The balloon journey is like the journey of life: it is the wind that leads, you know where you start, but not where you get to. We know the place of detachment from the earth, but not where we will embrace it again.But we will certainly land somewhere: in an unexpected place, perhaps a little rough, perhaps unusual, perhaps not well attainable. The sea with its breath. Whales with their breath.... men with their forced breath..,All under an immense sky. Dance is a poem in which every word translates into a movement.... this is your soul made of colors and folklore. A painting that looks like it's made with the fingers of one hand. Hands have their own ancient memory if you leave them free to dance on the canvas they almost seem to paint on their own, they know how to move, they know what rhythm to take... Hands have a direct thread with our most authentic and profound part, they connect us to the eternal child who lives within us, to our source of creative energy.
