Shimmering beneath the stage lights, a square of material dangles from above. Its edges are perfectly straight, its ability to reflect the changing hues unquestionable. In short, it’s complete, requiring nothing more. So too the man dancing next to it – although our judgemental eyes may think otherwise.
Aristide Rontini was born with half his right arm ‘missing’, but in interviews he explains eloquently that this body is all he’s ever known. So to him, everything is as it should be. Lampyris Noctiluca is a beautiful testament to this; a solo that fuses disability and sensuality (sadly still viewed as taboo by many), power and sensitivity.
For the first ten minutes, we’re not even aware of Rontini’s limb difference, as he winds his body in and out of the shadows. When he finally appears, his arms move with such speed and dexterity, it would be ludicrous to suggest he’s anything less than ‘whole’. Shedding his clothing he is both vulnerable and statuesque, a complex multi-faceted creature, just like everyone else.
Kelly Apter
Suspended by wires from the top of the stage, a sheet of silver foil glows under dim stage lights. Its delicate gleam sets a reflective tone for Aristide Rontini’s Lampyris Noctiluca, an intimate meditation on diversity and self-discovery. When the artist appears, a rich upper-body vocabulary of angular gestures unravel. Rontini caresses his body, at once discovering and honouring it – drawing subtle attention to the natural asymmetry of his arms in a quiet yet powerful rejection of normative physical ideals. As time passes, the strokes become more sensual; the movement softens, losing its geometric sharpness and turning into flowing, wavelike patterns.
Rontini’s body fades in and out of half-light, first fully clothed, then gradually undressing. His nakedness evokes the image of a weathered Greek statue – marked by time but retaining beauty and strength. Though the performance occasionally lingers too long on certain images, blurring emotional impact, the final sequence brings everything into focus: he carries a length of pink fabric in his mouth, disappearing and reemerging through it like a cocooned figure in transformation. By the end, standing upright in a skirt, a new self seems to emerge.
Maria Chiara de Nobili
It is hard to take your eyes off a burning fire; sometimes unexpected visions emerge. That’s how Aristide Rontini’s Lampyris Noctiluca begins – with us staring into the glowing haze. But that sharp gaze is replaced by a blurred image.
A shimmering gauze hangs on stage, reflecting the light and creating a mirage that leaves the artist in the shadows on the other side of the scene. Missing his right arm from the elbow down, Rontini has learned to live in such a way that this singularity is nearly invisible. At first glance, it’s difficult to notice, as the artist masterfully conceals it with perfect control of his body.
Then, like an illusion, he lulls us into a dreamy state, his habitual circular hand movements making us believe, for a moment, that he has two fully functioning limbs.
The dancer emerges as a figure of quiet allure, with stage lights transforming him into a statue, reminiscent of Roman times. Sensual movements, like his hand gliding from crotch to neck, captivate.
Yet, when he reappears nude, our imagination falters. Though Rontini’s presence conveys a quiet intensity, the skirt-like garment inspired by Martha Graham and the hint of Loïe Fuller’s Fire Dance add layers of complexity. These elements, while intriguing, somewhat dilute the raw power of the moment.
Dmitrijus Andrušanecas
A survival blanket sways gently stage right, suspended mid-air. It reflects a pink hue as blue light bathes the darker stage left. Aristide Rontini emerges from the pitch-black backdrop. Dressed in dark spanks, it seems his torso, arms and head are floating above the stage. The music evokes 90s muzak and a faint eeriness, while his body channels Bauhaus-inspired movement: clear lines, sharp angles – a modernist precision in motion. With his left arm painting straight lines, the right moves with growing suavity, gradually softening the whole body as he undresses, almost imperceptibly.
He disappears, only to reemerge crawling, a piece of cloth in his mouth. It transforms into a veil, then a dress – strategically concealing, then revealing. His sex is tucked away, reshaping his body into an androgynous form.
As Rontini – a performer with a limb difference – moves through pink and blue light, the work explores binaries and disruptions. But what if he refused the frame altogether? Can normalcy be challenged without beginning from the mainstream gaze?