UMA COREOGRAFIA PARA MINHA CALÇA

Would the choreography be a dance in its written form?

The movement that inscribes itself in the beginning, middle and end, taking place in space.

The perception of dance is of the order of duration, of the distension of moments of more intense presence, of the enchainment of images, of pauses, of silences.

How to conceive a choreography presented as a photoinstallation?

In the process of creation, the performer’s body is a channel for the intentions present at that moment. It responds to the shape that its trousers grant it, to the movement it makes possible, to the response that the fabric wrapping calls for, to the movement that is unleashed, to the chain of pattern, texture, touch, cut, elasticity, sewing, colour – incorporating persona or sensation, in a mode of improvisation.

It also channels sound, looks from outside, the ethylic, dionysian effect, of the body given over to itself and to what is more body, in its struggle to break through the limits of the fabric, to disentangle, protect, expose or cover and draw shapes, revealing parts of bodies, intentions, accidents and surprises. Starting point material.

Here, what is photographed are frozen images of the movement caught in the act, not as a record of events, but as an event in itself. And in the conjunction of these events, a choreography that takes up the space, occupying it simultaneously: a body that becomes multiple and the place of dance as the stitching of each one’s gaze.

If a choreography is organized by movement phrases, this installation can be read as a poem: each photograph, a verse; each stanza, a possible combination of verses in the order of capturing the gaze; each verse pointing to a new poem yet to be written.

In this way, in each place that this set of images presents itself, a new choreography is danced: as they simultaneously take space, they no longer follow a linearity given beforehand, to be read, not from left to right, nor from top to bottom, but from back to front, upside down, jumping the lines, putting their feet through their hands?

And rhyming, why not, with the trousers of that boy standing right there.