(photo by Isabel Wagemann)
Dance.
Bright, sharp, fierce dissection of fabrics, hair and papers. As useful to prune grass, nails and pieces of chicken. Metal and menacing in the hands of the hairdresser. Helpful and accurate in the hands of the seamstress. Silly, between sheets of colors and origami. Dull as bipedal useless in the kitchen. Oxide and forgotten in a desk drawer. Deformed mutants. With good eyes to pick a flower and give it to you. Twisted zigzag with a smile, looking perhaps a language for profiling. Gloomy silver legs dancers who begin their terrible dance. Scissors crying and screaming that no, they never. Fleeing the sewing scissors and zipping inside. Whispers and laughter. Scissors perfect and rigid, leaving dazzling hiding. Greedy, bend my right hand and forced to follow them. Brutal, when sink their jaws, without remorse, in white butter on your back.
Isabel Wagemann
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