A man lies on his stomach in the back of Les Brigittines’ chapel of intimidating dimensions. At first, only his hands move; then he slowly works his way up to a hunchbacked standing position. His head hangs so low that for a long time we only see the back of his skull that almost creates a second identity. Guilhem Chatir’s movement is urgent, involuntary, as he finally reveals his face to us. What is the force driving him?

We can almost hear it before it cuts into the air: the harrowing Sarabande from Bach’s second Partita for solo violin. Like an inflatable tube figure, Chatir collapses and recovers, abandons his body’s will to the music. Later, the soulful dialogue continues to La Chaconne. But when finally the music fades, there’s the inevitable sobering up – only a sense of disorientation is left for both performer and audience.

Purity and beauty that is rarely seen on the dance stage these days, but all the more needed.