Life

Fourteen dancers, head to head, barely discernible as shadows in the semi-darkness. Only their training outfits reflect the residual light that trickles down from the stage ceiling of the Bockenheim Depot. No sooner have the viewer's eyes and ears adjusted to the industrial cathedral than a woman leaves the lined-up collective, breaks away, and hurries forward with determined steps. Her gaze fixed on the audience, she waits at the foot of the platform. She waits for the others to join her to form a human cluster. Hips pressed together, torsos as surfaces of contact, not a sheet of paper seems to fit between them. Gentle movements begin—left foot, right foot, barely perceptible shifts of axis and weight. Once again the woman breaks away, seeking distance to the left, while her gaze lingers ...