About the Work
Once again today, we step onto the stage to meet the audience.
With a long sigh, we begin to dance—a dance like the scream of a white butterfly…

There is a white butterfly.
A white butterfly dances.
A white butterfly dances a sorrowful dance.
A white butterfly laments.
It screams: "Aigo, Aigo, Aigo."

We are moving. We are singing. We are running. We are rolling. We are colliding. We are speaking. We are dancing.
We are always moving, running, rolling, colliding, singing, laughing, crying, speaking… dancing.
We see the taxidermied audience gathered beyond the stage. We want to place hearts into their chests. We want to ignite their hearts, make them beat again.
We want to meet the audience with pounding hearts, red blood, and rough breathing.

An audience whose hands sweat when we sweat. An audience that gasps for breath when we exhale harshly. An audience that hurts when we fall, laughs when we smile, flies across the stage when we leap, and cries with us when we collide, roll, scream, and weep.

We want to revive the audience we once turned away from and meet them again.
Through desperate struggle, ceaseless movement, through songs that scream, through bodies that run, roll, sing, cry out, fall, limp, and dance—we want to meet them beyond the stage.
Once again today, we step onto the stage to meet the audience. With a long sigh, we begin to dance—a dance like the scream of a white butterfly.

Review
"The Scream of the White Butterfly – Aigo is, as its title suggests, a scream and a cry. Sound becomes gesture, and gesture screams together with sound... There are refined gestures and songs, and also broken, shattered gestures and songs. The dancers run, roll, collide, shout songs at the top of their lungs, and scream. The Scream of the White Butterfly is a scream toward communication." — Kim Seo-in, Dance Forum, March 2003