Two bodies move slowly and devoutly, moving towards and away from each other. Every movement is fluid. The moments of monumentality, when the breath almost falters and the tension is at its greatest, escape through their dissolution. But the next posture is already being prepared, between sacral symbolism – have I just discovered a Caritas? – The play with the play leg, the rotation of the serpentines, turning, gliding, slipping, sliding, to each other, from each other. Birth. Accepting and giving movement, accepting and rejecting it. No, I remove myself, but you do not let go of me and I do not let go of you. Past and present are connected, without them there is no future. Only together they result in the composition, only afterwards does it become recognizable as such. In the here and now we are, the cooperation.
The performers are both sculptors and creators. They form and create Sliding to each other, moving away from each other The younger one hums a song, and repeats it later Gets it back later.
The mother. The other. She is no longer a human being, now she is a mother. What must a mother do? What does a mother have to be? Is mother human or machine? When your daughter becomes a mother, will you have had your day as such? Or do you still remain the mother of the mother?
You can hear the palm of your hand roughening the carpet, changing the texture, leaving traces. On the snow-white carpet. One mother leaves an impression on the other.
It is fascinating to see how the two women resemble each other, the feet fit together when they interlock, the hair has the same texture. The looks are self-confident, yet curious and uncertain, a search through the room before the head sinks again. These are tightrope walks between comedy and seriousness. Even a monument can be flexible, changeable, funny if it fits.
Slow movements don’t seem to have been made for all visitors, after some time the first ones leave the hall. Every movement can be heard, and the rising and going away of the impatient seems like an affront, a blasphemy almost. But this association seems to come through the sacred ambience of the former church.
Two bodies move slowly and devoutly, moving towards and away from each other. Every movement is fluid. The moments of monumentality, when the breath almost falters and the tension is at its greatest, escape through their dissolution. But the next posture is already being prepared, between sacral symbolism – have I just discovered a Caritas? – The play with the play leg, the rotation of the serpentines, turning, gliding, slipping, sliding, to each other, from each other. Birth. Accepting and giving movement, accepting and rejecting it. No, I remove myself, but you do not let go of me and I do not let go of you. Past and present are connected, without them there is no future. Only together they result in the composition, only afterwards does it become recognizable as such. In the here and now we are, the cooperation.
The performers are both sculptors and creators.
They form and create
Sliding to each other, moving away from each other
The younger one hums a song, and repeats it later
Gets it back later.
The mother. The other. She is no longer a human being, now she is a mother. What must a mother do? What does a mother have to be? Is mother human or machine? When your daughter becomes a mother, will you have had your day as such? Or do you still remain the mother of the mother?
You can hear the palm of your hand roughening the carpet, changing the texture, leaving traces. On the snow-white carpet. One mother leaves an impression on the other.
It is fascinating to see how the two women resemble each other, the feet fit together when they interlock, the hair has the same texture. The looks are self-confident, yet curious and uncertain, a search through the room before the head sinks again. These are tightrope walks between comedy and seriousness. Even a monument can be flexible, changeable, funny if it fits.
Slow movements don’t seem to have been made for all visitors, after some time the first ones leave the hall. Every movement can be heard, and the rising and going away of the impatient seems like an affront, a blasphemy almost. But this association seems to come through the sacred ambience of the former church.