A ritual, an intimate, violent, erotic, lost journey. A body seeking another body, a voice praying to the void, a desire that transforms and overwhelms. Three acts like three closed rooms, full of symbols, of visions that burn, that stumble, that resist.
The first act is a threshold. Here the transformation begins. Masks become skin, the face dissolves. Everything is in black and white, carved, severe. The gesture becomes a marionette, the body distances itself from itself. It is the preparation, the invocation. Darkness is the first space of desire.
The second act is a fire. Colors explode, flesh offers itself, the staging becomes erotic and visceral. It is the moment of fever, of distorted vision. Here desire becomes excess, ritual and spectacle, illusion and hunger. The body does not act: it is.
The third act is the end that does not console. It is the return to black, to the mask that has now become silence. Desire does not settle, it detaches, it consumes itself in absence. There is a tragic grace in this return, like an echo that cannot be extinguished. Distance is the new face.
A mute dedication, as if art were the only way to not stop calling. Even if no one answers.