Paradise, perhaps, is not lost 

Nurturing, thoughtful and creative work in the encounter with art 

In the training offered by the Audience Ambassador Programme at NPT, I discovered —or perhaps finally understood— the way performative art operates. And thanks to it, I was inspired to explore questions of needs and desires that are often dictated by our social environment. I wanted to investigate how art can help us live better, or even feel happier. We live in a context that combines overstimulation with a growing concern for mental health and care, creating an increasingly anxious world. In a world saturated with injunctions —“be happy” “succeed”, “stay healthy”, “optimize your potential”—, art gives a precious space for reflection, a place that welcomes our complexities rather than ignoring them. I wanted to approach care by engaging people who work with it every day. How can those who care for others find support, inspiration, or renewal through art and artistic practices?

What excited me most about the Ambassador Programme was the freedom offered in designing our activities. María, the NPT curator of engagement asked us: “What interests you? Who do you want to work with? Which performance would you choose to nurture your reflection?” In France, creative activities are often led directly by artists, while mediators focus on transmission, tools, and facilitating encounters. Throughout my career, I have developed many programmes for audiences following the artist’s work and themes. While that is a fascinating exploration, it does not engage one’s personal perspective in the same way. I felt immense joy in being able to design a proposal rooted in my own interests this time: I was offered a genuine space of creative freedom, something rare and precious. I wanted to honour it and make sure the activities would be meaningful and coherent.

Who I worked with

Within this caring and stimulating framework, I imagined two separate journeys, two ways of approaching the question of care: firstly, working with adolescents facing difficulties, those whose horizon is the future, with worlds to be reinvented and the anxieties that may come with them, to foster encounters, invite play and creativity, and open doors to artistic discovery. Secondly, I wanted to approach those whose mission is precisely to care for others; psychologists, therapists, and accompanying professionals and my ambition there was to help them explore art as a complementary resource for their practice.

Building and mobilising a group was the most complex part of the project. Even though I had identified relevant partners (professional organisations and associations), August wasn’t an ideal time to promote a new initiative. I also lacked personal local contacts and, above all, time. I received enthusiastic replies to my emails, yet scheduling conflicts made it difficult to make the participation a reality, especially with the youth group.I am convinced now that building strong relationships in advance with community-based institutions is crucial if we want to widen access to art. Impersonal communication —posters, social media, or institutional outreach without prior connections— rarely reaches the relevant people.

Gradually, I redirected my efforts toward my own community and a small group of adults eventually came together based on personal interest in the relationship between art and society. This shift slightly destabilised my initial framework yet, upon reflection, I saw that most participants worked in fields related to care, education, or social support. The project had simply evolved —more human, less academic— but still anchored in its original intention.

For this group, I selected two artistic proposals that could both nurture reflection and care: Nature Reset by Gabriela Ariana and Lotta Petronella (Chile-Finland), and Non-Stop Paradise by Miradonna Sirkka (Finland). One offered a participatory format, a workshop; the other, staged a space of confrontation —a manifesto reflecting our everyday lives and the dominant narratives shaping them, especially online. Despite their contrasts, these works done by two women from different generations and cultural backgrounds had a shared field: an art capable of both expressing distress and healing.

The workshop flow

I decided to let Nature Reset, a full-day workshop, done partly outdoors in Ruisalo, focussed on sensorial elements and bodily awareness. This served as an introduction: a reconnection to our bodies and our capacity to listen to the world around us. Then, I invited participants to choose an everyday object —something meaningful, carrying a story— and three days later, we reconvened to explore its resonances. From their chosen objects participants followed a thread of sensations: What do you feel when thinking about it? What gesture(s) are associated with it? What kind of energy does it hold?

This experience resonated deeply with people and gave an entrance to the performance that followed. One of my participants said later: “The live performance on Ruisalo was great. I was so happy to experience the art in that way and to really live it. It elevated me from everyday life and gave new energy and new possible perspectives. I have never before had a chance to be in a performance totally relaxed!”.

We walked together to the theatre to see Non-Stop Paradise. Some people were new to performance art and expressed apprehension, and one feared being confronted with something violent or nihilistic. The performance unfolded through critique, self-reflection, and denunciation, yet it offered glimpses of redemption, solidarity, and refuge. 

Although intense and radical in form, the piece echoed the benevolence and attention cultivated during the preparatory activities. I thought paradise, perhaps, is not lost —it lives in our daily lives, in the bonds we share.

After the show, we shared a moment of reflection and conversation. Only one participant struggled with the object exchange earlier, and she was also the one who felt most distant from the performance. Yet she told me she appreciated the workshop, the sense of connection, and even attended another Biennale event later with her family.

At every step, participants knew they could refuse an exercise if it made them uncomfortable. I had also prepared alternative proposals to ensure everyone could stay engaged. Listening to the recordings of our dialogue later, I could hear how attentive and nuanced the participants’ reflections were —how the preparatory work had deepened their perception: One talked about alterity and feeling more open about other forms of expression that aren’t familiar to him; another one reflected on the unusual movement and the way it made them feel and receive gestures differently. The perceptions opened the possibility of being more sensitive to the moment, and some even joined the artist’s invitation for exchange beyond the stage, continuing it in our shared space.

What I learned

I moved through this experience alongside the group. As facilitators we act quickly, often guided by instinct and relational intuition.That is where the authenticity of the encounter lies, but also where growth begins. With time and training, one learns to integrate new tools, to diversify responses, and to create space for the unexpected.

In my own journey as ambassador, I sometimes felt like walking through a tunnel or along a well-marked path. The tunnel was cheerful and the path led us safely to our destination, but I still feel the need to explore unexpected paths more easily: letting participants lead, trusting the tools, the group, and myself to reach a new destination.

I believe the future lies in developing training programmes that nurture this hybrid profile that the ambassador figure has enabled for me: someone capable of weaving relations between artistic creation and community life, a true bridge-builder between worlds.

Cécile Le Claire