Nicole Lux

My stage: light instead of lighting

In most shows the light comes from the room; with me it comes from the costume. I work with programmed LED suits, light hoops and a pair of pixel fans that draw shapes, words and hearts in the air — yes, including the name of the guest of honour. It is a genre that looks like a festival act, yet it is built for a domestic space: I need no stage and no lighting designer, only darkness. Hence my first rule is simple — the darker your place, the stronger my show.

What a show with me looks like

Three chapters, each in a different colour. The entrance — total darkness, then a single point of light that becomes a full silhouette; the room always answers with the same intake of breath. The middle — light hoops and fast choreography, the most filmed part in the whole catalogue. The finale — the pixel fans: I draw "mazal tov" with the name in the air, and that is the moment everyone sends to the family. Afterwards the light returns and everyone is slightly dazzled — in the good sense. The full skeleton of the hour — on the solo page; with me it runs in the dark.

What the space needs — exactly

Three conditions, all easy. Darkness — the ability to kill every light, including street lamps coming through a window: a curtain or a shutter solves it. One power socket — for charging and control; I arrive fully charged, but a socket gives confidence. Two metres by two and a half — the hoops need room, and that is the minimum I ask. What is not needed: a stage, spotlights or a smoke machine. If you have a smoke machine — wonderful, the light looks twice as beautiful; but it works excellently without one.

Where I am strongest

Rooftops and pools in summer — light on water is the most beautiful thing I know; industrial and large spaces, where the darkness is real; and company events and openings, where a light show does for an event what no other budget line does. Geographically I am requested in the lofts of Rishon LeZion and the yards of Modiin, and in summer — any roof in the city. In a small living room? Possible, but then we move to the chamber edition: fewer hoops, more fans.

My characters

The neon queen — the crown character: a full light suit, a lit crown, and an entrance that begins in total darkness. The pixel dancer — the technical edition: two fans, texts in the air, and plenty of room for personalisation. The goddess of light — for rooftops and pools: white and blue, slow movement, and the feeling of a festival act at a small scale. The full wardrobe — on the costume page; with me every character is programmed in advance for your particular evening.

The texts in the air — the detail that sells the evening

The pixel fans display any text loaded onto them beforehand, so it is worth thinking about in advance: the name of the guest of honour, an age, "mazal tov", the crew's inside joke, or a date. Three or four texts is the maximum that works nicely within one hour — more than that starts to look like a slideshow. Send us the list two days ahead and I will load them and check that each is readable from five metres away. It is the smallest detail in my show, and it is the one everybody remembers.

One moment from the field

A rooftop in Rishon LeZion, a thirtieth birthday, twenty-five guests. I killed every light on the floor — including the stairwell — and entered in total darkness with a single point of light. Five seconds of silence, then someone shouted "what is this?!" and the room exploded. At the end, when the pixel fans drew the birthday girl's name in the air, her mother cried. I left that roof knowing clearly: a light show is not a gimmick, it is a genre.

How I prepare

My preparation is half technical: charging every battery on the day — suit, hoops, fans, controller; checking the light programmes against the colours you asked for; and loading the texts into the fans. After that, only a run of the choreography, because in darkness there is no room for error: you cannot see the floor, and distances are learned in the body. At your place I arrive twenty minutes early — the room must be mapped in the dark before the crowd comes in.

My playlist

Melodic electronics, progressive, soft trance, and downtempo moments for the finale — music with long build-ups, because light loves a build. I synchronise colour programmes with the beat: as the music rises, the suit shifts from blue to gold, and it works on a crowd without anyone analysing why. Is there a song the crew loves? Send it, and I will build the evening's strongest light programme around it.

Who I am not the right choice for

A room that cannot be darkened — the one problem I have no solution for, and I say so straight in the first message. Whoever is looking for classic burlesque, feathers and velvet will get something entirely different from me: my show is modern, technological and sharp. But if you want an evening none of your guests has seen the like of — and above all an evening that looks spectacular on video — I have no competition in the catalogue.

Five small facts about me

My suit holds one thousand six hundred bulbs, and I know the number because I have already replaced twelve of them myself. My fans travel in a hard case with foam cut to their shape — they are more fragile than they look. I programme the light sequences myself, a hobby that cost me an entire winter. I keep a head torch in my bag for every show, because somebody has to see what is happening while everyone else is in the dark. And my favourite colour on stage is gold — it flatters both skin and lens.

An evening with me — step by step

15:00 — charging batteries: suit, hoops, fans. 18:00 — checking light programmes and loading the texts. 21:00 — departure with a hard case and a bag. 21:40 — "I am here", and twenty minutes mapping the room in the dark. 22:00 — every light goes out, and a single point of light comes on. An hour of light: the entrance, the hoops, fast choreography, and a finale with the name in the air. 23:05 — the light returns, everyone is dazzled and photographing each other. And then your real party begins.