Carriageworks, Friday 12th June 2026
Concept/Lead Artist/Choreographer: Azzam Mohamed
Collaborator/Dancers: Isabella Solisa, Genifer Navuzi, Angelica Osuji, Naethiel Lumbera, Molonai Makalio, Robin Chen
Review by Dechen Gendun
Walking towards Track 8 at Carriageworks, the Katma experience had already begun. Housed within the vast industrial shell of the former Eveleigh Railway Workshops, Carriageworks still carries traces of its railway past: towering brick walls, exposed steel and cavernous spaces that give it a raw, warehouse-like atmosphere.
Audience members gathered outside Track 8 as muffled house music leaked through the walls. We waited. It felt like standing outside a club, listening to the party before being let in. The steady pulse of the music tingled my senses and encouraged my body to move. Anticipation was already building. Looking back, the waiting itself felt like a preparation ritual, quietly shifting us from audience members into bodies ready to move.
Entering the space confirmed that feeling of stepping into a club. Low lighting scattered throughout the room offered no clear focal point, inviting us to explore rather than stay fixed in one location. As I wandered through the space, I noticed dancers standing almost motionless, each with their own subtle head bounce or body rock. They seemed immersed in their own worlds, making no eye contact with the audience. Watching them felt a little like observing living sculptures in a gallery. Audience members drifted between performers, some staying with a particular dancer whose energy drew them in, while others continued exploring the room.
At first I found myself moving between complete stillness, intrigued and mesmerised by the dancers’ immersion in their own worlds, and then suddenly wanting to move myself. I began shifting my weight from side to side, one foot stepping out as the other followed, naturally falling into a two-step. The music was impossible to ignore. I could feel the bass of the house music hitting my chest. The repetitive rhythms slowly gave me permission to settle into my own groove. My shoulders softened, my knees began to bounce and my weight shifted with the beat. Without consciously deciding to dance, my body had started responding to the room.
As the dancers gradually intensified their groove, our relationship to the work began to change. What started as observation slowly became participation. The Katma dancers invited us to lower our guard and become part of the atmosphere rather than simply watch. It didn’t feel forced. Having so many members of the street dance community in the audience also helped create the feeling of being at a party, encouraging others to let loose and join in. I felt energised and curious about what would happen next.
One of the things I love about street dance, and something I felt strongly in Katma, is how much individuality can exist within a collective. Even through something as simple as the extended opening groove, each performer brought their own movement identity. Robin Chen glided through smooth house skating, while Molonai Makalio (Nai) brought a grounded hip hop bounce alongside the explosive textures of krumping and locking. Genifer Navuzi (Geny) settled into subtle, repetitive Afro rhythms, while Angelica Osuji (Lady Chika) expanded outwards with an almost spiritual energy. Isabella Solisa (Kandi) brought a sensual quality to her movement; Naethiel Lumbera (Tango) drew from the rocking of breaking; and Azzam Mohamed (Shazam) moved through deeply rooted, Sudanese-influenced hip hop grooves. Each dancer was clearly their own person, but together they created something much bigger.
A particularly memorable moment came when the dancers gathered in one corner of the room and laid baby powder across the floor. Within house dance culture, baby powder is often used to create a smoother surface for footwork and gliding. Here, the action felt almost ceremonial, as though they were preparing the floor for what was about to happen. What followed was a stalking section where dancers travelled up and down a shared pathway, exchanging energy and responding with one another through movement. It wasn’t just about showing steps. For me, it captured something fundamental to club and social dance culture: conversation, exchange and connection.
That sense of exchange also made me think about cypher culture within street dance, where people gather in circles to watch, respond and participate. There is no real front or back; everyone contributes to the energy of the space. Watching Katma, I was reminded of stories from legendary club spaces such as The Loft in New York and Paradiso in the 70s and 80s, where dance floors became places of freedom, expression and belonging. They were places where people could gather, connect and, at least temporarily, escape the pressures of the outside world. I felt that Katma captured something of that spirit within the industrial walls of Carriageworks.
The immersive format also meant that we couldn’t just stay in one place and watch. We were constantly shifting positions as the lighting drew our attention towards different parts of the room. At times, it felt like an exciting game of cat and mouse, with people hurrying to find the best spot before the next moment unfolded. I enjoyed that we had to navigate the space alongside the performers rather than watching everything from one fixed position.
One of the most visually impactful moments came when the dancers gathered with Azzam leading from the front. Their collective groove, shifting directions and unusual arm pathways, created the impression of a living organism. There was a controlled chaos to it that I found really compelling. At times, it looked as though the dancers were connected by one nervous system, while still holding onto their individual ways of moving.
After an extended period of high-energy house music, a duet between Chika and Geny changed the atmosphere. Their chemistry was evident, and the slower, more sensual quality of their movement brought out another side of the work. I appreciated this change in pace. It gave the room a chance to soften before the energy started building again.
As the performance progressed, the line between dancer and audience became less and less clear. A dance-off emerged, with dancers teaching simple movements to opposing sides of the room. What could have become a competitive battle, instead felt playful and communal. It was during these moments that I stopped feeling like an audience member.
There is something powerful about moving in rhythm with strangers. At a time when many people feel isolated, disconnected or overwhelmed by what is happening in our own lives and in the world around us, seeing a room full of people dancing together felt surprisingly moving. It reminded me that we need connection. We need spaces where we can gather, celebrate and simply be with one another. But Katma also made space for another kind of participation: simply watching and witnessing. As the energy in the room began to settle, bodies gradually lowered to the floor. Dancers and audience members sat together and turned their attention towards Azzam. Without a stage or rows of seats separating us, a circle seemed to naturally form around him.
Azzam entered what felt like a deeply personal state. His fingers travelled across his body like spiders crawling over skin. His spine bent and shifted as though he were being guided by something beyond himself. Although I was watching a solo, it felt less like watching a performance and more like witnessing a ritual. There was a calmness in the room unlike anything that had come before. The high-energy atmosphere that had dominated much of the performance softened. It felt devotional. Intimate. Sacred. I felt privileged to witness it. Days later, Azzam’s actions were still one of the parts of the work that stayed with me most.
And then, just when the performance seemed to be ending, it surged back to life. The music returned and with it came another wave of collective movement; a never-ending party. The dancers moved with increasing abandon and the audience once again became part of the energy. The room built towards a rave-like climax before ending abruptly, as though someone had suddenly pulled the plug.
While I really enjoyed the work overall, there were moments where I felt it could be developed further. For me, this was less about choreographic cleanliness or everyone moving in exact unison, and more about the consistency of energy across the group. Because so much of the work is groove-based, I don’t think everyone needs to move in exactly the same way. In fact, that would take away from the individuality that makes street dance so interesting. But at times, some dancers seemed to push their movement further or command the space more confidently than others, which made the group energy feel slightly uneven.
I also noticed this during some of the freestyle exchanges. Lady Chika’s expansive and highly energetic movement, for example, really lifted the energy in the room. Moving immediately from this into a much softer and more sensual solo created a noticeable drop in momentum. I don’t think the contrast itself was necessarily a problem, but I wondered whether changing the order of some of the solos might help the energy build and flow more naturally.
Another challenge came up during the stalking sequence. With the dancers positioned against a wall, it was difficult for many audience members to see their footwork. This felt particularly noticeable when the dancers were travelling, as so much of the visual impact came from what their feet were doing and the patterns they created across the floor. When you couldn’t see their lower bodies, part of the overall image of the movement was lost. It made me think about one of the challenges of immersive performance: giving the audience freedom to move while still making sure they can see what is happening.
Ultimately, what I think Katma did so well was recreate the feeling of being inside a living dance-floor culture. It wasn’t really about one particular step or piece of choreography. The atmosphere, the collective energy and the feeling of participating became just as important as the movement itself. For me, the work was a reminder of the social, spiritual and communal power of dancing together.
What stayed with me most was not a particular step or choreographic phrase, but the feeling of simply being present. Dancing. Connecting. Existing together. In a world that can often feel fragmented, Katma offered something that can sometimes feel hard to find: collective joy.
Katma
Carriageworks, 11 & 12 June, 2026
Concept/Lead Artist/Choreographer: Azzam Mohamed
Collaborator/Dancers: Isabella Solisa, Genifer Navuzi, Angelica Osuji, Naethiel Lumbera, Molonai Makalio, Robin Chen
Composer: Jack Prest
Mentor: Charemaine Seet
Dramaturg: Matthew Prest
Lighting Designer: Andre Vanderwert
Designer: Adelash Parsons
Design Mentor: Gary Deirmendjian
Production Manager: Elyse Drenth
Sound Operating Artist: George Sheridan
Stage Manager: Cindy Cavero
Assistant Stage Manager: Olivia Xegas
Collaborators: Lydia Kivela, Jackson Garcia, Jamie Kha, El Moro, Jackie L Barros, Laura White, Adam Warburton, Doug Elkins
Creative Producer PYT Fairfield, Gabriela Green Olea
Dechen Gendun is an Australian-Tibetan queer movement artist based on Gadigal land. Drawing from over 15 years of street dance practice, their work explores embodied memory, identity, connection and the intersections between street dance and contemporary performance.