Silent ballet
It's as if silence takes refuge underwater, weaving an inaudible tapestry that transcends human comprehension. The creatures dance in a silent ballet. In this submerged realm, silence is not absence, but a palpable presence that envelops every creature there. It's a silence that surpasses the barrier of language, an echo that resonates in the depths, as if the waters, in their whispering tranquility, held the mysteries of the universe in their liquid embrace...
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In Othello, Shakespeare creates in Iago a singular figure: someone capable of fabricating realities out of fragments. His power lies not in lying, but in constructing plausible narratives. From scattered signs and suggestions, he produces a version of events that comes to exist because someone believes in it.
Something similar happens here.
The children who appear in these images never existed. The scene never took place in the way we see it. And yet, we recognize something familiar within it. The water, the masks, the gestures, and the gazes come together to form a silent narrative that seems to carry a collective memory.
Like Iago in Othello, the image constructs a narrative that feels true. Not because it reproduces an event, but because it arranges enough fragments for the imagination to complete the rest.
The bodies are constructed. The experience they evoke is real.