One person who is a woman, a mother, a grandmother and today a great-grandmother, and used to be a piano teacher.
Now her hands dance along the keys of an imaginary keyboard. Her hands are pitted and lined with blue veins, her fingers are long and slender. Her hands tell of years spent playing scales, practising every day to reach musical and circus prowess. Will our hands tell the story of years of coming together, catching and balancing?
The musical score composes a melody note by note, the tableaux reveals a universe layer by layer.
The show is created from inspirations, aspirations, and repetitions, like a painting by Chagall, the show starts out with reality and ends in a fantastic, imaginary world; its suspended characters inspire us, calling on us to leave the ground; they appear to float like memories and they make us glide from what is floating to what is blurred and imprecise.
What really happened? What portion of our memories do we create and what do we invent?