Danze Rotte

“I look, I listen, Rome around is mute: it is the silence of the city and of the sky together” (Gramsci’s ashes PPP)

Rome, between exclusiveness and exclusion, city which first praises you and then abandons you, it is the ideal city where ones ardent solitude is given a meaning and perhaps where it finally passes away.
This choreography depicts a walk through the contradictory every day Roman life and the alternation between longing to flee the city and to delve into it. A walk articulated by splendour, descriptions and resonances/assonances of one of the greatest poets and intellectuals of contemporary Italy, Pasolini.
It would be pretentious to dance a piece exclusively centred on PPP for the complexity of his character, vastness and eclecticism of his work. I prefer presenting a dance that is a dialogue between the beating of time in Rome and the texts and cinematographic quotes-because as we very well know, Rome has it’s own flow of time and it’s own light- all in all this dance is a dialogue with the city which to the resider sometimes appears hard of hearing or mute.
Broken dances are the days I spend in the small but big city of Rome, where everything seems to break into pieces, losing meaning and progression, where even dreams are intermittent, where relations are all over the place, where words and their inflections split continually losing their sound, their own wonder amused in being revealed, their pursuit sometimes goliardic sometimes poetic. I have the feeling of walking without ever reaching destination.
But then I look at the sky and have the impression that a big window opens upon my intimate blue, it thrusts open suddenly in the wind and I ask myself if in Rome we become shadows of this past, squashed shadows on the ground from the past, but like shadows, daughters of light.
I want to make peace with the city I was born in, from which I run away and return to, which I don’t understand, which is partly mother and partly godmother, city of exclusivity and exclusion, sometimes welcoming sometimes thankless. Rome is an ideal city in giving meaning to ones ardent solitude, if only it ceased…, city which first applauds and praises, then abandons and fails to remember your name. Rome loses its identity and is unable to find it in the solitude of the people that live there. I would like this solitude to sit, to rest for an instance, to let fate drop and believe in the power of my hands….and believe that it is possible to Love, love soulless bodies, love of solitary bodies.