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    The Encounter With Vilelmini: A True Moment of Connection

    A chance meeting with Vilelmini, a dancer and cognitive scientist, led to an unforgettable experience. Capturing the rare moment when art, technology, and human connection converge — where a dancer’s heartbeat becomes the rhythm of shared movement, vulnerability, and creative surrender. This portrait series reveals the courage to let another’s pulse shape one’s own expression, opening a new chapter of intimacy and transformation.

    This was more than dance or photography — it was a human story.

    Athens, Greece | 2025

    First Act:
    Pheobe The Cat

    Vilelmini was, in the truest sense of the word, one of those chance encounters. How random? Very. The friend of a neighbor’s friend, who was visiting Athens for the summer. That random. Actually, it was the friend’s cat, Phoebe, who first connected us — a curious little visitor who wandered onto our balcony late one evening, looking for a few cuddles. Otherwise, I might never have known she existed. That was when everything began.

    Our second meeting was even briefer: a few seconds in the doorway as she headed to class. But those few seconds were enough to feel something. Even though her eyes were hidden behind large dark sunglasses, there was a clear energy emanating from her — an aura. I could physically sense it — a very particular posture, a tension in the air. At the time, I didn’t yet know that this presence was the result of her years of dance training.

    Later that day, I learned more about her — and was even more impressed. She had trained at the Athens Conservatory, danced with the Albano Ballet Company for two years, and won awards at international competitions. Yet she was more than a dancer: she holds a Ph.D. in Computer Science and Cognitive Computing from Rutgers University and now explores the edges where art and technology meet.

    Vilelmini moves effortlessly between worlds — or, better yet, she weaves them together: dancer, thinker, explorer. Her venture, Invisible Soma, transforms the invisible rhythms of the body — heartbeat, temperature, skin conductance — into live audio-visual experiences.

    I grew curious. Very curious. And I knew: I absolutely wanted to photograph her. 

    At that point, she had no idea. I informed her friend about my plan. Maybe they talked about it because shortly after, she asked for my Instagram profile — presumably to show Vilelmini. I hoped my artistic approach and style would come across — and soon after, I took the chance and messaged her directly. What followed was a bit of a rollercoaster. First she did not answer my messages. Then two last-minute cancellations. To this day, I don’t know if she was uncertain or if it simply didn’t work out. I didn’t want to be any more pushy than I already had been. After all, we barely knew each other.

    So after the second rejection, I let it go. Before that, I had been sure she understood my vision — but afterward, I began to wonder what I could have done differently. In the end, I made peace with the idea that sometimes, artistically, things just don’t align — that the universe simply doesn’t want it to happen. And I would turn out to be right, though in a completely different way.

    Meanwhile, I turned my focus to a shoot with a young redhead Ukrainian actress I’d met earlier — her face unforgettable, distinctive, and striking. But fate had other plans.

    Out of nowhere, Vilelmini reached out, surprising me. She invited me to a workshop — her workshop. And as if her message shifted something in the universe: The actress canceled shortly after, leaving me free to focus entirely on her.

    Second Act:
    The Workshop

    The room was bright, spacious, and atmospheric. While Vilelmini set up the equipment — sensors, laptop, sound system — I sensed a certain tension in her. I tried to break the ice, but she was too focused and literally gave me the cold shoulder. Now I understand — what looked like a random dance workshop to me was so much more for her. This whole project is everything to her — it is her body, mind, and soul.

    She had performed the concept multiple times before, but this time was different: For the first time, she wouldn't be the only one wearing the sensor that transmitted her heartbeat acoustically — instead, she would place it on someone else’s chest, broadcasting their pulse into the space. And I had the chance to be part of it—all because of the cat, and my own brand of stubborn persistence.

    The workshop began with a short warm-up and a meditation, reminiscent of Yoga Nidra. The room grew quiet, each breath slowing, each movement small and deliberate. Then the participants began to explore each other through mindful touch — eyes closed, gentle, respectful, moving almost in slow motion, as if learning the other person’s presence by feel alone. Boundaries softened, touch became its own language, delicate yet expressive.

    This quiet journey grew into movement — exploratory, unplanned, instinctive — their hands keeping them connected. The sound they followed was not regular music, but a heartbeat: Vilelmini’s pulse, transmitted live and woven into the electronic music in real time by a sound engineer.

    The air felt charged — a mix of concentration, unspoken emotion, and the intensifying sound that built upon the heartbeat. I photographed as I had many times before — from the very beginning with dark sunglasses on, deliberately keeping my distance. I didn’t want to communicate, since they were meant to ignore me — or better, not even register my presence. My role was to disappear into the background, to become another object in the room.

    I moved slowly, almost like a shadow, circling them with quiet steps so as not to disturb the fragile atmosphere. My eyes searched constantly for the perfect intersection of light and movement, trying to catch not only shapes but the invisible energy that pulsed between them.

    For me, this was a completely new experience — not just as a photographer, but as a human being.

    I was fascinated and deeply moved, sensing the intimacy and vulnerability around me, yet deliberately keeping my distance. It was a rare chance to listen inside another person — acoustically, physically, palpably. I could feel my own heartbeat subtly aligning, sensing something I rarely perceive in others — a resonance that spread almost physically within me.

    What started tender and tentative soon became organic, like a single being with many arms, many breaths. I could sense a deeper — almost spiritual — connection forming between them. Their movements grew increasingly fluid and natural, drawing closer, intertwining, becoming ever more intimate. The music followed the heartbeat, surging with each faster pulse. By the time it climbed past a hundred beats per minute, the rhythm had reached its peak, then dissolved. What followed was a catharsis that could be felt throughout the studio.

    After a short break, the moment finally arrived. She placed the sensor gently, right above the other girl’s heart. And for the first time, Vilelmini would experience her concept through the rhythm of someone else’s life. In the next breath, she surrendered to the unknown — letting a stranger’s pulse shape her art. It was a courageous, open act, one that deepened the intimacy of the entire experience, making it feel almost alive. For the next few minutes, she would let herself breathe with the rhythm, allowing the rise and fall of the heartbeat to guide her awareness.

    The girl stood still for a heartbeat, listening — and then the music took her. A few minutes later, she lost herself in the dance, fully absorbed in the music and the shared heartbeat, moving with a freedom and joy that electrified the room. Gradually, her pace quickened, each movement feeding the next, until she was whirling through the entire space in a state of pure ecstasy. The sensor on her chest, slick with sweat and jolted by the force of her motion, threatened to come loose; instinctively, she pressed it to her heart with one hand, as if holding the moment in place, willing it to last just a little longer.

    Third Act:
    The Portrait That Wasn’t One

    The workshop was a full success — not just as an artistic experiment, but as a moment of genuine connection, transformation, and shared humanity. At the end, we sat in a circle. Feedback time. Vilelmini was different — relaxed, centered, present. Her earlier tension had given way to a quiet calm. I saw a new side of her. A real one.

    As I sat there, I watched through the large windows as the sun slowly set. Golden hour. That special light, so rare — and so fleeting. I observed the window of time closing, hoping the last comment would come soon so I could use the remaining sunlight with her. But it wasn’t meant to be. Slightly disappointed, all I could do was hope that two or three usable shots had been captured earlier.

    Originally, I had planned to photograph Vilelmini in a "posed" portrait — with a clear concept, a mood and energy we would craft together. But the story chose a different shape. Instead of a staged portrait, I captured a genuine moment — a transition, a threshold. I got to witness her at a point where something new was beginning for her — and without realizing it, something new for me as well. And if the universe wills it, maybe there will be a continuation of this story.