On the roof of a carpark in Farringdon, London, above the city streets, a woman stands alone. The woman has been running, jumping, twirling, now she is standing still. Adrift in thoughts.
A space of silence surrounds her as she slowly, surreptitiously, glides into soft movement. As if thinking aloud with her arms, legs, torso, as if piecing something together in her mind and unconsciously acting it out in her body, she tiptoes into expression. Carefully introverted, under the vast sky, on the roof in the midst of miles of city. The red lights on skyscaper tops are mirrored by the beams lighting her small scale arena in the car park.
The drumbeat reaches out again, gains intensity as it resounds through the pulse of each of the many people standing around her to watch, and the woman rejoins forces with the other women, the women that will dance with her, relentlessly, joyously, to exhaustion.