I had long been away from the scene, (pandemic outcomes aside) shyly listening to and respecting the transformations that age digs into my body.
Passing years in which I hesitated to take the step of taking steps to make a transition: to show myself.
Then perhaps the very special moment we are living in prompted me, as if instinctively, to re-engage in a practice that I know well and yet feel new. A practice, physical and otherwise, that was immediately sensitive to a vocation I felt in me primary: yearning for the moment of encounter, of the “moving” of making theater.

And in doing so, I could not disregard a strongly personal marker: persona, that is, literally “the mask of a character (actor),” which I have tried, and I still do not know if vainly, to peel off my face. Thus I landed on another planet, finding there an infinity of life and other lives. Of all of them it would have been worth telling and dancing the contours: I went through only and curiously some of them convinced that no woman is “every woman”. I did it with the form that this present time has given me and gives me: silver, oak and Venus.
This me being, this me being is the only way I feel the ephemerality that sops us up fade a little.
I am here in one piece.
Mammal agèe,
slow,
knotted doing,
smelling of interlocking.
Alone and double,
Still as the water of a trembling stream, always.
