interviews


podcast interview 2021. Fase || Fase

NDT 1 Interview for Here We Live and Now 2020

Q1:

Your dance journey has been full of experiences and shifts in direction. When new opportunities came along, did they feel clear and right to you from the beginning or were there times when you found yourself hesitating, unsure of which path to take?

Interview with Lea Ved

by Sofie Sochorcová

I first had the opportunity to meet Lea in 2021 in Berlin, during the B12 workshop festival. I was 15 years old and eager to explore the world of dance. One of the reasons I chose Lea for this interview is because, when looking back, I realize how profoundly she influenced and inspired me during those few days four years ago. She opened my eyes to the beauty and uniqueness of improvisation. Lea became, for me, an inspiring artist and person – someone open, curious, and constantly driven by a hunger to know more.

That’s why it was such an honor for me to meet her again, four years later, this time in the Netherlands, and to have the chance to speak with her about her journey, her values, and her vision for the future.

Lea:

My first opportunity after graduating was in Montreal with Rubberband. I’d connected with their work during a summer program while still in school. I felt immediately drawn in. I was magnetized by the curiosity, the language, the breathing room of that world.

After finishing my studies, which were rooted in classical and modern technique, I went to Europe for a series of auditions - Germany, Sweden, France, UK. It was a rich, eye-opening experience, but I didn’t get any of those contracts. Then the offer from Rubberband came, and there was no doubt in me. It felt like the right start, even though it was a detour from my original path. I believe any start is a good start.

Of course, there was always a question lingering would I return to my classical roots? But I’ve tried to stay open to change, keeping an eye on what feels right in the moment and what my heart gravitates toward, rather than what’s trendy. That individual compass is so important, even if it’s harder now with everything out there.

I stayed with Rubberband for three years. It was a rich, fulfilling time. Then, my partner at the time wanted to move to Europe, and I followed. It opened another door, an audition at the Royal Swedish Ballet. That was a difficult, crucial decision. Part of me wanted to stay in Montreal, but I also felt the hunger to learn and to experience other movement languages.

The first production I did there was with Alexander Ekman, and through that, I encountered completely different physical worlds, the languages of Sharon Eyal, Mats Ek. It was another moment of being magnetized by something new. So yes, while some opportunities felt instantly right, there were always crossroads where curiosity pulled me forward.

Q2:

In the beginning of your career, did you dream of being a choreographer, or did it develop over time?

Lea:

I think in a very small, private way, yes. But I come from a mindset where the title choreographer holds a lot of weight. I felt it was something you needed to earn. I was always creating and making, but I didn't call myself a choreographer, even when others did. It took time for me to feel comfortable wearing that title. I grew up looking up to many choreographers, and now, in a more democratized world where everyone can claim their creative identity, I still hold onto that sense of patience. I’m not in a rush – I just want to keep creating as long as I feel the flame for it.

Lea:

Definitely. I believe there are infinite ways to arrive at making your own work, but for me, it felt right to experience that first. My hunger to dance was always as strong, if not stronger, than my urge to create. I wanted to watch, learn, and be inspired by those doing what I hoped to do one day. And that process taught me a lot - especially about responsibility. It's so much easier to get lost in your own ideas and not care about the people in front of you, but that's never been my way.  I care deeply about the people in the room, and that changes how you lead, how you create, how you structure time.

I remember after a year away from performing, I went back on stage in February, and it was a huge moment for me. I was stunned by how much I'd missed it – how refreshing it was to be just a dancer again, not managing others or time or ideas. It gave me a whole new depth of love for both sides of this life: the maker and the mover. And my experience as a dancer constantly informs how I create, how I think about the room, how I connect with people. That circulation between roles has been essential for me.

Lea:

No, I don’t think it was necessary, but I do feel privileged to have gone through those experiences. Being in a company gave me a very specific set of tools. But it’s not the only way to become a creator. If I had been a freelancer, I would have developed a different set of skills, likely working more closely with one choreographer for a longer time.

In the company, it was more like a “tasting palate” – you get a little bit of everything. My most significant imprint came from my three years with Rubber Band, which was very in-depth, and that was an important experience for me.

But as I moved out of NDT and into the wider world, I see how many different ways there are to live as an artist. The company experience is like a bubble, and while it gave me certain tools, it’s not the only way to make a career.

It was an intense time, five years felt long for a dancer, especially with all the changes: new directors, new buildings, COVID, new dancers every year. There was a lot of uncertainty, and I never really felt like we had a clear, unified purpose as a company. With the constant changes, it was hard to see where we were headed. The pace was also demanding, with six days a week of work and only a few days off each month. It made me really hungry for a life outside of dance. Sundays were my day for dreaming and recharging before diving back in.

Lea:

I think moving through different companies and working with so many different people (each with their own way of translating physical language), you naturally collect mental notes along the way. Things like, “That’s an amazing way to hold space,” or “That’s not a way I’d want to work.” Even when a process wasn’t personally connected to me, I noticed how it made me feel as a dancer, whether it invited my contribution or made me feel like just a tool.

Those observations have accumulated over the years and shaped how I approach my role now, which isn’t as a dancer but as a facilitator, maker, and creator. I hold that role with a lot of care and responsibility. It’s easy to forget that in a rehearsal space we’re working with people, human beings with psyches, needs, desires, and vulnerabilities. It’s so tempting, when you’re leading a room, to get caught up in what you need from people and forget about the reciprocity that makes a creative space thrive.

I’ve seen both sides. Some choreographers walk in and expect everyone to create separately, with little information or guidance, and sometimes it feels like they’re taking what you offer and putting their name on it. But there’s a way to lead those processes that feels collaborative like teamwork and that’s something I deeply value and always try to return to in my work.

Lea:

I can’t say I have one specific source of inspiration. I’ve always enjoyed visiting museums, reading, watching films I’m fascinated by how people create in other crafts. But I don’t actively go out looking for inspiration for my dance work. It tends to happen more organically.

For example, when I moved from a breakdance company to the Royal Swedish Ballet, I suddenly had a lot more downtime between productions. I’d spend hours alone in the studio, moving without a clear purpose, just following a pulse. Around that time, I visited the Louisiana Museum in Copenhagen and saw works by Sigmar Polke these elusive, ghost-like colors that somehow mirrored what I was feeling in the studio. That was a turning point for me.

Since then, I’ve found it valuable to bring those kinds of inspirations like a poem, a painting, a piece of music into the studio and let them shape the atmosphere or state I’m working in. Not to dictate the movement, but to offer a new layer of imagination. It feels like nourishment, a way to keep the body and mind fed beyond technique and choreography.

Lea:

I think it works a bit backwards for me. Usually, I’ve already researched something physically in my own practice, without thinking about colors, words, or images. But then, when I see a painting or read something like that Woolgathering piece by Patti Smith, I shared it connects to a state I’ve already experienced in the studio. So, in that sense, those external things help me translate or frame something I’ve previously explored physically.

It’s a way to bring others into that same atmosphere. Of course, there’s always the option to enter improvisation purely through physical tasks and frameworks, and I use a lot of those too. But where I tend to go isn’t just physical it starts with a bit of illogic in the imagination. I think those colors, densities, or structures in a painting, or the openness of a poem become direct channels to connect, not just to my movement, but to a state. Not looking at me but entering a shared state through the work.

Lea:

Yeah, that’s a good question. I’ve been teaching a lot of workshops lately and while there isn’t one specific word, I often work with different states. I like to frame a state it might start with a strong physical task, but it always has a bit of psychology too. And there’s a little surrealism in there. It’s about being grounded in the human body but also tapping into the dreamlike or illogical spaces we carry.

Someone in a workshop recently gave me a nice piece of feedback they said, “You keep moving between the ethereal body and the human body. Sometimes you’re very human, very tangible, and then you slip into something ethereal, almost otherworldly, and back again.” I liked that. It felt very true about how I work.

Lea:

Exactly. And I like how you called it theoretical – that’s a nice word. It’s still present, even when it’s not pronounced.

Lea:

That’s a good question. I’ve been asked that more often lately, and I like it because it’s something I haven’t thought about so much before. I believe emotion comes through the physical through the brain, through the body. I don’t really talk about emotion in the studio, I don’t name it. I think it’s so personal, and for it to come out sincerely, I just don’t touch it directly.

For me, immersing the brain and body in a task, or giving them something to chew on, is the valve. That’s how the heart opens and emotions flow through. That’s what I’ve experienced. And when I’m dancing and someone tells me to “be an emotion,” I have to approach it differently. I can’t just decide to be something. I can only be present as I am in that moment, with whatever’s already alive inside me. If I’m carrying intense sadness or joy, it starts in the body the emotion’s there, but it has a script written through the body. I don’t know if that makes sense.

Lea:

Exactly. Like, for example, I made a solo for Switch at NDT two years ago, and I didn’t really know what it was about at first. I just felt like there was a lot inside me, and I wanted time to craft something, because in improvisation so much always comes up, and I wanted to give it shape. The solo had a structure, a frame, but inside that frame were emotions. They came from an improvisation driven by feeling but I didn’t try to define the feeling too much. That was interesting for me personally. It wasn’t about this is a sad solo or this is joyful. It was just what it was in that moment.

Lea:

Yes. Very much. It’s quite direct for me, I think. And I don’t believe it’s unique to me as a maker either it happens to many artists. The line between life and what I’m creating is often so thin it’s almost non-existent.

Whatever I’m feeling, thinking, reflecting on at that time seeps into the work into the questions I ask in the piece, into how I compose it, how I answer those questions. And when I look back at the works I’ve made, I can often see it very clearly.

Some works are fiery, full of intensity; some are sparse, with a lot of space. It always reflects where I was at that moment in my life, even if I didn’t intend it that way.

Lea:

I’m still navigating that, to be honest. It’s a fun challenge every time. I notice that what I propose improvisationally shifts from project to project – there’s a familiarity in the way I start, by bringing the body into very specific improvisational ideas, but I never expect those to be fully understood in the moment. It’s about planting something in the body first, then later, even when things start getting more set or structured, I like to return to those original improvisational seeds.

I work with different ‘pillars,’ you could say. Sometimes it’s task-oriented I’ll write very specific instructions, like one point of your arm drops and causes another to fling left so it stays task- based but leaves room for personal interpretation. Another way I work is through what I call multitude, singularity, and transposition. It’s more a mindset than a method.

And honestly, I also love those moments where I’m in the room, coming up with something in front of the dancer, and they’re interpreting it live. It’s immediate and raw, but it means I need to be connected to something real – I can’t just invent for the sake of it.

Lea:

Exactly. As a dancer myself, I remember moments where a choreographer would come in and say this is the phrase, which is fine you can work from that. But sometimes I wished for more context: what world are we in? What’s the space, the color, the air? Even if those things are invisible to the audience, they matter for the people inside the work.

When I’m creating now, I try to color the table, even if we’re only serving cheese. I want the dancers to know what kind of plate it’s on, what the room smells like metaphorically speaking so they feel held in something. That doesn’t always need to be literal, but having a sense of place or intention feeds us as movers.

Lea:

Always. I remember working with people like Hofesh or Crystal Pite they each came in with their distinct languages, but beyond that, they also offered context. It wasn’t just about steps. They shared where they were coming from, a bit of visual reference or thought process. Not everyone does that, but it makes a difference.

Even with Marina Mascarel, she would fill the room with references and invitations, not just movements. I’ve realized it’s not only about connecting as dancer and choreographer but as artists maybe even through other mediums or ideas. If something moves me, I have to share it. It might not make sense in the piece yet, but it’s about bringing life into the room. That’s what stitches the work together for me.

Lea:

Right now, I’m exactly where I’ve been dreaming of being for years. But of course, now that I’m here, I’m still dreaming. I really want to continue this path of being an independent artist. Not tied to one company I’m grateful for my time with Korzo, but I want to be a free agent, connecting with different communities.

For example, after the workshop in Berlin, I felt deeply connected to the people there. It gave me a sense of belonging that I didn’t always have in a company. This has led me to work towards independence, getting my permanent residency and opening doors to create more freely.

At this point, I’d love to keep working as a choreographer, facilitating workshops, and dancing taking on whatever opportunities come my way. Right now, I’m working on a duet and have also created pieces for small groups. The studio is my true compass. I just love being there, whether it’s with one dancer or a group of twenty. It’s where I feel most connected and where I want to keep growing, always exchanging, always practicing.

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