It feels strange for all of us to find ourselves in this moment — knowing that we will no longer see you, yet feeling, deep in our hearts, that you are still alive in the spaces we walk through. Everything at the university carries a trace of you. Your energy, your humour, and your strength were a constant source of inspiration, and they will remain with us always.
I still remember how, from my very first year, you nicknamed me “Trouble”:
“Good morning, Miss Trouble… yes, Trouble… easy, Trouble… alright but now listen to me, Trouble.”
It was your way of pushing me to give my best, even when things were difficult — especially when circumstances felt overwhelming. You encouraged me never to give up.
I remember the first-year Box Project, when you told me online, “I trust you are strong enough to handle this and more.”
At the time, I didn’t know it. I didn’t want to know it. I didn’t want to fight, I was tired. And yet you always knew what to say and how to say it — how to draw strength out of me and make me project it into the world.
You stood by all of us, supporting every student, every wild idea, every strange and ambitious project we brought to you.
One of the core lessons you taught us was exactly this: no matter what, life (exactly as university projects or art in general) moves forward. Not always in the direction you want, not always in the way you expect, but it moves — and you can choose whether to take part or to stand back and let it wash over you. Of course, you said it in a far more direct way. Most likely: “Karol, then fuck it! You can do this.”
It feels unreal to think that we won’t see you in the audience at the Festival, even though all of us were hoping for it — hoping to make you proud with this R&D and with the final performance. We imagined you telling us, “Guys, this was fucking brilliant,” or something equally unforgettable and funny.
We won’t see you sitting there, but we will carry you with us — in every gesture, in every piece of work we create, long after we leave this university. The way you taught us to approach art will stay with us all, shaping not only our methods, but our courage, our curiosity, and our capacity to keep going.
And perhaps this is what a true teacher gives their students:
not just knowledge, but a way of walking through the world — one that outlives them.
We will honour you by continuing to create, to dare, and to push forward with the same fire you saw in us before we ever saw it in ourselves.
Thank you, Sid. For everything.
Karol D’Amico
Thought
