

An empty university dance studio at seven in the morning, grey light, nobody else in the building. The camera is on the floor and the whole grey marley floor runs away from it; the two of them are small, over to the right. She sits on the floor with her back against the mirror in a black camisole leotard, black footless tights and a grey knit wrap, one knee up and one leg long, a notebook face down beside her, watching. A male student of about twenty, in the standard men's uniform - a black tank top and plain black fitted shorts to mid-thigh, bare arms, bare legs, bare feet, stands ten steps away mid phrase, one arm dropping, his weight over one leg, caught between two positions. Neither is looking at the camera and neither at the other's face - he is looking at the floor, she is looking at his supporting hip. On the far side a heavy fire door with a small window stands propped open with a rolled towel and the corridor light beyond it is the only warm thing in the picture. Camera at floor level, wide, well back. flat grey morning light, one warm slot in the doorway, deep focus, everything sharp. In the lower right corner, a pencil signature: Ziggy