I often feel like just a small human being in a very big, changing world. I do what I can—I recycle, I live mindfully, and I teach my children and my students to respect the nature that surrounds us. But like many of you, I often look at what we have done to our environment and wish I could simply wave a magic wand to fix it. While I don’t have a wand, I do have music, and I believe art has the power to reach people where words fail.
The Heart of the Story: Folklore and the Environment
For me, the environment and our folklore are deeply connected; they are both part of the "soul" of our land that we must preserve. In my third ballet, Odčarani letni časi (The Disenchanted Seasons), I wanted to weave these two passions together. The story, beautifully written by Karolina Graj, follows a group of children who realize the natural world is losing its "magic." The seasons are out of balance—the snow doesn't fall when it should, and the flowers struggle to bloom because the natural cycle has been disrupted. By using my own musical voice to tell this story, I wanted to remind the audience that our heritage and our earth are treasures that require our protection.
A Total Work of Art
To make this vision truly mine, I stepped beyond the manuscript paper. I personally drew the posters and the background projections, ensuring that every visual detail reflected the "disenchanted" world I heard in the music. Bringing this world to the stage was a massive collaborative effort. Ana Trojnar’s choreography captured the tension between nature and destruction with incredible grace, while the dancers—from the seasoned professionals to the very smallest children—poured their entire souls into every movement.
A particularly proud moment was our performance at a major event in Domžale. For this occasion, I wrote a full orchestral version of the score so the music could be played live. Hearing the orchestra breathe life into the notes while the dancers moved under the projections I had drawn was a moment of pure, collaborative magic.
The Persistent Drop
There is a Latin saying: "Gutta cavat lapidem"—a drop hollows the stone, not by force, but by falling often. I know that one ballet cannot stop a global crisis, but art is my way of "falling often." If my music, Karolina's story, and the passion of those dancers reached even one person in that audience—if it made them look at a tree or a folk song with a bit more love the next morning—then we have achieved something. We are the drops of water, and together, we can eventually change the stone.