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 …
Dance, travel, otherwise we are lost.
Dance Visa 