Dear colleague,

I begin this series of letters with one thought: I would like to get to know each other better. I wish I had words for all the unsaid things, and I wish they could take on tangible forms, outside the space between our gazes. Maybe it’s just me who can’t reach the same depth in spoken dialogue that I find in dance and touch, so forgive me if I drag you, out of sheer helplessness, into this almost forgotten realm of letter dialogue, which I see it as a gateway to worlds that otherwise remain unspoken, unwritten, unheard and unless someone puts them into images or motion, most likely unseen. And from this NE, they try to roll into oblivion, into NOTHING, THEY DO NOT EXIST and I DO NOT KNOW about them. But they are part of us and they don’t disappear, they just bury themselves and sometimes explode. As you may have already noticed, this dialogue is not only about dance, but rather about what it can bring, contain, create, or sometimes hide. I’m going to leave you with the latest answer to a question that no one has asked me, but that I keep asking myself when I want to start a new path or when I’m in the middle of a path that I don’t understand anymore.


I dance so I can talk to all the people I’ve loved and can’t touch anymore. I dance to talk to God. I don’t pray. I don’t go to Church. But I need to throw myself into infinity. I dance in front of you so that you throw me into a dialogue with myself. To achieve the sincerity that I elegantly avoid when we talk at the table. I dance so I don’t smile at the stuffing. I dance so I don’t cry and somehow drive you away. I dance to feel that I continue to be real and true, important to the world flowing outside of me. I dance to hear the echo of meetings, to have access to the world inside me. I dance because I love you. You and him and everyone else. I dance because in movement I can love you all at once, I can change my hug every second, I can turn it into a slap that doesn’t hurt, and I can run away without you holding me or yelling at me. I dance because I can make you disappear as effectively as I can make another appear. I dance because that way I can talk to everyone who wants to hear me.

I want to dance for her and for you, for the world now and the world to come. For a more sensitive future, where we can be more honest with each other, without hurting ourselves. A future where feelings are anchored in the present and not in ideas and dreams about the future, past or ideal forms.

Why do you dance and for whom?

In these times of isolation, have you danced?

What motivates you to start work on a new show and why does it have to be with, about or through movement?

What does movement bring you that speech does not?

What does a show do to you when you create it? But when you watch it?

Dacă ar fi să convingi lumea să danseze, care ar fi argumentul tău? Are you sure you’re right?

I can’t wait to dance together.

The first body


In 2021, several choreographers told and forwarded to their colleagues questions about the body, the pandemic and the place/meaning of dance for them, in the form of anonymous letters.

Fiecare scrisoare a servit drept inspirație pentru un ilustrator, în crearea unei animații augmentate, pe parcursul atelierelor DANSTOPIC din primăvară, călătorie ghidată de Skeptic Dog Animation și Interfața Umană.

The animation of Letter #1 was created by Alina Cîrciumaru and can be discovered through the Artivive application.
Google Play: https://play.google.com/store/apps/details?id=com.artivive
Apple Store:

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