Passage
Within the black setting, colour acts like a flash of lightning. It cuts through the body, accelerates movement and creates a feeling of speed and energy. A pelvis, legs; there is only one dancer who doubles herself. She distorts and disperses into a deconstructed body.
From her gestures, only traces remain. A form that comes into being, stretches out, and then fades away.
Is it a human being? Certainly. But a being made of tension and movement. A being traversed by what it does. The face disappears. Identity too. There is no longer a character, no recognisable silhouette, only a presence in the process of transformation.
The body is no longer a form to be held onto. It becomes passage. It becomes becoming.

Passage
Here, everything moves. Very fast.
You don’t see a whole body. You see legs, a stomach and colours sliding past.
The dancer moves so much that her body appears twice. It looks as if she is crossing the image like a flash of lightning. What remains are mainly traces, made of lines of colour.
You are no longer quite sure whether you are looking at a person or only what is left when she moves. Her face has disappeared.
In this image, you are no longer completely inside the body. When you think you see it, it is already somewhere else.