Anna Fitoussi is a Dance artist based in Stockholm working within dance, music, film and visual arts. Her work revolves around human mythologies, geopolitical histories and migration. In her practice, she researches voice and movement as material, and the way they can alter the body
of the performer as well as that of the audience.

Let’s say there is no beginning


large ship red black sail
founding of a state, available in this room only
an introduction to what is already and always, rhythm. This is a kind reminder



Dørken the doors quickly, or actually take your time. Transitions sometimes need to be pierced, bravely. Preparing is a lifestyle. Do whatever you need, hop and stomp. Summoning something under, outside or inside. This is attempting to say something. It is so unbelievably hard to say something. And so we breathe, and there is breath. A sign for life, and an ultimate form of repetition, fertile ground for remembering.

I wake early this morning, earlier than usual. I quickly make something out of it, finding a reason, drawing conclusions. I wish to write an essay about sleep and rest. How dance can provide such space. Am I awake? Where am I seeing this from?

Hail inhale exhale

Burning pit burning hole ambers whispering a mythology that never began



The time spent in a room, with two. A duo, not a duet.



I’m remembering previous realizations, my mind travels fast in paths it has already taken. The admiration of the insisting body. The bravery in decision making. I’m remembering growing up surrounded by both industry and forest, searching for scraps of plastic waste like digging for diamonds. Jumping into the metallic pool, the trash containers of a big factory. Sharp edges, and small cuts.

The factory is a ship, the industrial engine is in constant pump. Inhale exhale heaven hell. Burning pit burning hole whispering ambers. The factory is breathing and we are building camp from scratch, sharp edges of aluminum pipes, the small cuts from attaching lips to whisper something through it, declaring war or playing music. Attaching eye sockets looking through monocular, finding ways to get closer to details.

Back in the room the Mobius ring and a duo around it, their voices vibrating on their chords. The box that is the head and the chest. This is opium. It’s sending me under, Bye bye butterfly, in strange fashion, stylized coexistence, topographic, it’s a landscape and a soundscape of a consciousness.



I dismantle the back wheel of a bike. Pulling out the inner rubber tube. It’s completely flat. I blow air into the metallic valve and the surface tension is transforming, becoming a round object, full of my breath inside of it, compressed and three dimensional. Searching for the hole in it I fill up a sink with water and some soap. Bubbles will come out where air is leaking.

Enter the flute, a bag of pipes,
Songs are being written at any point in history. This is giving europop 2000

I continue searching for the hole with my ear this time. I might hear the air leaking if I can’t find it with my eyes. I see better with my ears open and eyes closed. one side of my head is scanning while I rotate the rubber hoop with my hands, waiting for the tube to whisper something at me.

BY ANNA FITOUSSI