The history in the text (of lobotomies, of white-male explorers, of colonization) becomes compressed: events, accidents, happenstance, and mistakes, become “like layers of snow into a glacier.”
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
Her quizzers and yelps, the need of her sound, the holes in her anger revealed through the unsteady rocking of her delivery, created the tapestry that was her performance.
Suggestions of timeless spaces, Miss-Julie-ish rage, and as I knew from the program, taking up issues of sexual violence.
There is a dizzying effect to the realization / acknowledgement of one’s cringe-worthy actions as white person to date, and Aloha Aloha gives that kaleidoscopic wheel quite the healthy spin.
The act of appropriation at the core of the theatrical encounter becomes, in Sy’s hands, a metaphor for and means of exploring other appropriative encounters and the difficult entanglement, in each, of empathy and violence.
The anxiety vortex of What Makes Us Feel Good shoots one into the black hole of anxiousness.
Wilson says to the container, “Well fuck you,” then to us, “Get ready to run if this explodes, I guess.”
there’s never enough time and we’re always reaching back, trying to remember what it felt like to crack wide open for the first time.
We, as a culture, seem to be searching for answers that black futures may provide us.
The unknown and imagined expanse of space becomes synonymous at times with something like Heaven.
We engulf and tangle with a political idea in a different way than how we listen and respond to a play.