Danza en espacios habitados.

When we restored this house we never thought that one day someone would dance barefoot on the stone floor or run to the patio to hide in a bunker imaginary. I don't know if that's good or bad, I mean not programming the future. We created the continent without thinking about the content. Luckily this is a living space, where things have been happening for more than three years: theater, music, performance, dance, dance and architecture, as the dancer imagined Avatar Ayuso In 2010, dance in an inhabited space as the choreographer has taught us these days Carlos Miró.

“Joana and Maria”: Childhood, games, memories, love, war in inhabited houses.

Sarah Muñoz, Silvia Perez, Martina Miró and Julia Miró.

Carlos Miró works with space, with time, with memories, with houses that were inhabited, with the emotion provoked by gestures and movement.
Details such as Martina and Julia's disheveled hair, Silvia's look as she closes the doors of the bunker in the courtyard or the complicit laughter with Sarah are moving. As in good books or in the films we remember, the essential thing is that the spectator feels identified at some point with what he sees. It doesn't take much, "Joana i Maria" talks about two sisters in the past, in the present that we sense no longer exists through details of life that we all understand: fighting over a toy or putting the dishes on the table. Everything takes place in a house. We are not in a theatre, so it is doubly evocative.

Who doesn't have memories of the house they lived in as a child, the one with their grandparents, or their cousins? I remember the house of a great-aunt in the centre of Palma: a garden with gnomes, dark furniture, a huge office desk, leather poufs, a peculiar smell, the taste of bread with grated chocolate... I will never forget that house in my life.

“Joana i Maria” in the patio of Can Monroig.

This dance piece created by Carlos Miró and designed for Can Monroig is the second title of his trilogy of war and death that began with “Catalina i Biel”War seems like a distant subject to us, but it isn't. I've never been in a bunker, but my mother and mother-in-law were there during the Second World War. That's why the bombs that ring out at the end, when Joana and Maria lock themselves in the bunker - and we wonder if they'll get out alive - don't leave me indifferent; I associate them again with the small details and memories of my childhood, stories of bread and garlic, butter melted in milk or women with shaved hair, stories that my mother told me about the war when I was a child... no big fuss, no shouts, no shocks... they're not necessary.

Meet a tiny coffin in the middle of the countryside, as happened to Robert and me a few months ago in Cameroon, makes you reflect on life, love, war, death, or whether “Is there life before death?” - as the Irish poet said Seamus Healey whom we will honor shortly in Can Monroig.
This is what all this evokes in me “Joana and Maria"and I think that is no small thing.