I don’t write music to decorate dance. I write it to argue with it, flirt with it, sometimes wrestle with it. I like the moments where sound changes how we read a gesture – when a movement that looked soft suddenly feels dangerous because of a single note.

If there’s one thing I trust, it’s curiosity. Questions over answers.

Introduction

I write music that moves. For me, sound is never separate from the body – it breathes, resists, and dances. My work starts with physical expression: the way a gesture unfolds, the quality of a movement, the tension of stillness. These elements guide my decisions as a composer, from rhythm to texture, from silence to explosion.


Approach

Coming from a professional dance background, I understand the stage not as a frame for music, but as a living organism where sound and movement coexist. Every piece I create begins with a question: What does this movement need to be heard? Sometimes the answer is harmony. Sometimes it’s noise. Sometimes it’s the absence of both.


Focus

Music for dance fascinates me because it has no fixed rules. Unlike film or opera, it isn’t bound to a narrative or a predefined genre. It’s a space of negotiation – between bodies, time, and sound. I see this as an open field, and my work is an ongoing exploration: Can music for dance become a genre of its own? Where does it start, and when does it stop being that?


Background

I was born in 1993 in Brugg, Switzerland. Before turning to composition, I worked as a professional dancer, performing in contemporary and interdisciplinary works. This experience still shapes how I write: not from a distance, but from inside the pulse of movement.


Philosophy

I believe the most powerful works come from questions, not answers. That’s what keeps me curious. And if there’s one rule in my practice, it’s this: music should never just accompany dance – it should challenge it, transform it, and sometimes even dance back.