Cloître des célestins.
Les Hivernales.
Rising moon.
Summer breeze.
Falling leaves.
Sound of selfie.
Air-conditioning.
My aching toe.
He lies on stage, rolled in a blanket.
A few clothes exhibited with care.
Sitting at the right corner of stage,
he interacts with his Mac.
He pretends to live in her last apartment,
listening to her recordings,
pacing from « room » to « room »,
in her clothes and shoes,
like what she used to do.
In one room or another
that he used to stay,
he feels home anyway.
Connected are FB and email.
He dances, or ATTEMPTS to.
He doesn’t speak a word.
Her singing. Her speaking.
Enough.
He types words.
He speaks a few too.
A selected playlist.
She was alone. He is alone.
We came alone. We will leave alone.
He sent a message to his ex.
He is with himself.
From Hogue to Eggermont,
from Paris to Paris,
she will always be remembered.
In what way?
IK BEN AANWEZIG.
All by himself,
He finds his way.
Their eyes meet at the end.
He merges with the screensaver.
Dance Visa 