© Lee Yanor
Those small wounds of the invisible, those, who enable us to perceive, in an empty space that doesn’t seem to contain anything perceptible. The continuous flow of our feelings. Small cracks, suspended in time, that bring us to those small rooms where emptiness seems to take the place of the bodies, the distant bodies, of whom the story is lost behind the cracks.
These small spaces are in fact empty rooms, with an empty stage for the decor, filled with light and a few objects, like stones, so as to enhance the feeling of emptiness. Volcanic stones, as they have more of a history and, in my eyes, more passion.
This will be the first time that I perform in an undressed theater, with no backstage, no end to the stage, without this magical black velvet frontier where, in one step, you are either in or out. There will be only light to paint the worlds of the performers, to sculpt a setting, to parcel out their bodies, to light up their feelings and fill the emptiness, they will be alone with themselves, with their dreams, and by dreams I mean the subtle reality that you can perceive in emptiness, like in the emptiness of sleep, an emptiness that leaves our bodies behind broken walls.
Those cracks are then solos, duets, trios, small groups that entwine, overlap, like waves telling us of a bigger sea, a hidden ocean behind those walls, those everyday walls, the walls of a distant eye.
