There are two of them on stage, but there could be hundreds or thousands. Together, they start off unsteady, sick, sometimes happy, throwing themselves forward—perhaps for the better, but most likely for the worse. Against them stands an adversity we can only sense, yet know nothing about. As we wait to learn more, the audience is left simmering. Heroines—at times invincible, at times tragically vulnerable—push forward, resist, sometimes collapse, but fight relentlessly until their strength is completely drained. In a winding path of triumph and weakness, hope and disillusion blend in equal measure.
C’est toi qu’on adore is a cry of hope, where the body exults in what it holds most dear: the vital force that keeps us standing, indifferent to everything else. Here, the destination no longer matters; the arrival is merely the mirage of where the journey began. This choreography, too, conceals within it a hidden fire—something deeper and more significant than its final moments, something worth rising for and insisting upon.
