For Christina, fashion does not begin with an image, but with a state of tension, a bodily sensation. Her work brings together natural materials with asymmetric cuts and silhouettes that envelop the body without taking away its shape. After working on different pieces for the Eusexua Tour by FKA Twigs, she spends weeks refining new cuts, getting inspired by emerging questions, material decisions, and forms of media.

Within a deliberately chosen, enclosed setting, the event unfolds. Invited by the Outstanding Artist Awards, the Austrian designer developed a performative work at the end of last year that brings her presentation of Contemporary Eveningwear to the foreground. Her gowns meet the vulnerable, precise physical language of choreographer Lino Eckenstein, forming three acts that switch between rebellion and surrender. Proximity and distance alternate like moves in a game of chess; tension becomes their shared language. The dresses are understood as moving forms — fabric reacts to motion. The body dances through states of control, aggression, and radical openness. At the core lie the questions: How long can passion endure within the art world? When does devotion become strength, and when does it turn into a burden? These questions are answered only physically. Dance becomes the fundamental element, the medium through which inner tension is made visible and tangible.

These tensions are mirrored in the ball gowns. “Knitwear responds to the slightest movement — it tightens, yields, opens up, resists,” Christina explains. Patchwork elements, tulle, mesh, and technical fabrics converge — soft yet constructed — in a variety new to the brand. A turn or even a breath is enough to alter certain shapes, to assign them new meaning. “Her new dresses break away from classic ready-to-wear collections — they are defined by greater elasticity, weight, and friction against the body. The silhouettes are wider, more mobile, and intentionally not fully defined — knits, transparencies, and openings only unfold in the moment of movement,” she says. It is only in the turn, the bend, the act of rising that certain details emerge and step into focus — details that would have remained hidden in stillness. This is not about quick effects, but about conscious perception — about choosing to give time and attention. About a quiet form of revelation offered to those who truly look.

Two canvases hang elevated; between them, a long staircase extends into the space, becoming the stage. A dancer enters the open hall and begins the solo. At the same time, raw rehearsal footage appears on the projection surfaces: close-ups of breath, skin, knitwear in motion. The camera reveals how the dresses behave under tension — how they yield, stiffen, rebound. The first act remains abstract, yet physically palpable. Movement feels like resistance; each gesture appears hard-earned, each turn costs strength. The metallic shimmering knit dress serves as armor for the dancer, while simultaneously reflecting an inner drive that refuses to stand still, that insists on continuing. Wide openings alternate with tightly knitted sections; stitches condense into a structure that feels powerful. It becomes a kind of breaking out of the self — an attempt to free oneself from the web of tension. In the duet, the dynamic shifts. Flowing fabrics meet relaxed cuts, volume unfolds as bodies draw closer, revealing glimpses of the garments. Closeness dissolves and rebuilds itself. Commitment becomes physical: searching, holding, finding one another again. In the third act, the ensemble comes together. Materials, silhouettes, energies collide. Movements grow larger, louder, more expansive than before. Who holds more power? Who prevails? The space transforms into a state between ritual and ballroom, between competition and collective ecstasy. Out of the struggle, a shared rhythm emerges, allowing materials to merge and become one.

Christina describes the collision of design and performance as a “reciprocal process.” Movement influences the cut; the cut influences movement. Where does the body require freedom, and where support? When may a fabric carry, and when must it yield? Backstage, no hands are still — even moments before the performance begins. “With final pieces, you often can’t tell how slow the development process actually is, and how many repetitions it involves,” Christina says. “Much of it comes from testing, unpicking, starting again. Decisions aren’t made to appear clear or loud, but to remain coherent.” The design does not emerge from distance, but from direct contact — with the dress form and with the performers’ bodies, through draping and immediate intervention.

Beyond material, movement, and form, it is above all her attitude towards the present moment that makes this Contemporary Eveningwear distinct. The designer counters a world defined by constant stimuli and endlessly appearing and disappearing images with an act of deceleration. When her work is seen for the first time, Christina hopes for “a feeling that lingers — perhaps a moment of irritation or intimacy, and the awareness that her designs do not speak about the body, but actively involve it and work with it. That they leave space for contradiction, strength, and fragility.” And if someone can recognize themselves within it, without having to explain, then precisely what the designer seeks has been achieved.

Thank you for the interview.