can’t dance. I can’t in my room, nor in a club, let alone any kind of
stage. Whenever I am forced to try, I stumble or freeze or drink enough
to disappear. However, this time, for the first time, I found myself
actively involved in dancing - even if by using someone else’s body.
my project I function as a visual choreographer, making up a certain
movement language that is the outcome of a verbal dialogue between the
photographed dancer and I. On my part, it is a language born of a
screech, it is uncomfortably beautiful.
don’t predetermine the result - insisting on well-planned perfectness -
but rather establish a strong understanding, let the dancer improvise
and capture his movements. Afterwards, I experiment with layering
various photos on top of each other, searching for intriguing
combinations. Unlike everything I had done in the past, which was always
carefully sculpted, this time I put my trust in the coincidental.
subjects provided me with the physical intelligence. I only had vague
mental images, a camera, and a long history of unused dancefloors.