If words always become rebelious when I speak of movement, on this occasion they are even more unfitting.
Words are not made to speak of movement, they are too precise for me, too arbitrary, and everything that would be beautiful to say in words, is incapable of explaining what happens, and what happens expressed in words is complicated or makes irrellevant the thought behind the movement.
Speaking of El Somriure, a game that seeks the viewer's complicity -like everything, really, that we share with others-, I will not make use of words.
I'll cite some authors whose fragments reflect thoughts on this dance piece. For example,
It would be interesting to see what the journey would be like in reverse: to be born in dust and worms, to grow up from old age to youth, to reach infancey full of experience and obtain, in the end, the warm rest of the maternal womb.
Recorregut Invers (Inverse journey)
Rafel Argullol, El caçador d’instants.
When we go deep inside the labyrinth of the future we already know that a Minotaur will always be waiting. This does not justify our fear of the future but rather the need of having previously obtained Ariadne's complicity.
El Minotsure espera (The Minotaur awaits)
Rafel Argullol, El caçador d'instants.
I put one foot in front of the other. I put one word in front of the other, and for each step I take I add another word, as if for each word to be spoken there were another space to be crossed, a distance to be filled by my body as it moves through this space. It is a journey through space, even if I get nowhere, even if I end up in the same place I started. It is a journey through space, as if into many cities and out of them, as if across deserts, as if to the edge of sorne imaginary ocean, where each thought drowns in the relentless waves of the real.
Paul Auster, White Spaces.