my first encounter with the Louvre unfolded through the body.
this collection may be entered from any direction, yet from the very first minutes it became inevitable that I would begin with the body: with form, with context, with movement.
the body mythic, deformed, naked, sleeping, poor, young, murdered, stolen, or dead. sculptural, athletic, disarmed, or simply beheaded.
the body historical: hidden, inspired, tormented, sacred, sovereign, relaxed, military, wise, tense, torn apart or forgotten.
the body fixed in place, in context. it is image, it is surrendered to history, and it no longer exists.
all your life you hurry about with it, only to lose it one day, to cease belonging to this world in flesh — and only then to allow someone like me, a witness, to gaze, to study, to notice.
In truth, the real reason for my escape to Athens was the premiere of Requiem for the End of Love at the Greek National Opera.
All day long, drifting and marveling at Athens, I felt the fever return — the same fever that had been wrapping itself around me each evening for the past three days.
This night, emotions and strength seemed to fall away, and I simply allowed the music, the movement, the body to release everything I had been holding inside for so long. The premiere struck me completely! my fever rising as the performance unfolded in front of me.
An astonishingly tentative, melancholic work.
LOVE IS SLOW. SHE KISSES THE DEAD. SHE ONLY KISSES, KISSES, AND REVIVES THE DEAD.
With the trauma induced by the death of beloved friends from AIDS left unresolved, and with fear haunting the love lives of an entire generation.
Direction: Dimitris Papaioannou @papaioannou_d
Music: Giorgos Koumendakis @giorgoskoumendakis
Conductor: Teodor Currentzis @tcurrentzis@greeknationalopera
what was it, actually?
streets, people, smiles, trains, boats, trees, kisses.
lovely songs, new encounters, old friend. art. punch.
silly questions, deep conversations, feelings, sweet dreams.
the sun touching a naked body. waves, waves, waves. rocks mercilessly bruising bodies and leaving scars. heat that sends goosebumps across the skin.
touches. a crash somewhere three floors above. a long yawn. a delicious breakfast.
a long morning, slippers squeaking under feet, orange swimming shorts, water, pasolini read, muscles, play of eyes, a jump, a splash, and again and again and again.
the heart beats, therefore i live.
