YOU CAN (not) REDO

The work unfolds as a secular ritual, a ceremony that both celebrates and deconstructs the cult of repetition and contemporary spectacle.

Eleven figures in gold, anonymous beneath black helmets, stand in a circle around a simulacrum of consumption: popcorn, magnified beyond measure and transformed from a popular snack into a totemic object. The gold of the suits suggests both preciousness and artificiality, turning the body into a purely scenic function.

In the initial silence, time seems suspended. The choir begins Smells Like Teen Spirit, a generational anthem of rebellion, here stripped of its electric sound and reduced to a purely vocal structure. Repeated eight times, the song gradually empties itself of meaning, becoming an obsessive litany in which repetition replaces expression.

During the first rendition, the skaters remain motionless, like devotees awaiting a signal. Slowly they begin to move, lifting the popcorn-simulacra and gliding through the space, dissolving the boundary between performer and audience. The ritual becomes spectacle; life and stage collapse into one another.

At a certain moment the choreography breaks. Without warning, some of the golden figures approach spectators, raise the visors of their helmets and whisper: "This is really dangerous."

The gesture is brief and ambiguous. What is dangerous? The contact? The ritual? Or the endless repetition of gestures emptied of meaning?

The performance concludes with the return of the objects to the pedestals. The eleven figures form a wide circle at the perimeter of the space and stop. The circle dissolves, distances reopen, and the golden figures retreat to the margins like silent witnesses.