Love is a Trojan horse, or maybe, this time, a donkey. In an abstract set which is as alluring as it is reassuring, a series of playlets fade into each other in a minimal drama, structured according to a strict sequence. Up to a certain point, we feel comfortable and in good company. But the dance contains repressed motifs of our choreographic modernity: expressiveness, figurativeness... Each scene works as a living painting, projecting an image that fades away immediately, making us believe, for a moment, that there is a story being told, but leaving us no time to elaborate a meaning or any logic of argumentation. From there, we begin to feel uneasy in front of this regressive figurativeness, close to mime, we must admit that the images feel strangely familiar, almost archetypal, givingno signs of intelligence, allowing no connivence. The harmony of the composition turns out to be an illusion, drawing the spectator beyond his understanding in order to confront him with a series of othernesses which arise in a perpetual present moment.