On a cold, rainy, and gloomy morning in Berlin four years ago, I was walking through the streets of the city. The only thing I had to do here was to create as an artist. Berlin welcomed me for this very reason: to survive by producing. But the question that mattered most to me was what I would create, what unique contribution I could offer to this city.
I often think of my family, my roots. At times, connecting with my roots hurts, so I tend to avoid getting too entangled in them. Yet, precisely for that reason, I long to build a positive relationship with my roots. I want to share that positive connection with others through my art. I kept thinking about the Armenian alphabet, which has always inspired me with its lines and forms. I realized I wanted to dance with these letters. I wanted to remind Western societies of the journey these letters have taken since the 5th century CE, and gently widen the cultural-historical focus. That’s how the work began. I took each letter and explored different ways of drawing them with my body, developing partner-based dance exercises using the letters as a foundation.
Growing Confidence Through Movement
The idea of dancing with alphabets has been explored before, especially in alternative pedagogies like Waldorf education. In those contexts, tracing a letter with the body and sounding it aloud is used as a sensory-focused, experiential learning method. But in the approach I developed, the focus is not just on mimicking the letters with the body — the emphasis is on creativity. And that’s what bridges this work from a pedagogical context into artistic creation.
This workshop, while supporting physical development, coordination, balance, attention, memory, and cultural understanding, also activates each participant’s innate creative potential. In Turkey, a dominant mindset and deeply flawed pedagogical tradition have ingrained beliefs like “I can’t dance,” “I’m not talented,” or “It’s not for me.” However, when individuals experience movement in a judgment-free space, these beliefs begin to dissolve. As they see themselves dancing and succeeding, their self-confidence grows.
In Germany, on the other hand, there’s a long-standing tradition of inclusive, socially aware pedagogical policy. Across the country, there’s a vast infrastructure that allows people of all ages to engage with any art form to whatever degree they wish. This infrastructure doesn’t make art or artists elite — rather, it prioritizes art under a large umbrella and keeps it accessible for all.
A Dance Language that Crosses Borders
My workshop Dancing with the Armenian Alphabet attracted interest from participants from different countries and cultural backgrounds. Over the course of a month-long series, participants learned the letters and embodied them through spatial movement. Later, I invited them to explore the flow and structure offered by each letter — whether harmoniously or disruptively — through deconstructive movement research. I left the choice to them because I believe that each body’s unique creative potential is expressed when the individual listens to their own curiosity and needs, transforming movement into dance.
From Berlin to Istanbul
After hosting the workshop at Tatwerk Performative Forschung in Berlin, I later organized a session during one of my visits to Istanbul, at Çatı Contemporary Dance Association. With every new iteration, I found myself excited by the evolving possibilities within the method — even as an instructor. This curiosity led me to explore other alphabets: Japanese, Runic, Sumerian, Nazcan, and even further back to pictograms — the earliest forms of visual writing.
Over time, I began offering these alphabet-based dance workshops in universities, community organizations, and online during the pandemic. I came to deeply understand that alphabets are, in fact, bodies that carry the past into the present. These visual languages — shaped across different regions and eras — have transmitted knowledge, perception, time, and experience, just like our bodies do.
Our body is our home — the space we inhabit throughout life. Days, weeks, and months passed, but I still couldn’t feel at home in Germany. Many people around me shared that same feeling. Alongside all this, there was another fire burning inside me. Deep in my heart, I knew that the workshops and performances I was doing were most needed in Turkey. The work Dancing with the Armenian Alphabet, as well as the broader creative dance practices that form its foundation, could play a vital role in Turkey. By recognizing creative dance — alongside folk dance and ballet — as a legitimate, contemporary form of expression, we could foster healthier body awareness, support gender equality, and improve the quality of life for everyone. For these reasons, I returned to Istanbul without much hesitation.
As soon as I came back, colleagues around me started asking, “Why did you return?” I told them about my goals and intentions.
When the Word “Armenian” Was Removed
In his book Writing: The Memory of Humanity, French poet, writer, linguist, and educator Georges Jean explains that whenever people have felt the need to record and preserve fleeting moments in the flow of history, writing became a necessity — almost a law. He also notes that the royal scribe who knew how to write always had a say in power structures.
I began to hear that in academia, even words like democracy and creativity were increasingly discouraged. Some friends told me that during the final review of their theses, advisors asked them to remove such terms. It seemed censorship had reached academia too, especially as the relationship between media and political power solidified.
In 2018–2019, I conducted field research for a second thesis focused on creative dance pedagogy. The phrase Dancing with the Armenian Alphabet was politely modified by my advisor, who was also the head of the dance department, saying, “Let’s just call it ‘Dancing with Alphabets.’” The word Armenian was removed. Creative dance — a practice with a theoretical foundation dating back to the 1920s and one of the roots of dance therapy — was also dismissed, with arguments like, “Is there such a thing as non-creative dance?”
Up until that point, I had never felt the need to define myself ethnically within the profession I had chosen — art, which encompasses all languages, religions, races, and cultures. But faced with these censorships and this approach, I was shocked. Inside, a voice echoed: “This would never happen in Berlin. Where have I come back to?” Although I accepted these exclusions at the time, perhaps out of confusion, they were clear warnings of the challenges I would continue to face.
Gandhi’s words still resonate: “Be the change you wish to see in the world.” As our need for honest, inclusive, peace-centered expression and action grows, art is waiting to connect with us — to serve as a tool for healing the wounds shaped by both family and educational systems.
Maybe today is your first moment of contact. Perhaps you’ll put down this article, pick a letter from any alphabet that comes to mind, and draw it in the air at your own rhythm. Maybe you’ll even stand up and use both arms to dance with another letter. After all, dance is one of the strongest signs that we are still alive.
My workshop, which began with the Armenian alphabet and expanded to include all alphabets from past and present, continues to bring together curious participants through various centers and institutions. It draws attention in international academic and artistic circles, but it also awaits local teachers — right here — who are interested in using it as a teaching method for language and literacy in schools.
