You hear a sound like singing in the distance. Maybe the voice is human: you listen and get closer. In the temptation that the traveler cannot resist, there is an image of perfection: self-containedness, wholeness and self-sufficiency of being.
Man's quest is the collection of parts of himself that he collects (and collects) throughout life. It is a puzzle that is never solved, because what is really that "other" is always missing.
The siren is the realization of a perverse fantasy, a part that always fits, because she herself has no shortage. In its entirety, its image is a magnet for all imperfection, it is the most attractive danger you can approach. Why perverted?
Desire is born from a premonition of its self-sufficiency and an attempt to tear this whole, to mutilate it, or at least to shake it for a moment. The worship of innocence is the desire for its defeat, its surrender. The love and madness associated with the Sirens is the desire to enter her self-sufficient world as harmony spills over into longing.
A siren cannot sing about what she does not know: she does not sing about love, loneliness or the desire to end loneliness. The attraction of lonely beauties lies in the pleasure they feel in their own stay. Self-sufficiency is not only a necessity, it is a way of life that is rounded in the pleasure of existence.
Sailors once followed the magical sounds to the sharp claws that bit into the ship's hull. All those who failed, lost, and laid their lives at their feet drew their doom from their own broken, imperfect, and ever-seeking nature.

On the shore there are creatures, only half-human forms, to which mythology attributes the form of a fish, as well as a bird. Trapped in their own solitude and surrounded by the corpses of the drowned, their throats sing of empty hearts, of desires and longings - this is how we imagine the unsatisfied cries of lonely witches. An indefinable story of screams, voices, singing and words is the performance of Sirens, which is dedicated to them. But those who get too close to their art of living are doomed. Why? Not because they themselves are bloodthirsty avengers, the answer lies in their inviolability. The moment they can unite and comfort human longing, they cease to be muses, the longing is satisfied. (After the siren was able to follow the man, she lost her voice. And he no longer loved her. For only as she is can be an object of desire.) The defensive wall of their solitude is not just rocks - it is their own wholeness.

Is the fabric of the mythological siren still alive in the modern woman? Civilization rhythmically regulates the beat of life, measuring each moment with metronomic precision. The magical sensuality still beats, neither the sea, nor the millennia of denial, nor the medieval forest, nor the industrial revolution, killed it.

Through the movement of the dancers, a search will begin, an unrelenting questioning of one's own body about history, which is written in walking, dancing, singing and thoughts.