The Neck and The Neutral
When it comes to representation, the question of whose vantage point is accepted as the default. Whose story reads as universal?
All posts by Audrey Moyce
Mia Barron on THE WHITE ALBUM
I’ve found it terrifying at times, and surprised about how different it has felt for me. But it’s brought a deeper sort of pleasure, not least of which is that I am so proud of what we’re doing.
Five Questions with Annika Vestel
I like to provoke an internal movement in the audience, something where their inner life or fantasy is activated.
Singlet’s Whole World: Audrey Moyce Responds
Though their insular world went weird, and quickly, I was there, because they were there. Davis and Markey have the attunement to one another that only comes from a sustained exposure to the other’s way of standing, talking, moving, being-in-the-world.
SEAGULLMACHINE: Less Hiccup, More Smash?
When I hear that two pieces have been “smashed together,” I make certain assumptions. If I read “conceived by” or “created by the ensemble,” I expect a piece so thoroughly picked apart and put back together, it barely recognizes the original source material. At the
Moth&Flame: Audrey Moyce Responds
Suggestions of timeless spaces, Miss-Julie-ish rage, and as I knew from the program, taking up issues of sexual violence.
Symphonie Fantastique’s 20th Anniversary
“Nothing happening,” I wrote in a heavy slant down the page, “but I can’t look away.”
AT HOME WITH THE HUMORLESS BASTARD
Wilson says to the container, “Well fuck you,” then to us, “Get ready to run if this explodes, I guess.”
The First, Second, and Third Premiere of HANJO at Japan Society
It’s difficult to write about the show you love.
Confused Amid TOYS
Audrey Moyce responds to TOYS: A DARK FAIRY TALE at 59E59.
PANIC EVERYTHING’S FINE offers catastrophe and coping mechanisms
You could call it an exploration of the butterfly effect on a schizophrenic scale.
Midsummer Mayhem at A.R.T./New York
The bits of conversation that don’t quite work suggest a weirder reality lying under the normalcy we see, a reality which seems to bubble more and more to the surface as the day wears on.