Ballet of the Living Dead 

This is my story of dead trees coming to life - performing a silent ballet in the stillness of winter. It was a snowy, fog-shrouded day when I hiked through a forest that no longer stood as it once did. A couple of years ago, it fell victim to a fire, leaving behind a skeleton of blackened trunks and branches twisted into bizarre, almost sculptural forms.

Yet under the right conditions—soft snow, thick fog, and gentle light—these lifeless trees seemed to come alive again. Their contorted shapes instantly reminded me of dancers mid-performance, frozen in graceful poses. And with that image in my mind, the idea for this project was born. 

The performance begins with an adagio—three dancers moving slowly and expressively, setting the tone. It builds up to a solo: the prima ballerina, striking an arabesque, and then seems to be reaching for the stars with delicate strength. In another moment, a tree spins in a ghostly pirouette, stretching out to a young sapling growing nearby - a symbol of regeneration of this forest. In the distance, silhouettes form an ensemble of background dancers. Meanwhile two trees lean toward each other, transitioning into a pas de deux as a grand finale. At the end of the performance, the ensemble gathers in a soft spotlight on stage, revealing their scars, charred bark and broken limbs left by the fire. Afterwards the ensemble retreats back into the thick fog.