Trainers: Jonah Katz and Rémy Bombled
26 September 2026 | Barabar Center, Prishtina
Review by Shqipe Malushi
Last night, Jonah Katz and Rémy Bombled filled the stage with the wonderful unpredictability of Cirk’biZ arT. Today, they offered something equally precious: an invitation for young people in Kosovo to step into that world themselves.
For two hours at the Babar Center, they guided participants through the art of clowning, sharing a few tricks and, above all, the freedom to play. The young people listened closely, then gradually let themselves experiment. What began as a workshop became a room full of discovery, where a gesture could become a story and a small mistake could open the door to laughter.
Jonah brought a thoughtful, technical eye to the work. His explanations gave participants something to hold on to as they tried unfamiliar ways of moving and expressing themselves. Rémy brought humor and a light touch, helping them relax enough to take a chance. Together, they had a beautiful balance: one helped build the bridge, and the other made crossing it feel like an adventure.
Most of the participants were women, with only two men in the group. Jonah and Rémy welcomed this with delight, observing that clowning has long been dominated by men and that it was wonderful to see more women taking part. Their encouragement felt sincere. They made space for every participant, drawing people out gently, like flowers opening one by one to the sun. No one seemed pressured to be funny. They were simply given permission to be curious, awkward, expressive and free.
As I watched, I found myself wondering: do clowns ever laugh? Then a memory came back to me from my younger years in New York. I was without a job or money, trying to survive, when I became a clown called “Queen of Sheba: From a Wonder World to a Wonder Dream.” My first check as an artist came from clowning at a birthday party in Harlem. I cherished that check. It made me feel that my imagination had value, and that I did too.
Jonah and Rémy awakened that tender memory in me. Watching them, I remembered how much courage it can take to offer laughter to others. It asks an artist to extend the whole self: body, gesture, emotion and imagination, with no certainty about what will happen next.
I salute these two generous performers for sharing their craft with the youth of Kosovo. They may never know where today’s workshop will lead. Perhaps, years from now, one participant will remember a movement, a moment of courage, or the sound of everyone laughing together, and will pass that joy on to someone else. That is the quiet magic of a clown: a spark offered freely, which keeps finding new places to shine.
