Amelia is a praise of fragility, an invitation to immerse oneself in the dimension of memory and to allow oneself to be crossed by the sense of emptiness that follows its loss.
— Priscilla Pizziol

Two bodies inhabit a single chair. They tell the story of a life lived together, sharing their solitude and attempting to hold onto lived experiences, worlds, and past times. The (non-)narrative unfolds through confused fragments: a continuous flow of memories—and non-memories—to which the two characters try to cling.

The bodies brush against one another, interlock, support each other, and cling together in an effort to preserve remembrance, not to lose those small gestures in which they can still recognise themselves. The story hypothetically moves through different spaces, yet in reality it inhabits only one: the chair. A single object becomes a point of reference to which they return in order to reassemble their past and make sense of the present.

The chair exists, breathes, knows every secret; it becomes the place capable of holding confusion and emotion. In the performance, as in memory itself, time is not linear. The unfolding of recollections merges with a present in which gestures, sounds, faces, and places blend into a blurred constellation of memories.

The work is freely inspired by the dramaturgical investigation of the theatrical and cinematic work The Father by Florian Zeller. The project aims to give shape to a narrative experiment in which body, time, and space are manipulated—an experience shared by performers and audience alike, within the nostalgic pain of absence.

A dialogue between solitudes, yet with a single, unison voice striving to escape loss: of the other, of memory, of meaning.