ABSTRACT
In the pale moonlight, one sees figures dancing. They spin, gavotte across the stage, and fall — never to rise again. Each dancer commands the scene for only a brief moment. Then they are replaced by one of the many 'wallflowers' waiting in the wings. There is a seemingly endless progression of would-be dancers. Our fascination with the danse macabre is not accidental. It speaks to one of the central events of our actuality - the anticipation of our ultimate lack of existence.
