Ekphrasis

Dancers flattened to irregular forms suggest a Baconian purgatory of hellish geometry, a liminal state between this world and what comes next. Might we see the Shiva Nataraja and Parvati, imprisoned in Flatland, their graceful moves crushed by the weight of a gas giant perched on the edge of tomorrow? Could the ruby-red teardrop suggest salvation by an unseen Christ, or—more likely—a bloodshedding review of dancers whose two left feet are transparent to all? Well, yes, but let’s heed what’s green-lit: there’s no clear exit when facing the fear of an undiscovered k-hole, from whose disco no dancer returns.