Sometimes, to understand a relationship, you don’t look at the words—you listen to the rhythm.
Souvenirs does exactly that: It brings together the moments when two people miss each other and the mesmerizing moments when they meet on the same frequency.

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From its very first scene, this physical theatre performance sketches the emotional map of the next seventy minutes:
a woman seeking attention, a man too exhausted to give it.

A woman who withdraws…
A man who finds the energy again, just to not lose her…

But in vain.
All he had to do was be there—when she was there, waiting.

A Relationship Unfolding Within a Song

Then, the song we keep hearing throughout the performance enters:

“Hear it in your tone
You’re slowly letting go
Are you turning off your phone?
Feelings turned cold”

With these lyrics, we are taken back to the early days of the relationship—to the thrill of meeting, of flirting.

The song becomes both an anthem of an inner search
and a symphony of two people unknowingly searching for each other.

People listening to the same music in different places—
unaware of one another, yet walking toward each other.

The Secret of Harmony: Technique or Magic?

One question stayed with me throughout Souvenirs:
How is it possible that two people, performing on entirely different planes, achieve such a powerful sense of harmony?

Anthony and Claire’s physical presence on stage is accompanied by
the images projected onto the screen through the camera
and the shadows sculpted by light.

Each creates its own layer of performance.

This multi-layered structure fractures our sense of time and space, carrying the performance into another dimension.
It feels as if we are inside an invisible frequency between two people—
a living resonance.

And it is this resonance that allows emotion to pass directly to the audience.

While the interplay between stage, camera, and shadow often flows seamlessly,
there are moments when the focus is deliberately blurred.
At times, I found myself asking: Where should I be looking right now?

This ambiguity seems like a natural outcome of the performance’s layered structure,
though, on rare occasions, it slightly disrupts the narrative flow.

Perhaps this comes from the performers’ effort to adapt to shifting atmospheres between scenes under different technical conditions.

And yet, despite these rare moments,
the world the performance builds keeps pulling you back in—again and again.

No matter where I look, I find myself feeling the same things:
wonder and admiration.

A Performance Born from Life

Anthony—who has been drawn to images since childhood, who dreams of directing, who carries a love for Charlie Chaplin—
and Claire—who has always imagined herself existing on stage…

This performance is not merely constructed.
It is drawn directly from their lives.

Which is why it feels almost impossible to think of Souvenirs independently from Anthony and Claire.

Their willingness to place their relationship—raw and unfiltered—onto the stage raises a question:

What does it feel like for two people, who dare to follow their childhood dreams,
to find those dreams reflected in each other
and transform them into such a powerful harmony?

The Answer: Practice

After the performance, I asked Claire and Anthony about the secret behind this harmony.

Anthony’s answer was clear:
there is no secret—just hard work, constant practice, and repetition.

It is an answer that makes sense.
And yet, when faced with something this mesmerizing,
you can’t help but wish for something a little more magical.

My Theory: The Music Within

My theory is more romantic.

To me, they each listen to the music within themselves,
building their own perfect performances separately.

That is why, no matter the plane on which they meet,
they become a striking duo.

First, they exist on their own.
Then, that music brings them together—into the same rhythm.

When I shared this thought, Claire laughed and said:
“I’m the perfect one. Anthony isn’t.”

Perhaps the Real Question

Perhaps, both on stage and in life, the real question is this:

To be able to hear your own music first.

And then, to listen to the rhythm of the person you meet within that same music.

Effort and Memory

As Anthony says, a good performance requires repetition and effort.
The same is true for relationships—for life itself.

Trying again, every day.
Believing again.
Struggling again.

And in the end, what remains—from the performance, and from life—

is a suitcase we all carry:
filled with disappointments, joys,
and the memories we could never quite leave behind.