The Sleeping Queen presents itself as a poetic and symbolic reflection on power, alienation, and awakening. A work that draws inspiration from the universal fairy tale of Sleeping Beauty, but subverts its narrative codes and symbolism to transpose them into a deeply contemporary dimension.
The central figure is not a princess, but a queen: not a young woman awaiting her destiny, but a figure of power and authority who, trapped within her new powers, loses touch with her original purpose and with the people she governs.
The queen of The Sleeping Queen is not struck by a supernatural curse, but by a symbolic wound: power itself, which turns from a tool of construction and listening into a poison, a weight that isolates and numbs her. The “sleep” into which she falls is not a state of enchantment, but a psychological and spiritual condition: the inability to see, hear, and connect with those who depend on her. Enclosed within the walls of her “castle,” the queen lives an isolation that is not only physical but profoundly existential — a place where time seems suspended and dialogue with the outside world has been broken.
If in the original fairy tale the prick of the spindle is the fatal gesture that brings on sleep, here its equivalent is a moment of crisis: an event, perhaps an abuse of power or an action driven by selfishness, that distances her from her own humanity and traps her in a spiral of stasis and self-satisfaction. The “thorns” surrounding the castle are nothing but the invisible barriers built by privilege, fear, and the loss of empathy.
The narrative heart of The Sleeping Queen develops around the theme of awakening: what can shake a figure of power from emotional torpor? In the fairy tale, the prince’s kiss is an external, redemptive act of love. Here, instead, the awakening is an internal process, a return to the essence of the human being living behind the mask of sovereignty. It is a journey of reconnection with reality and with those who, within the hierarchical structure of power, have been ignored or silenced. The symbolic “kiss” is not a romantic gesture, but a direct confrontation with the suffering, rebellion, or even hope of those around her.
The Sleeping Queen stands as a metaphor for contemporary power, questioning how authority can turn into a prison. It is a story about the vulnerability of power and its potential for rebirth: true awakening does not come through force, but through listening, compassion, and the recognition of one’s own fragility. In the end, the queen does not awaken to be saved, but to rediscover herself as a woman, a leader, and, above all, as a human being.
The creative process unfolds as an introspective and social journey, where the dialogue between body, space, and symbol invites the audience to reflect on the meaning of power in the contemporary era. The Sleeping Queen does not simply recount the fall and awakening of a queen — it becomes a universal parable about the need to transform power into a tool for listening and shared creation.
The musical score, based largely on Tchaikovsky’s original composition, takes shape as a process of sonic exploration in which Jaconello decodes certain moments of Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky’s original structure, transmuting it through a contemporary lens.
Ph. Paolo Laudicina
