Saturday night I was home on my own trying to get through the newspapers when I caught the notice of a different dance-performance down the street.
A shop normally selling fancy furniture had emptied their store to make room for four dancers performing
Huellas (footprints or traces), choreographed by
Diana Theocharidis, in their shop-window.
Grabbing my camera, I hurried to see the show. Newspapers forgotten.
The idea of an alternative stage intrigued me, and the work evoked an athmosphere of subtle lunacy, of elegantly loosing control. A powerful and sensual, beautiful and intangible magnet.
Fascinating - and with the suggestive connotation to desire - for anyone who ever walked the red-light district of Amsterdam..
Saturday night I was home on my own trying to get through the newspapers when I caught the notice of a different dance-performance down the street.
A shop normally selling fancy furniture had emptied their store to make room for four dancers performing Huellas (footprints or traces), choreographed by Diana Theocharidis, in their shop-window.
Grabbing my camera, I hurried to see the show. Newspapers forgotten.
The idea of an alternative stage intrigued me, and the work evoked an athmosphere of subtle lunacy, of elegantly loosing control. A powerful and sensual, beautiful and intangible magnet.
Fascinating - and with the suggestive connotation to desire - for anyone who ever walked the red-light district of Amsterdam..
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