I've always felt a deep and yet strange discomfort when looking at ballroom dance performances but it was only when I had the chance to photograph an evening class that I understood why. It's the formalities of the figures, the void aesthetic of the gestures, the distance between the bodies, only apparently merging one into the other, but kept far away by the importance of one's role in the play.
Then it came to me that life is as short as a spin on the dance floor, and yet we tend to live it framed in stiff, predefined schemes, as if we were performing a set of ballroom dance figures.
What remains in the end is just a sterile appearance but once one realizes it, the dance is over.
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