A tribute to Isadora Duncan

An unlikely procession ritually  prepares the public exhibition of a woman balanced on a pedestal, dangerously  outstretched, venerated yet a prisoner.

Invoked and desired almost like a miracle the dance explodes like rancour too long suppressed, as disfiguring as  a land mine.

Ballerina faun shouting from this deep pink,  towards a god who no longer knows how to dance. But

"mei na madona che bala mal tos chen dio che nol' sa pù balar"

the barefoot carriers  and owners of the pedestal will continue to repeat, deaf and happy.

Michele Abbondanza