miramar is like the name of a promise, one that you can sense from the window of a quaintly dilapidated hotel. It’s a promise that haunts Caspar David Friedrich’s The Monk by the Sea and is rooted in saudade songs. As light arcs and reflects about the stage in a machine-like ballet, a first dancer emerges to inscribe the space, his body held fast to a vantage point. Ten dancers, characters in search of new horizons, join him. Drawn to his gaze, they form the flow that connects and separates him from the power beyond our sight. Yet, between the dancer’s watchful eye from his fixed vantage point and the endless line of the horizon, what can we see? Longing, emptiness or hope from afar, from “over there” or “elsewhere”? It resembles a series of calls from a movement driven by the bond of fiction and abstraction. Following on from Une Maison and En son lieu, the choreography combines the invisible with physical shapes and forms. The figures are halfway between the past and the future, each with separate perspectives shifting, perhaps, to a common yearning.