Memento Mori

The three-part piece opens with flickering images of what may have preceded any earthly movement, as far back as the imagination can reach: on stage, bodies appear and begin to move, as if unexpectedly plucked from a kind of great nowhere. It's as if they've just hatched, totally untouched by habits, histories and reflexes. Then they discover and liberate themselves, experiment and enjoy, are caught up in a growing and inescapable intoxication, indulge in a kind of orgiastic dance of jubilation amidst the colorful, ripe, mouth-watering fruits, themselves products of the earth, as if straight from, or rather disgorged from, a great cornucopia. Grapes being crushed, bananas being stripped bare, tomatoes bursting open... all of this makes explosions, juices, reminds us of organs, speaks of earthly life, innocent youth and concentrated sap that nonetheless already contains the evidence of its transience, of its future putrefaction like the fragile pulp inside a translucent skin. Then it's time to clean up, tidy up, erase the chaos. Like great wild beasts making a protective or maternal gesture, they lick away all that liquid, sweet, nourishing, thick matter. Gestures, of necessity, become slow once the outpouring is over, and consciousness, no doubt, modifies movements. We have to make room, so that all this can begin again.