The love for circus was spoon-fed to me. As a child I performed every summer holiday all over France with my parents, brother and dog in the mini family circus “Circus Bonarius”™. That way we traveled from campsite to campsite in an old fire truck. Even outside the holidays I was busy all day with dances, plays and acrobatics. I now play with my own company Tall Tales Company in Dutch theaters and at festivals throughout Europe. My body is still the easiest way to communicate, circus is my language.

Five and a half years ago, a sprained ankle gave me a nervous system disorder called CRPS. Suddenly I went from constant movement to being forced to sit still. From somersault to wheelchair. From showing things to trying to explain with words what I mean. I've always found it strange that as a movement artist you are so often judged on your ability to explain in words what you do and why. Now, as a circus director in a wheelchair, I have no other choice.

But how do you do that if circus has literally been your language all your life? With trial and error? Like learning a somersault? Trying out, copying, getting tips, falling, building confidence and having someone next to you to catch you? It's so much easier to show exactly how a trick works or what intention a move should have than it is to describe it. Words often fall short, while a movement says it all. Often I try to explain something, but I can't find the words, and the other person finds it difficult to understand me.

As if I suddenly have to speak Japanese and am not allowed to express myself with hands and feet. I am therefore extremely grateful that the artists I work with have the patience to translate my first stuttering attempt, so that I can slowly clarify those sentences and even create a story that transcends the verbal. Then you start to believe that you might do a somersault again someday; but with words, yes.