When did we stop being chil­dren? Did we really do it at some point? Will we ever do it?

NUNAVUT is the pla­ce whe­re we once went, whe­re time remains fro­zen, whe­re gla­ciers last forever.

It is the­re that we learnt to swing from the trees, in lands­ca­pes that don’t grow any trees. It is the­re whe­re we were embra­ced by the mons­ter. It is the­re whe­re our hair was free, tangled.

Will we, once in a whi­le, get to res­cue from obli­vion our way back there?

Nuna­vut means “our strength” or “our land” in the Inuit lan­gua­ge. Ours is the desi­re to proc­laim the crea­tion of spa­ces whe­re peo­ple of dif­fe­rent gene­ra­tions can come together, spa­ces whe­re affec­tion and emo­tio­nal dia­lo­gue can be rekind­led: an attempt to build a uto­pian pla­ce whe­re love, mons­ters and play pre­vail. Whe­re everything comes to a halt, and all that remains is to look and lis­ten. After­wards, everything else happens.

A hybrid artis­tic pro­po­sal that com­bi­nes con­tem­po­rary dan­ce, sound art, plas­tic arts and story­te­lling.