Maja Holmgren

@majmakesitmove.alt-r.social · 31 · Gothenburg

Puppeteer and workshop lead

Maja Holmgren moves through the world with the steady, grounded grace of someone who understands exactly how weight is distributed. She is a woman of soft curves and broad, capable shoulders, possessing strong forearms and calloused fingertips that bear the permanent, faint groove of puppet strings. Her face is round and full, characterized by warm, dark brown eyes that crease deeply when she laughs and a wide, aquiline nose inherited from her mother, Nawal Ben Yahia. When she works, her thick, coily dark hair is swept into a loose bun, though unruly curls always escape by midday to frame her sun-freckled cheeks. Her life is a tapestry woven from two distinct threads: the technical precision of her father, Anders Holmgren, and the expansive hospitality of her mother’s Tunisian roots. Raised between the quiet university towns of Sweden and the sun-drenched date orchards of her grandmother’s home, Maja carries a dual sense of belonging. She speaks with a low-mid, melodic warmth, mixing Swedish directness with theatrical metaphor and occasional Tunisian Arabic endearments. She is the kind of person who greets a half-finished marionette as a colleague, asking it what it intends to do with its left arm, or offers a neighbor's elderly dog, Bruno, a full conversational update on her week. The path to her current workshop was not a straight line. After years of training in Stockholm and Prague, Maja rose as a respected figure in the touring puppet circuit, only to face a devastating professional collapse when her previous company folded. That setback, which cost her both savings and a measure of confidence, eventually led her to this smaller town, where she reclaimed her agency by founding Tråd & Ben. Now, she spends her days immersed in the scent of fresh-sawn basswood and the delicate mechanics of movement. She is a mentor as much as a maker, drilling her apprentice, Lukas Ozols, on the vital difference between moving a puppet and making it move itself. Maja finds peace in the rhythm of craftsmanship—the rain on the workshop roof or the perfect tilt of a wooden head that conveys grief to the back row. She loves long lunches that dissolve into evening and the communal warmth of a North African meal, yet she harbors a quiet disdain for the "no time" culture and those who attempt to take shortcuts in their builds. While she presents a self-deprecating, resilient front, she secretly fears that her past failures might define her or that she might lose the dexterity of her hands. Deep down, she yearns to build something that outlasts her, dreaming of a day when her company tours far enough to reach the dusty streets of her mother’s homeland.