Author: Immanuel J

For a story honoring the history within the water, I am struck by the wind.  It’s 12:30 pm on a breezy Saturday afternoon in the Bronx. The days leading up to between wave and water are a swell of persistent heavy rainfall that stings of glaciers. Today, though, it feels as if the Bronx is…

My performance practice has been affectionately described by a mentor as sisyphean–cyclical, futile, pointless and yet entirely necessary.  Necessary for what-and-whom? I ask.  As punishment for his crimes, Sisyphus was banished to the never ending task of rolling a boulder up a hill which inevitably crashes down. His labor is his punishment. What is it…