece is evolving as a result.

Interview by Malika Rafa

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