Why I Create

People often ask me what I do.

The answer has become harder over the years.

Some people know me as a ballet dancer. Others know me as a photographer. Some have seen one of my productions, attended a talk, worked with me through coaching or met me as a counsellor.

From the outside, they can look like completely different careers, and I thought they were too.

But recently I realised they've all been leading me in the same direction.

I grew up in Cuba, and I started dancing before I understood what a career even was.

Ballet gave me discipline. It gave me purpose. Eventually, it brought me to Australia and to the incredible privilege of becoming a Principal Artist with West Australian Ballet.

For years, I believed performing was the destination.

But the longer I danced, the more I became fascinated by something beyond the choreography.

I became interested in what people carried home after the performance was over.

Why did one piece stay with someone for years while another disappeared the moment they left the theatre?

That question never really left me.

Photography arrived almost by accident.

At first, it was another creative outlet to keep me busy during COVID 19.

A way of capturing dancers in a different light.

But very quickly, I realised I wasn't interested in taking beautiful photographs.

I was interested in telling stories.

The camera became another way of asking questions.

Another way of helping people see something they hadn't noticed before.

Sometimes in themselves.

Sometimes in someone else.

That curiosity eventually led me to create my own productions.

Projects like Belonging and Uncovered weren't created because I wanted to put on a show or hold an exhibition.

They were created because there was an idea I couldn't stop thinking about.

The performance, the photographs and the audience all became part of the same conversation.

Seeing sold-out theatres and galleries was incredibly meaningful, but what stayed with me most were the conversations afterwards.

People sharing their own stories.

Telling me what the work reminded them of.

Or simply saying, "I've never thought about it like that before."

That's when I realised the work wasn't ending when the curtain came down.

It was only just beginning.

Around the same time, I began studying counselling, I wanted to understand deeper.

Some people were surprised by the change.

To me, it felt completely natural.

Counselling taught me something that every creative practice had been quietly preparing me for.

Listening. Really listening.

Not trying to have the perfect answer.

Just creating a space where someone feels safe enough to think differently.

Looking back, I think that's what I've always been trying to create, whether I'm on stage, behind a camera or sitting across from someone in conversation.

That is how Osma came to life.

Not as a production company, photography business or coaching practice.

But as a home for all the different ways I explore the same question.

How can one experience change the way someone sees themselves or the world?

I don't know if I'll always make dance productions.

Maybe one day I'll spend more time writing.

Or making films.

Or creating exhibitions about nature instead of identity.

The medium will probably change.

The curiosity, I don’t think so.

If you've found your way here, I hope something you discover on these pages stays with you.

Whether it's a performance, a photograph, a conversation or an idea, my hope is that it helps you pause, reflect and perhaps see something a little differently.

Thank you for being here.

Juan Carlos Osma