Fernando Melo on contemporary dance and discovering the scene

Fernando Melo created his first work as a choreographer at the age of ten—a solo for a string quartet. Since then, the Brazilian-born artist has built a distinctive career across Europe and beyond, creating pieces for renowned dance companies, opera houses, and festivals in more than a dozen countries.

At the heart of his work lies a quiet but powerful conviction: theatre exists to create the conditions for empathy. Whether in Leaning Tree, Tempo, or Out of Order, Melo builds his pieces through patient trial and error, layers of possibility, and a process that often begins in complete silence.  His work is inventive and often visually arresting, combining experimental choreography with active scenography, illusion, and music that is carefully withheld until the very end. Yet beneath the craft runs a deeper thread: the belief that paying attention to another human being on stage is, in itself, an ethical act. In this conversation, Melo reflects on silence and disorder, the limits and possibilities of movement, and the quiet power of presence.

hube: You began your career as a dancer before moving into choreography. Was there a moment when performing no longer felt like enough, and you felt the need to shape the work itself?

Fernando Melo: I started my first dance classes when I was eight, and by ten I was already asked to choreograph a solo to perform with a string quartet. That was my first attempt at creating something, and in a way, it set the tone for everything that followed.

I have always been interested in choreography. From an early age, I was constantly looking for inspiration, trying to watch as many performances as possible across different genres. I was fascinated not only by dancing itself, but by the whole experience of theatre and performance — the atmosphere, the images, the feeling of being transported. I wanted to capture that excitement I felt as an audience member and find a way to create it myself to offer that same experience to others.

Even while working as a dancer in Europe, I continued choreographing whenever I could. I took every opportunity that came my way, and when there wasn’t one, I invented it. Creating work was never separate from dancing—it was always there alongside it. So there wasn’t a specific moment when performing stopped being enough. It’s more that I never really transitioned from one to the other. I was a choreographer who was dancing — learning, observing, gathering inspiration—and gradually, over time, shifted my focus fully towards choreography and directing.

h: Do you believe the body knows things that the mind cannot articulate? And if so, how do you access that in your work?

FM: One of the wonderful things about contemporary dance is that it’s a non-verbal, universal language. It allows us to express imagination and emotion in ways that transcend words. Often, we understand it on an intuitive level—grasping meaning through our senses rather than through language—so the experience can resonate deeply with anyone, regardless of age or background. In that sense, the body can hold and communicate things that the mind cannot always fully articulate.

Over time, I’ve realised more and more that fulfilling our potential as artists has to do with contributing to something bigger than ourselves. I believe that going to the theatre and observing other human beings has a real and meaningful role in society. Something happens when we watch another person on stage. For a moment, we step into someone else’s experience. If we can access how it feels to be someone else, even briefly, we are exercising empathy.

The work I create is about offering that opportunity to the audience. This is really my “why”—creating a space where people can experience and practice empathy. The ideas I choose and the decisions I make come from this intention. The concepts emerge from it, and the artistic choices are guided by this goal.