About

The dancer throws the body into the abyss of gesture, saying yes to life. Perhaps we have been touched by a teaching of gesture that—slowly infusing the body— shapes it without ever possessing it. The study of movement lifts certain postures out of the everyday only to return them in another language. This standing on the threshold, like a rebound or a giving-back of something once unknown, approaches the sense of the poetic gesture: unownable, passable through; not form-in-motion, but a body shifting in tone, like an auratic nebula blurring distance and closeness. It operates through attention turned toward the immersion of space, toward a spatial tactility that includes us.

The Satyr—as Nietzsche suggests in The Birth of Tragedy (1872), and as Giorgio Colli recalls in The Birth of Philosophy (1975)—may be the one who looks into the abyss and says yes to life: not the night, but its spring. The two dancers are stirred from within, invested by gestures that are similar, adjacent, symmetrical—a dance tracing the air, returning to the embryo of movement and recognizing it as both different and friend. From the depths of gesture they inscribe forms of empathy and understanding, opening toward a musical disposition. Between the Dionysian and the Apollonian, dance becomes once again a laboratory of life: a vigilant, divinatory stance, a science of being— a mirror of resonances and cognitive calls.