A flamenco day


In the air there existed a kind of sweet and splendid poison, of which it does not hurt us, it only scratches the back of life with a pain that is more pleasure.

The dance is an aesthetic beast, there caged in the stage of the gaze. It is not by chance that the cup that poisons everyday life falls on the stage and in the Flamenco rhythm.

The song that is heard is also heard in the bodies transformed by the sublimity of the movement.
And unmotivated, the ethereal dressing takes off, visiting space-time with another vision, Gypsy fire.

Beliefs and opinions dissolve into a veil of beloved memories, redoing the opalescent beginning, this beginning without beginning, this beginning without end, this self without me.

Carlos França