LEARNING HOW TO HIDE

If you turn your back, I could sense that you want to do a dance with me. It might seem like an invitation to a wedding, or to bed, to silence. If you share a lesson with me I might not want to listen, I’m far from orders. There is no certainty in what I see, there is a sweet concession to not understanding. Hide and seek secret trap, if just someone would remember to come and look for it, tend it, keep it. If you cross your arms, you force me to turn around you, if you become a stone you force me to lean on you, if you build a wall I will go on the tips of my toes to be able to see, if you forbid, you raise the shy pleasure of breaking the schemes.

There is no logical design in this timeless hide-and-seek. Drawn by lot, I try to seek, and in seeking, I hide. In an anachronistic dance, between elevation and lowering, we move our steps in a labyrinth made up of minute confessions, dimly lit corners, locked up keyboards. A silent wave, the one of the hidden, the unfinished, and the misunderstood, which without fear gently leads us to the fiding. We are allowed to sneak in the folds of immobile but changing things, to hide in order to be found. With light steps, we move between the shots, as clues to a choreography of doubt. As clues to our most fragile dance.