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No reality now, la danse et son double
Vincent Dupont , Charles Ayats
ART.13 [Reportage]
Phia Ménard
ART.13
Phia Ménard
Contes Immoraux Partie 1 : Maison Mère
Phia Ménard
Voice Noise
Jan Martens
any attempt will end in crushed bodies and shattered bones
Jan Martens
Elisabeth gets her way
Jan Martens
The dog days are over
Jan Martens
Man Made
Jan Martens
Period piece
Jan Martens
Hu(r)mano
Marco Da Silva Ferreira
BROTHER
Marco Da Silva Ferreira
førm Inførms
Marco Da Silva Ferreira
Fantasie minor
Marco Da Silva Ferreira
CARCASS
Marco Da Silva Ferreira
Folia
Lia Rodrigues
Ma
Lia Rodrigues
Contre ceux qui ont le goût difficile
Lia Rodrigues
Incarnat
Lia Rodrigues
Pororoca
Lia Rodrigues
Cellule
Nach
Nulle part est un endroit
Nach
Elles disent
Nach
Tumulus
François Chaignaud , Geoffroy Jourdain
Radio Vinci Park Reloaded
François Chaignaud
Symphonia harmoniæ cælestium revelationum (version 11/69)
François Chaignaud
Думи мої – Dumy Moyi
François Chaignaud
Hippopotomonstro – sesquippedaliophobie*
Fabien Plasson
Fiasco
Fabien Plasson , Juliette Belanger
Toi moi, Tituba…
Dorothée Munyaneza
Toi moi, Tituba…
“As always, everything starts from encounters, encounter with Elsa Dorlin, the philosopher, encounter with her text Me, you, us: I, Tituba and the Ontology of the Trace that I enjoyed setting to movement in 2021 as part of L’ADN Dance Living Lab at the National Theatre of Chaillot, and then the reunion with Tituba and Maryse Condé’s line of thought.
A story-genealogy, published in 1986, I, Tituba, Black Witch of Salem gave life, from a few lines discovered in the minutes of a trial for witchcraft, to Tituba, woman, black and witch, at a time when it was not right to be either of them. A work-resistance, that of Maryse Condé, who has never ceased to give back a voice, a flesh, a story to what has been erased, silenced and bruised.
Everything is there. How to resonate the breaths, lives and dreams of those men and those women whose identities and very existences were denied and crushed by the slave trade and the colonial system? Through words? Through the body, perhaps, since I am a dancer? Through the voice that inhabits space, songs that speak to those who are there and those who are far away? How to move my body and my story so as to make audible, visible and palpable the traces of those extinguished, gone unnoticed, ignored or forgotten, how to relate to my own history which no written trace testifies, except perhaps for a few “historical erasures” to use Elsa Dorlin’s words in the colonial administrative archives? Is it possible to make lineage, to relate for the time a dance lasts, those that history has forgotten with so much application, with our lives, but also with those who are yet to be born?”
Dorothée Munyaneza