Nous sommes là

The Lost Walks, a wheelbarrow and bottles, a Cyr Wheel and balls, some hoops and skittles. Who knows how many other things more or less.

It will dance, it will slide, it will contact, while violating the space. The fall! We stop then we caress each other, we caress with balls or a dance, with some words, we follow each other at dawn. We listen to each other over and over again with glances, we dance in oblivion, then we launch ourselves. Chaos! Supreme Master of all new things, touch us for a second and we will surrender to your feet […].

[…] Lost walks, nothing new under the sun. They are two human beings who try to love each other at the same time as they try to love the world and then themselves.

The Lost Walks

Balades Perdues, we are all in the same wheelbarrow, lost but we walk. We walk, we trot, we run, we roll, we fall! But we are walking around… and lost! We walk around without north since it is only an illusion. Often we are lost and we don’t really know how to find ourselves, since we are always lost. The north is for the fools of a lie. We live, to be lost. Lost walks means, we are alive, because life goes like this! From improvisation to improvisation. Nothing is due, everything is to be learned, to be taken. Let’s face it, we’re still lost, we play at loving this, with our looks of what we know best, our daily breaths. Live!

Every imbalance is a new momentum… and we’re here…