Balanced on her shoulders, with back to the audience and feet skyward, dancer and choreographer Luna Cenere’s bare back appears first as a monolithic Easter Island face. With subtle movements, and aided by Gaetano Battista’s lighting, Cenere makes it seem to wink and smile, even. It’s an intriguing image – having watched so many bodies this one is watching us. What does it know? What can it tell us? A voiceover whispers ‘I have no tongue’, so whatever it is will be told through the body only.
Moving with sustained precision, she takes on sculptural, organic shapes. Spider fingers creep across the landscape of her back, while sounds of wind and stones call sand dunes to mind. Larva-like, she writhes on the floor, longing for metamorphosis, but when she rises to her feet the solo loses some focus and intensity.
Sensual and solitary, Cenere’s Kokoro is beguiling, if a touch uneven. Her procession towards a shaft of light off stage draws the eye. Where is she going next?
The human body is so familiar to us – our own, and others – it seems impossible that Italian dancer and choreographer Luna Cenere could show us something we don’t already know. And yet she does, over and over again.
Illuminated by a single spotlight, she first appears in a shoulder stand, head and legs tucked away like secrets she has yet to share. A torso of curves and muscular undulations becomes crab-like, as limbs slowly unfurl horizontally, stretched long and wide.
Each move is an anatomical surprise, taking her naked body back through evolution with gentle arms that flap like fins and twitching shoulder blade wings.
Despite Cenere’s body remaining anonymous throughout, by the end it feels as if we know her intimately. And although it loses its way towards the end – inexplicable high kicks – Kokoro leaves an indelible print.