first fittings from my costume design for @tessvoelker piece “get home safe” for the mozart programme at @ballettdortmund
a group of 18th century time-warp punks raid the palace wardrobe before sneaking out to the spiritual rave (mozart super-fans on a bad trip)
Smokey space, sultry vibes, red velvet. A private basement party somewhere in the 80s that never quite ended.
Lingua Erotica took the stage for the first time this September. Dancers moved through and with the crowd; lost into the whole, fully devoted, and never once breaking the spell that was laid on them by ‘Stars in Your Eyes’.
We are happy that a feeling got enough growth to become something special. Thank you Boston, Keren, Elisabeth, Paxton, Nick and Mori ❤️
Music performance by @linguaerotica
Choreography by @bostog
Danced by @keren.leiman@elisabeth.mulenga@bostog@paxtini
Beautiful video by @dammeskieft
Additional footage by @anais_saebu
“…as if the body itself had become a canvas and a battlefield. Then comes the alienation: after the telluric and cosmic delirium”
Chroniques by Peeping Tom, touring for the foreseeable in: Köln, Cesana, Louvain-la-Neuve, Sevilla, Paris, Udine, Luxembourg, Copenhagen, Barcelona, Leuven, Zaventem, Madrid.
This Christmas I opened a card from a friend to find this:
I am silver and exact. I have no preconceptions.
Whatever I see I swallow immediately
Just as it is, unmisted by love or dislike.
I am not cruel, only truthful‚
The eye of a little god, four-cornered.
Most of the time I meditate on the opposite wall.
It is pink, with speckles. I have looked at it so long
I think it is part of my heart. But it flickers.
Faces and darkness separate us over and over.
Now I am a lake. A woman bends over me,
Searching my reaches for what she really is.
Then she turns to those liars, the candles or the moon.
I see her back, and reflect it faithfully.
She rewards me with tears and an agitation of hands.
I am important to her. She comes and goes.
Each morning it is her face that replaces the darkness.
In me she has drowned a young girl, and in me an old woman
Rises toward her day after day, like a terrible fish.
- Sylvia Plath “Mirror” - photographer @hervebossy
