Bebe Vio fences like she is buffeted by the storm – but she is the storm. A curling, bending, surging force, looping backwards like a high jumper, tipping forward on the attack, chair clinging to the ground by its wheel grips.
“You see the world in another way when you have the mask on,” she once said. “My favourite world is with the mask on.” But all worlds are fallible, and in the echoing grandeur of the Grand Palais on Wednesday afternoon, a dream slipped away.
