One November evening, I fell into another reality for twenty-four hours after entering the basement of the X10 Theater near Prague's Národní třída. It was a spiritual celebration from the Y: events series called Y: Until Forever was taking place there. In addition to Anna Chrtková and Petr Dlouhý, who curate the entire project, the multidisciplinary art group Temple Of also participated equally in its organization. Together, they approached over twenty artists who continuously created a live program, often focusing on experiences of living with a queer identity in countries with authoritarian regimes in the SWANA region. This is a postcolonial and non-Eurocentric term for the region of Southwest Asia and North Africa, replacing terms such as the Middle East, the Arab world, or the Islamic world (i.e., terms that obscure the cultural diversity of the area).

Upon entering the space, visitors found themselves in a Queer Bazaar" with a wide variety of artistic and subcultural goods (Queer Bazaar is an initiative organized by Pangea Public, an inclusive feminist and queer nonprofit organization). The market spread across the entire gallery of the hall. From there, it was possible to look down and descend to the main performance area of Theater X10, where the main program of the event took place and where the dance floor was located. People could freely enter this space—coming, leaving, and returning. At set times, all attention was focused on the performances, of which there were nine throughout the event. In between, it was possible to take advantage of a variety of leisure activities offered by the overall temple stylization designed by Jeries AbuJaber, a Palestinian scenographer living in Prague.

I interviewed the two leaders of the Temple Of group – Lea Elisha, a dancer and movement artist with Georgian roots, and George Itzhak, a filmmaker of Bukharian-Jewish origin. We talked about their long-term involvement in the Prague club scene, but above all about the cultural context of the event itself.

 

 

For the Y: Until Forever event, you built a vibrant social network. How many people are there in the Temple Of core group, and how do you establish collaborations with artists? When and on what occasion did you form?

Temple Of collaborates with many talented artists and collectives, and we put most importance on the immigrant community here, as it is exponentially growing in the Czech Republic due to many reasons: from the simplicity of living in Europe (for now), political, and economic reasons, we are away from our homelands. The importance is also to bring our culture and many of the differences between, as well as many things that unite us, from colonial history, cultural erasure, food, languages, rhythms, misunderstandings in the new environment, and so on…

Core members of the team include performers such as Fifi Pharaonic, scenic artists like Anel Kenzhebaeva, Jeries Abu Jaber, Ceyhun Yilmaz, and Leila Basma. For each event, we work with a range of multimedia artists and musicians focused on folklore. We started by gathering with people whose own families were far away.... We created a new chosen family, while our own family were in different countries. So we just hung out at home with friends, needing reconnection, food, loud laughter, and music. Then we brought this idea to clubs - in Prague, we organized our first event in March 2023, at Klub FAMU. The demand from this very event was palpable, and we packed the venue to the limit (and beyond). That energy helped carry us into a second event at Altenburg (a much larger venue, a steel cargo ship-turned-club in Holešovice)...then Ankali and more and more clubs, venues across Prague.

 

 

What paths led you to the Czech Republic, and what were you doing before you got here?

George: I was born in Tashkent, Uzbekistan, and grew up in NYC after my family emigrated there in the early 1990s. I was working full-time in national television & media, and really thought I would live in NYC until the end of my days. I did have some early experience in Prague before I started my career in New York, living & studying here for a semester program at FAMU in 2012. I was living in Holesovice, a few minutes from the infamous Cross Club, and really didn’t know what to expect when first coming here. My only frame of reference for the Czech Republic was a few pages in my high school history textbook about the Velvet Revolution. Those formative months in Prague stayed with me, and when I reached a certain plateau in my career, coinciding with the onset of the COVID pandemic, I decided to make a big life shift: move to Prague, pursue a Master's in Cinematography at FAMU, and prioritize creative work and art in our lives.

Lea: I am originally from Georgia, born in Tbilisi, we left due to the war as refugees to Moscow in the 90s that was a wild time and place, then I immigrated to Boston to pursue my degree at Harvard, then to New York for work to prove my hustle worth, while performing with various ensembles like Floating Tower, Isadora Duncan Ensemble. Prague was a dream for quite a while for me, to experience performing arts and music. New York can suck you into hustle culture, capitalistic anxiety, and chaos, but so is the world. But in Prague, I found true misfit punks, a community of rejects, maybe because I finally found myself to be one and changed my own attitude to friendship, collabs, and relationships.

 

 

In the annotation to one of your previous events, you described your work as "maximalist". I found it quite fitting for Y: Until Forever as well, given the multitude of sensory experiences you provided the audience with and the generous amount of time you gave them.

Maximalism is embedded in the event structure from the amount of things you can do, see, touch, and hear: my favorite form of overstimulation. But seriously, when we define European art or music in many instances, it tends to lean towards minimalist patterns, and you can see art objects or minimalist electronics, which is not a bad thing per se, but far away from what we personally love. And there is a certain shame in being too much. Let’s not forget that this art trend on minimalism is also coming from Asia, appropriated also by Western artists. In the traditions of, for instance, the Caucasus and Central Asia, and beyond, maximalism is reflected in the characters, the wedding attire, parties, the number of guests, and the abundance of the dinner table. We are reclaiming the maximalist approach to SWANA cultural celebrations and infusing it into our take on nightlife. 

 

Have I understood correctly from your social media communications that, as a group of DJs, you usually create your events within the framework of raves?
I wouldn’t call them raves, they’re more like music events: we are focusing more now on queer shows, performance art spaces, of course, with a big portion together with DJ sets, party nights, live music sets, etc. We were happy to experiment more in Divadlo X 10 -  Our mainstay is at Ankali and Planeta Za, but we hope that we offer more than a club night, at least, this is the idea. The core format of our events rests on the DJ lineup, but in the spirit of maximalism just referenced, it’s never just that.

 

Tony Gatlif's film Latcho Drom, which was screened during the night block, shows music as a powerful force capable of shaping society. As a group of DJs, do you also aim to shape a certain type of society?

Music is a social infrastructure that can manifest physically (clubs, churches, stadiums, temples), but it can also be spiritual and emotional. As presented in Tony Gatlif’s Latcho Drom, music is a vehicle through which a society (Roma people, in the film) can preserve identity, commonality, and history, especially when the stability of a single home is missing. Before written records, it was music that told history, and passed down values across generations. And written records could be burned or destroyed, whereas music could live on inside humans. 

Music consumed in a communal setting creates shared time, shared emotion, and shared meaning. This is something we’ve observed at all Temple Of events, and it’s something very present when we look back to our own families and histories: (talk about weddings here, family rituals and customs).

Across the SWANA region, from ancient times, music was a point of cohesion and alignment for communities. It embodied myth and storytelling, and the rhythms of those times could induce a collective trance in a group of people. When looking at the roots of folk music, we can understand that those sounds (whether from instruments or the human voice) could dissolve individual ego into collective identity, and tap into our nervous systems in a very foundational way.

It’s not coincidental that modern techno and electronic music have this same power, function, and purpose. Electronic music pioneer Jeff Mills famously said that techno was designed to be a futurist statement, not merely dance music. And it certainly does carry with it a vision of the future, but it’s equally rooted in the past, and in the core of the relationship humans have with music. This perspective was hugely influential to us as we created Temple Of, and it has informed our sound, aesthetics, and message to our audience from day one. 

What we’ve felt in attending raves and events that have inspired us, and at our own events that we brought to the Prague community, is something that can be described as “collective effervescence”, a liminal moment, out of time and space of the regular and mundane, where individuals feel part of something larger than themselves. More of this feeling in society can only bring positive things. 

We did not move to Prague with the expectation of starting Temple Of, so it feels particularly meaningful that this city has provided us with so much needed to develop and grow Temple Of. This city has a culture of artistic experimentation (today and in the past) that can thrive regardless of commercial pressures. That’s not to say commercial pressures don’t exist, but rather, the creative spirit of Prague is something that doesn’t particularly get encumbered by those pressures. In our experience, we’ve found that the individuals who make up Prague’s independent art scene are eager, open, dedicated, and also a bit chaotic and unapologetic. These qualities are so important in the development of an underground scene.

 

 

The screening block included the film Ashik Kerib by Dodo Abashidze and Sergei Parajanov, in which the main character, a folk singer, overcomes obstacles thanks to his ability to play the saz. I sensed a strong desire for art that could heal and change social reality...

In the context of the raves we organize, the concept of a safe space is crucial in this regard. If we can prove and continually demonstrate to our community that our space is safe, that will signal to people who attend that they can bring down their guard, let their nervous systems relax, and, as is often the case, they can express authentically and fully in a way that may not be possible for them on a daily basis. If people can have that experience, it can feed back into their daily lives in a positive and healing way. 

Art and music, as we’ve expressed them through the format of all our community-facing events, create an emotional common ground where joy as well as grief can be collectively shared. Over the last 3 years, we’ve had plenty of occasions for both extremes of the emotional spectrum. 

A significant moment that stands out is our December 2023 gathering at Ankali, where the weight of the genocide in Gaza could be felt by all of us. It shaped our event in many ways, from scenography to lighting to music direction, and it also allowed many people from the SWANA region who came to Ankali that night, many with families in the region, to process the weight of witnessing the genocide not only through social media but through the fear for their loved ones, by crying, dancing, and laughing together with the community.

What is it like for you to work in Prague in the long term? I often encounter that it is difficult for artists, even those who are already established in their countries of origin, to make a name for themselves in our country. Unfortunately, they often remain invisible. What are your strategies for artistic existence?

We actually felt it was easier in some ways to kickstart an independent project here, compared to a massive city like New York, where we lived before. New York can feel very transactional at times, and it’s challenging to get people’s attention in a city where there is so much overstimulation and oversaturation. In Prague, we found authenticity, accessibility, and intentionality amongst the art community, both Czech and international.

 

Is Temple Of part of an informal network of similarly focused organizations? Are there any similar organizations, either here or abroad, with which you feel an affinity?

We started completely independently, and we still operate as an individual entity. But in our years of existence, we’ve built collaborations and connections with several other collectives that share our values and cultural identities, such as Untitled Tbilisi, in the Mountains festival, Slaystans, and saHHara, both based in Berlin. And in this third year of our existence, we’ve received the support of ILGA-Europe, an organization that aims to advance equality, human rights, safety, and freedom for LGBTQI+ people in Europe and Central Asia. With their support, we have been able to greatly expand the quantity and quality of our programming, events, and community outreach, as well as take creative risks that would otherwise be impossible.

 

 

What kind of sacred space was the event held in? What principles were used to design the scenographic space? There was an altar, the side of day/night, the afterlife. Do these principles have a deeper meaning rooted in the religious systems of SWANA (South & West Asia & North Africa), or is it primarily artistic fantasy?

From the outset, we were always drawn to the iconic architecture of Divadlo X10. It very much felt like a temple that was both a vision from the future, and an echo from the past. The process of designing the space of this event, in close collaboration with our scenographer Jeries Abu Jaber, was different than our usual experience for past events. For Until Forever, we weren’t working with the key element of the dancefloor in the space, with a standard concept of a DJ facing the dancers, because we were envisioning something that wasn’t a dance party, but rather an immersive and sensorial event. So, we had to turn the blank slate of DivadloX10 into a home of sorts… full of different levels and surfaces where people could lie down, recline, as well as dance, move, and meet others. We created many zones within the large open space; we created too many nooks and corners. The space had to function on an experiential level, allowing for different types of interaction throughout, but it also had to be a stage for performance and for the exhibited art. 

From the earliest sketches, we called our seated DJ stage “The Altar”, and it was flanked by the Queer Deities – the costumes on display by Uta Bekaia, which we also utilized in the performances. The effect was that of a pantheon of gods, with the DJ in the center – facing opposite a large wall with a projection of the sun and the moon, cycling and glitching with visual echoes of the past throughout the 24-hour event. 

 

Ecological philosopher Timothy Morton links patriarchal society with the culture of agriculture that gave birth to monotheism. However, environmental thinking is much more facilitated by non-monotheistic religions that take into account the interconnectedness of humans with their environment, which attribute much greater importance to non-human creatures. It seems to me that your work resonates with these ideas. It occurs to me that there are probably contemporary thinkers from the SWANA region who develop ideas similar to Morton's and who inspire you. If so, would you share your recommendations for such authors?

In the Caucasus or Central Asia, it is comparable to Timothy Morton, but many thinkers, writers, and traditions from these regions express closely related ideas through philosophy, literature, and cultural theory. Georgian thinkers like Merab Mamardashvili focus on relational consciousness and critique modern alienation, while Central Asian writers such as Chingiz Aitmatov and Olzhas Suleimenov explore deep time, human-animal relations, and the ecological violence of modernization through nomadic worldviews. Across both regions, ecological thinking often appears not as formal philosophy but as lived cosmology: land understood as relation rather than property, time as cyclical, and humans as part of a more-than-human world. These traditions resonate strongly with Morton’s critique of patriarchy, extraction, and human exceptionalism, but they emerge from histories of empire, displacement, and survival rather than from Western academic theory.

 

 

Caucasian religion is said to have a remarkable ability to dampen ethnic disputes. Nominal Christians and nominal Muslims gather regularly as part of local ceremonies. Am I right in understanding that these pre-Islamic and pre-Christian religions are something you identify with at Temple Of, something you are trying to develop in European environments, and something you consider healing?

We are drawn to the pre-monotheistic, pagan, and animistic roots of the Caucasus, Central Asia, and the wider SWANA region because they offer worldviews that can be deeply healing in the context of contemporary life. These cosmologies center what modern systems often suppress: queerness, embodiment, cyclical time, grief and joy, and a interconnectivity with nature and community.

Many of these traditions also held fluid understandings of gender, identity, and the divine long before modern categories existed. Deities and mythological figures were portrayed as shapeshifters. In the Caucasus, figures such as Samdzimari (who inspired the Queer Deities performance) embody this liminality: a shape-shifting, queer, untamed presence who moves between worlds, resists ownership, and exists outside patriarchal order. Like many pagan figures, she was later demonized even. 

Similarly, the famous dance Georgian folk dance associated with Queen Tamar (called Tamaroba) is unique in the Georgian folk dance repetoire. Unlike other Georgian folk dances which are more explosive/aggressive/overly-expressive, this dance focuses on movements that are slow, gliding, frictionless. This dance honors a Christian monarch, but elevates her to a mythical sacred figure and connects her to concepts of fertility and cosmic order. The dance is full of slow, processional movement, circular formations, and stillness that echo pre-Christian Caucasian ritual dances connected to seasonal renewal. Although absorbed into a Christian framework, its rule and iconography preserved ideas of sacred authority that transcended gender binaries. Tamaroba and another traditional Georgian dance called Samaia both reflect local pagan concepts of balance, multiplicity, and cyclical time and originate in a context outside of the Judeo-Christian worldview of gender expression, gender roles, and gender binaries.

Therefore, it’s possible to view the core of Caucasus tradition and culture as queer and fluid, although not necessarily in the sense of modern identity politics. These traditional dances are performed by three dancers who represent one entity – “the self” here is multiple and plural. And the gender expression of these dancers is not traditionally masculine, nor stereotypically feminine – spiritually androgynous you could call it, especially when these dances are viewed in comparison to more modern Georgian folk dance, which is entirely built on expressions of complete masculinity or complete femininity.

The advent of monotheistic religion erased these understandings. Therefore, we stand for the renewal without shame: a multitude of meanings instead of one singular imposed truth. There was a focus on cycles, healing, respect for the natural world, the freedom of movement, as opposed to the emphasis placed in our modern world on productivity, deadlines, escalation, and consumption. Rave culture, as its core promotes this kind of philosophy, which is in part what drew us to this world in the first place. We felt it was the right format in which we could express our ideas and values, and cultural storytelling.

 

 

Caucasian deities partly and locally intertwine with Greek ones. For example, there was a station in the space that strongly reminded me of the god Poseidon. It was surrounded by lots of fish eyes scattered around the space. Did this have any profound symbolism?

Not fully. This is quite interesting, but I believe maybe the evil eyes you saw the symbol that really connects lots of places across the region. There were no Poseidon references as we have our own, even though Greeks, of course, influenced Caucasus. 

Caucasian mythologies formed through a layering of native animistic deities, the Greek pantheon, and Zoroastrian cosmology. Local belief systems already understood water, mountains, and animals as sentient forces. When Greek mythology entered the region, some figures were absorbed into existing Caucasian understandings of water spirits rather than imposed over them. Zoroastrianism was welcomed in exile in the Caucasus, and added an elemental framework in which water and fire were sacred. Many Caucasian deities and spirits thus exist as hybrids: grounded in indigenous animism, resonating with Greek divine imagery, and shaped by Zoroastrian reverence for the elements.

 

The event featured two films by Uzbek filmmaker Saodat Ismailova, which depict women performing Zoroastrian rituals. Assisted by older, more experienced women and surrounded by beautiful, evocatively captured nature, they sought spiritual healing. During your work on the Czech cultural scene, do you feel that the audience is open to spirituality or even magic? Is it difficult to convey these topics to the Czech audience, or are they hungry for them?

Czech audiences have responded well to various cultural elements we have included in our event concepts, maybe because it is a way that resonates with Ancient Czech and Slavic spirituality. Like those from Nowruz, the Persian New Year is celebrated at the spring equinox, usually around March 20–21. Nowruz, which means ‘New Day’ in Farsi, is widely celebrated across Iran, Central Asia, the Caucasus, Kurdistan, Afghanistan, parts of the Balkans, and beyond. It marks the beginning of a New Year in the Iranian calendar and symbolizes renewal, rebirth, and the return of light after winter. Nowruz has ancient roots in pre-Islamic Zoroastrian Persia.

Some of the key spiritual and esoteric elements of Nowruz come from its ancient Zoroastrian worldview, where cosmic order, light, and renewal are central. Nowruz emphasizes renewal of the soul alongside nature and marks a cosmic moment of balance: the spring equinox, when day and night are equal. This is understood symbolically as harmony between opposing forces (light/dark, life/death, chaos/order). These concepts have been well-received, along with the Nowruz symbol of fire, which is an agent of purification, light, and the renewal of life. 

Absolutely, we feel that there is a certain magic, esoterica, and spirituality imbued in the fabric and essence of Prague. Mysticism is there on a historic level, and in modern times, the community here is fond of romanticizing techno rave culture through a spiritual or mystical lens, and music is treated as something sacred. As such, there is a respect for the DJ as a sort of shaman figure, someone capable of deftly manipulating intangible energy as a way to move and inspire the dancefloor. This framing and concept is one that we’ve always heavily leaned into. 

 

Interview conducted by Barbora Etlíková

You may read this article here in Czech.