There's something magical about art that asks you to stop performing and just *be*. Adia Anselmi's *Olha pra mim* (*Look at Me*), showing at Arts On Site in NYC through October 1, does exactly that, and honestly, I'm here for it. The piece, a duet between Anselmi and the AOS Founder, uses a metal geodesic dome as its centerpiece, and draws on a lecture by Brazilian psychiatrist Ângelo Gaiarsa about fundamental human needs. It explores mutual support and the raw desire to be seen. Not to be watched, admired, or judged, just seen. That's a different kind of vulnerability, and it takes guts to put that on a stage. If you've ever felt like you're only visible when you're performing some version of yourself, this sounds like a mirror you didn't know you needed.
This emphasis on being held by another person, literally and emotionally, speaks to something we talk about all the time in our own community: the line between showing up strong and letting yourself be soft. The Chicago Dance Company Celebrates New Works and Rising Talent in 2026-27 Season season is full of bold, outward-facing premieres, and the Martha Graham Dance Company Finds New Home, Inspires in Times Square is about legacy and visibility on a massive scale. But Anselmi's piece flips the script: it asks what it means to show up without showing off. That's a radical act in a world that tells women we have to be go-go-going, curating, posing, constantly proving our worth. I love that she's using a philosophical framework, Gaiarsa's work on human needs, to ground something as intimate as a duet. It says our need to be seen isn't vanity; it's survival.
Here's my take, and I'll say it straight: we spend so much energy trying to be *looked at* that we forget what it feels like to be *held*. Anselmi's piece isn't about fitness or beauty routines, but the lesson translates. In our own lives, whether we're sweating through a pole session or experimenting with a new skincare ritual, we can get obsessed with how we look from the outside. The best self-care, though, is the kind that reminds you your value isn't in the reflection. The moment you stop performing and let someone really see you, messy, tired, imperfect, that's where connection lives. That's where strength gets real.
The final show is October 1, and I'd tell any reader in NYC to go with an open heart and leave your armor at the door. Watch how the dome frames the dancers, how it holds them. Then ask yourself: where in your life are you hiding behind the show? The concrete takeaway here is simple, being seen is not the same as being known. And if this duet can help one person feel less alone in that truth, it's done its job. For the rest of us, maybe it's a nudge to put down the phone, look someone in the eye, and just say, "I see you." That's a pretty fierce kind of love.
