Personal Introduction – Journey into the Dodecanese

Hellenic Heritage Series Workshop #1 2026 Cos, Tilos and Nisyros

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I may not have physically set foot on Kos, Nisyros, or Tilos, but in every way that truly matters, I have travelled there through learning, reading, watching, listening, and, most importantly, dancing. My relationship with these islands was not born from tourism, but from curiosity that slowly turned into commitment. My earliest and most powerful exposure to the dances of the Dodecanese, especially Tilos, came when I was just 14 years old, watching a performance by the Lyceum Club of Greek Women of Athens. The setting was unforgettable: the Odeon of Herodes Atticus, beneath the Acropolis. That moment hit hard, in the best way. The music, the grounded dignity of the movement, the atmosphere of the space itself, it lodged in me and never left. I didn’t have the vocabulary then to explain why, but I knew I was watching something ancient, serious, and deeply human. (very moving and impactful for a 14-year-old!)

Since then, although I haven’t visited Kos, Nisyros, or Tilos themselves, I’ve explored them through study and lived cultural transmission, learning from instructors in Greece who are from these islands, attending workshops, and immersing myself in the broader Dodecanesian world. That process shifted dramatically once I finally visited Kalymnos (2013). What began as a visit through what I now genuinely call family connections (through Irene’s family) became a turning point. My time there reshaped how I understand island dance culture, not as something peripheral, but as central.

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Before Kalymnos, I truly thought of myself as a mainland dancer and researcher. Coming from Arcadia, my instincts, teaching, and worldview were grounded in the Peloponnese and moved from there. Kalymnos changed that. Living among people, sharing music, stories, dance and everyday rhythms, I started to see island dances not as variations of mainland forms, but as complete systems, deeply interconnected, yes, but proudly distinct.

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That experience opened the door to a lasting passion for the dances of the Dodecanese: Rhodes, Leros, Patmos, Kalymnos, Karpathos, Kasos, Symi, and of course Kos, Nisyros, and Tilos. What fascinates me most is how intensely these islands influence one another, musically and choreographically, while still developing their own unmistakable microcosms of style, phrasing, posture, and intention. You hear it in the music, see it in the step patterns, and feel it in the way the body carries the dance.

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My research, through recordings, CDs, books, archival material, and historical study has helped me intellectually understand these traditions. Workshops and embodied learning have done something deeper: they’ve revealed the nuances. The small timing shifts, the weight changes, the musical phrasing that only makes sense once you’ve danced it under the guidance of someone who grew up with it. That’s where the real learning lives. And honestly, if I wasn’t from Arcadia, I’d probably say I’m an adopted Dodecanesian islander. The music, the dances, the interwoven histories, and the breathtaking island landscapes have reshaped how I see Greek dance. The Dodecanese doesn’t just sit on the edge of Greece geographically; it sits at the crossroads of worlds. And once it gets under your skin, it doesn’t let go.

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This workshop is dedicated to the people and places that shaped it and me.

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To the Tezaris/Tsenkas family, who first threw me head-first into the beautiful madness of island life and culture. Kalymnos didn’t just impress me; it moved me to my core and permanently shifted my perspective. Just don’t ask me to eat fouskes again!

To Maria Zamagias, for our constant exchanges and deeply personal conversations about her family’s lived experiences on the island, which brought Kos from history and theory into something intimate and real.

To my spiritual sister Sue Liakatos of Patmos, no words really do this justice. An unwritten bond connects us, through blood (via marriage / family), but through shared experience, trust, and endless discussions about Patmos: its dances, its music, its traditions, and its soul.

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And to the Symian Association of NSW, who opened their arms to me, not only allowing me to teach their younger generation but gifting me something far greater: access to their elders, their memories, and their lived knowledge of Symi’s dances and traditions. Asking me to guide them on Symian Costumes, Songs and Dances.

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This workshop exists because of you all of you.