Why I Act — And Why It’s Not About Fame

"Why do you act?" is a question I have received on numerous occasions. And there is no single straightforward answer to this question. It is most certainly not about fame, as fame and being recognized have always scared me. I can still remember the beginnings of my presence on social media, when posting a random post with my picture or even posting about a film project I did, felt so wrong it made me cry.

I never wanted to be famous. I wanted to feel something real. For me, acting has always been a quiet search for truth. The kind that lives under the skin, behind the eyes, between words. Since I was little, I dreamt of standing in front of a camera and understanding why people do what they do — why they love, why they lie, why they leave.

Acting, when it’s honest, is an act of empathy. It’s not performance, it’s transformation. You lend your body and your voice to someone else’s story. And for a moment, you disappear — not to escape yourself, but to meet yourself in a new way. I’ve always been fascinated by that meeting. The moment the line between the actor and the character melts. The breath slows. The eyes shift. You’re no longer “doing a scene.” You’re being it.

Over the years, working in different countries and languages, I discovered how fragile and universal this truth is. In French, I feel lighter, almost musical. In Slovenian, grounded, close to my bones. In English, more open, more direct. Every language carries a different rhythm of feeling — but the essence of truth remains the same.

The older I get, the more I realize acting isn’t about being seen by others — it’s about seeing yourself. Each role is a mirror. Some are gentle, some are cruel, but they all ask the same question: Are you brave enough to be honest?

That’s why I act. Not to impress, not to prove, not to climb. But to touch something raw and real — in myself and in the audience.

Fame fades. Truth doesn’t. And if, for a few moments on screen or stage, someone forgets their own story and feels less alone — then that, to me, is success.