I’ve come to understand what it means to work with both my instrument and my technique.

Take a guitar, for example. You might know how to play Leaving on a Jet Plane, but what good is that if the guitar hasn’t been tuned? It’ll sound off, no matter how skillfully you play.
An actor’s instrument is themselves — the body and the psyche — that’s what we have to “play on.” That’s why it’s so essential that I, as an actor, am able to feel myself from the inside. If I can’t sense my own physical sensations, I can’t “tune” them either.

Nikolaj encourages the actor to get to know their instrument in a way I’ve never encountered with anyone else. He works with bioenergetic body exercises that awaken the ability to listen to the body’s messages, rather than suppress them or perform based on what we think is expected of us.

As a result of this work, my body has become a companion — a willing, living co-creator on stage. During performances, I’ve felt it give back, offering up inspiration rather than resistance.

I would even say that through this work, I’ve found a new kind of freedom — a spontaneity and immediacy that has made my performances far more truthful and moving for the audience. And that’s not just something I feel myself — it’s echoed in the responses I’ve received.

It takes trust to dare to be in contact with your instrument — and I’ve built that through this work.”

After one of our performances with the group, a former acting colleague came up to me and said:
“I was completely absorbed. I never knew what your next reaction would be. I was with you every moment, because you were so honest on stage that it became deeply confronting for me to watch. I recognized the emotions in myself. I have enormous respect for your group’s work — but I don’t think I could do what you’re doing. It’s just too confronting.”

And all I could say to that was: Yes — it is confronting. But isn’t that exactly what we want theatre to be? We do it because there’s something inside us that needs to be spoken. Because we simply can’t not do it.

I’ve learned that working with the body isn’t just important — it’s a fundamental prerequisite before anything meaningful can happen with text or character. And by “working with the body,” I don’t mean strength or flexibility alone. I mean truly connecting with my body — learning to accept it, love it, become conscious of what I do with it, and ask why I do it.

Nikolaj has taught me how to be fully present during physical warm-ups. To know what I’m doing — and perhaps more importantly — why I’m doing it. For example: this particular exercise helps open my chest, so that I can stand in my vulnerability on stage rather than hiding it, rather than curling inward and closing off.

This has been one of my central working points: for years, and in many areas of life, I’ve unconsciously tried to protect my vulnerable spot — physically. From past theatre experiences, I know it’s not enough to go against that impulse by puffing the chest forward and pretending to be open. The audience doesn’t buy it. They feel what I feel: Here’s a character forcing something unnatural. Probably hiding something.

True expression must come from within. Gradually, I’ve had to bring more awareness to my chest — to meet it with curiosity, to confront the feelings that surface when I let it be seen.

That’s why you can’t separate the work on stage from life itself — they are two sides of the same thing.

I had to learn to stand by myself on the street in order to stand by myself on the stage.

Of course, most teachers will say they also teach body awareness. But what sets Nikolaj apart is the depth of theoretical grounding he brings to this work. He doesn’t ask actors to just do exercises — he constantly invites them to understand why they’re doing them. And as we know, understanding is often the doorway to real transformation, in art as in life.

Through this work with Nikolaj, I’ve begun to see just how deeply we, in Western culture, are shaped by what you might call the “politeness school.” I only truly felt its grip once I began consciously working to free myself from it. And that liberation doesn’t mean I reject societal norms — not at all. I want to be part of the world I live in. But as an actor, I also need to be able to give voice to the hidden fragments of our shared lives — moments the audience can see themselves reflected in, be moved by, and perhaps find inspiration through.

That’s why it’s necessary to come face to face with the very limitations — personal and societal — that so often lead to the deepest misunderstandings between people, and therefore, to the deepest human dramas.

Nikolaj has challenged me to sharpen my senses to such a degree that I’ve come to know myself in a new way. I’ve reached a deeper understanding — and acceptance — of my whole self, my instrument. And from that, a greater freedom has emerged, both on stage and in life.

Specifically, he’s guided me through exercises in developing inner monologue — where I become conscious of my bodily sensations and emotions, while at the same time staying aware of the space around me. Through this practice, I’ve developed a heightened sensitivity to small details in myself and in the room — things my eyes would normally glide past without notice.

Suddenly, a new world opens — full of subtle details. And in my work with a fellow actor, this sensitivity allows me to perceive them more clearly too, and to respond with greater immediacy to impulses — both from within and from my partner.

Nikolaj has taught me not to settle for a stage action just because it gets an immediate payoff from the audience — but instead to keep searching, to keep challenging myself, and to dare to do the action differently the next time, if I receive a different impulse or feeling.

Just as I, Maja, react differently to the same stimulus depending on how well I’ve slept or whether the weather is warm or cold, I can’t expect my character to react in exactly the same way every night — even if I’ve worked with her for a long time and think I know her patterns. If I want to portray a living, believable human being on stage, I must also allow her to be born anew every evening.

In other words: If I dare to have something truly at stake on stage, then so does my character — and that’s when the drama begins to truly live and become compelling for the audience.

Nikolaj’s way of working has invited me into a deep sense of autonomy — partly because he meets me as an equal in the work, always looking me in the eye, never hiding the fact that he himself is in a constant process of discovery. I’ve always felt that we were two creative individuals, exploring together, able to challenge one another through the work.

In that way, Nikolaj stands apart from almost every other teacher or director I’ve worked with. He’s not fixed in a single method — on the contrary, he is a courageous and organically evolving artist, who has consistently invited me to question and reexamine my assumptions — about myself, about theatre, and about life.

With Nikolaj, I’ve experienced a workspace where there was room for all of me — and because of that, I’ve slowly begun to dare to surprise myself in the work. Bit by bit, I’ve started to free myself from the “politeness school” we’re all products of, and instead act from what is truly happening inside me.

We’ve worked with being “politically incorrect” — and with owning even the most taboo emotions. I’ve been encouraged not to divide my feelings into positive and negative, but to give space to all that I contain, and to express it.

This work has led me toward a deeper self-acceptance, both as an actor and as a human being — because it’s also about taking responsibility for my emotions, my actions, and in doing so, coming into closer contact with myself. And this, in turn, enriches the performance — which, after all, is the whole point — because life on stage becomes more unpredictable, more surprising, because the actor is able to surprise both themselves and the audience — and to stand by it.

It’s also incredibly useful — because as I learn to stand by myself and take responsibility for who I am, I become better at accepting and understanding my fellow actors and the audience too.

When the whole group is in contact, the performance can lift itself.

I’ve gone from struggling alone with a role — fighting myself — to a place where we, together, could lift one another and carry the performance forward. When there’s a shared language, a clear vocabulary in the room, working together becomes not only easier, but deeply rewarding — and in my experience, it leads to results we can all stand behind, fully and unapologetically.

The reason we’ve been able to work this way is because Nikolaj knows how to define clear boundaries — the kind that create safety — and within that safe space, a free and organic working environment can emerge.

With Nikolaj, I’ve always felt one hundred percent accepted — good enough, just as I am. And through that, I’ve learned to love my own creativity, and to trust that I am, in and of myself, interesting enough. As Nikolaj has so often said:

“You don’t have to perform anything. And you can’t be boring on stage, as long as you’re standing by yourself, in contact with yourself, allowing your reactions to surface, and responding to your surroundings.”

And that… is a truly incredible feeling.