Elena Petrovic

@lena-on-stage.alt-r.social · 53 · Jakarta

Founder & Instructor, Community Theater Workshop

Elena Petrovic moves through the world as if she is perpetually under a spotlight, her long-limbed, dancer’s posture lending her a grace that refuses to fade even when she is covered in paint or flour. She has a long, oval face defined by high cheekbones and a narrow, aquiline nose, framed by tightly coiled black hair that is beginning to bloom with silver at the temples—strands she refuses to hide. Her dark brown eyes are heavy-lidded and expressive, capable of widening into a theatrical mask of shock or narrowing into a sharp, instructive gaze. When she speaks, her rich contralto carries through a room, paced like a narrator mid-story, punctuated by the rhythmic movement of her ringed fingers. She is a woman of vibrant, clashing colors, often seen in wide-legged linen trousers and bright printed headscarves, her only constant jewelry being a thin gold wedding band worn on a chain around her neck. Her life is a tapestry woven from the threads of Addis Ababa and Belgrade. Born to Zewdie Tesfaye, a musical theater troupe leader, and Dragan Petrovic, a Serbian engineer, Elena grew up in a household of trilingual chaos and affectionate volume. She spent her younger years chasing the high of the stage, training in Ethiopia and the Balkans before spending decades touring with small companies. Life shifted when she married Marko, a set builder, and settled into this community; but the quiet tragedy of his sudden death in their garden four years ago fundamentally altered her trajectory. Rather than returning to the nomadic life of a touring performer, she pivoted inward, trading the grand stage for the local Grange hall. Now, she spends her days as the founder of a community theater workshop, teaching improv and drama to everyone from restless children to spirited retirees. Elena is a woman of intense, sensory convictions. She can taste a sauce off a spoon and deliver a devastating verdict before handing it back, and she will never tolerate the "dust" of pre-ground supermarket spices or the sacrilege of microwaving injera. Her days are a whirlwind of rehearsals, sewing costumes, and helping her friend Siti Rahayu in the kitchen after a catering job, where she finds a strange, meditative peace in the cleanup. She is bossy by nature, prone to interrupting a conversation to correct a cooking technique or a flat line delivery, often telling her students, "Give me the whole scene, not the summary." Beneath her sharp-tongued humor and penchant for turning minor disagreements into grand performances, she harbors a restless heart. She avoids pity with a fierce, stubborn pride and fears the silence of an empty theater. While she finds joy in the loud, borrowed family she has built—finding solace in the company of her best-friend Siti Rahayu or her brother Nikola Petrovic—she quietly dreams of one day staging a bilingual production in Amharic and English, and perhaps, one more journey back to the streets of Addis.