The performance evokes the suspended atmosphere of spaces where bodies are brought together in forced proximity: a waiting room, an antechamber, the backstage of a theater. The main action seems to take place elsewhere. Identities and biographies are deferred, while acoustic vibrations hover, seemingly referencing the audible limits of ultrasound and infrasound; everything is charged with uncertainty. In an unstoppable crescendo, the dances embody a desire for disappearance and the dissolution of figures into the pure dynamic flow of movement, letting what we are fade away to focus on what we are becoming: they are an archive of ‘futurity’. What appears is a complex and fragile environment, the result of layered agreements and symbioses—a sort of coral reef that resolves its own fragility every second against the void surrounding it. Against the backdrop of this evolution hovers a lucid reflection on collective existence within spaces designed by capital.


“São Paulo. January 2026.
I’m in a tiny apartment, tucked inside a 36-story high-rise. Nothing fancy, pretty cheap actually. I’m up on the sixteenth floor. On the twenty-fourth, there’s a pool. At the fourth floor there’s a co-working space; on the thirtieth, a reading room. On the first, a laundry room and a snack bar. A gym, obviously. The only thing missing is a smoking room. Honestly, if it weren’t for this relentless urge to smoke… I might never step outside again. And in fact, I could be wrong, but the space out there feels unusually clear for Brazil. But you already know that, don't you? You already know that the space we’re imagining out there is bound to be hollow. Void of obstacles. Cleared out. The space we’re designing is the kind that allows the pizza you ordered to hit your doorstep exactly on time. And sure enough, the delivery riders fly through the streets, unbothered, every hour of the day and night. Always on time. You barely even notice them anymore. But here’s the stroke of genius: In a low but steady percentage of cases, some of these riders are actually the very muggers you’re waiting for—and expecting—in the metropolis. Disguised with the backpack, the helmet, the whole uniform. It’s a flawless camouflage. It gets you to lower your guard, making it that much easier to prey on you out in the open. The thought of it terrifies me, and comforts me, in perfectly equal measure. Goodbye.”