She mourns and then she is fully present, looking right through you, dancing with abandon.
The Resuscitation of Rhapsody; or, Can Anybody Make Art Anymore Without Someone Comparing it to Game of Thrones: On Icarus in the L.E.S. by Nic Adams
The severed head of Homer has been degraded, discarded in wintry sidewalk snow mounds and forgotten inside the walk-in refrigerator of some swank restaurant before being hung on a meat hook above the bath tub.
If male artists were to spend the rest of their lives critiquing–as directly as this play critiques–the patriarchal authority of the Western canon, they would never run out of material.
A never-ending stream of hypnotic ghosts.
Dancing with Ghosts: Trajal Harrell’s Becoming/Chanelling/Voguing Kazuo Ohno/Tatsumi Hijikata/Antonia Merce
A new way of being, a new world emerges, one of infinite possibility, as the current one is upended.
A long time into the future, slowly: Emily Johnson’s “Then a Cunning Voice and A Night We Spend Gazing at Stars”
“There is no end to the work we begin here.”
Assaulted by sound. A noisescape that experientially presented embodied anxiety. Mic stand dialogue, alienating and surprisingly all the more evocative for it. Shit hanging from the ceiling. A donut that somehow is both a murder weapon and the patriarchy itself? A potato that is both
it was about our bodies.
no, it was about our wildness.
as if you could divide them.
I am seeing the iPhone ghost faded into Mark’s jean pocket. We see each other.
He is seeing each one of us.
“Nostalgia” is appealing because its outlines are blurry, soft, malleable; it is easy to romanticize the past because you can pick and choose the parts of them you want to recall.
“What are we even trying to save!?”
We have long had a fascination with what our culture’s celebrities do behind closed doors. What nicknames do they use? What junk food do they like? Yeah but how do they talk to each other, really? These are just some of the many questions Gemma