Slowly emerging from the darkness of the back of the stage, a dancer, dressed in a tight red dress, almost resembles a mirage. She sways to a measured rhythm of music, reminiscent of the mysterious atmosphere of the famous Twin Peaks restaurant located in a parallel reality. She swings her hips and crosses her knees, shifting from one foot to the other, gradually moving forward, closer to the audience. But she never becomes truly close, material, tangible, always shimmering between reality and illusion. She stretches one arm forward and strokes it with the other hand, then changes the arms, then changes again. She turns her wrists and palms in metronomic movement loops, demonstrating herself and at the same time totally taking control of our attention.

Eleven minutes long, Shantala Pèpe’s Carcan is another dance performance on the power and vulnerability of femininity, pure and enchanting. The dancer appears powerful in her hypnotising undulations and defenceless in the trap of self-representation. Repetitive, consistent, and as short as a variety show number, Carcan manages to embody opposing meanings in a form as simple as it is compelling. She catches your gaze, allows you to scrutinise her to an extent that she herself defines, and disappears in the dark as if she didn’t even exist.