Distance
Bodies are aligned. They resemble one another. They repeat themselves. The silhouettes seen from behind are smooth, as if encased. Light projects stars onto the skin. The background is black. No face. No gaze.
The bodies tell nothing. The stars slide from one back to another, erasing boundaries. Through repetition, the eye stops searching for difference. It skims over a collective figure, a polished surface across which images pass.
Here, there is no character. There is no narrative. There is no beginning and no end. Everything is beautiful. Everything is smooth.

Distance
They look like Barbie dolls lined up next to each other. You see them from behind. They are almost the same size. They wear wigs. You cannot see their faces, so you cannot recognise them.
On their skin, light draws stars. They slide from one back to another, as if they were all dressed in the same way.
Everything is beautiful. Everything is smooth. Everything repeats. But when all the dolls look the same, we forget they could be different. When everything is the same, we no longer really see what makes someone a person.