I have long dreamt up elaborate, old-style musicals in which sequinned dancers, donning gorgeous costumes and magnanimous smiles, float effortlessly up and down curved piazza steps. My visions are grainy like in the black and white films that used to screen on television in the late seventies, but with occasional bursts of colourful confetti exploding into the air and then lazily drifting back down over the dancers, in hypnotic homage to gravity.

Sparkling trajectories of backlit water droplets spurt from the fountains. Water and light mingle, two precious and nurturing elements. The joyful movements of the dancers’ bodies obliterate any thoughts of worry and woe in this pleasant fantasy land, a space free from conflict and strife. Dream Choreography represents these worlds to which, as a child, I longed to escape.