Dear Joan
A theatre foyer. Night. It is empty. The doors are locked. But if there were a woman there...
Archives
I Mumble the Body Electric,
or (i)Phone, (u)Phone
We hear an undeniably human voice. First a few. Then hundreds. Then thousands. Then all of the human voices in the world, all at once.
The heightened impossibilization of performance : Gloss
After almost three weeks of “sheltering in place,” I noticed that an entire layer of language has been sliced off from my life. The texture of language consists not only of words, but of touches, gestures, bodily postures, smells, ambiance, and even the weather.
A Moby Dick Search and Rescue: The Whale
Hi Hey hi Hey hey hi
Correspondence
URGENT - WINTER WEATHER MESSAGE / HELLO FRIEND
Correspondence : Gloss
Maybe these letters and numbers help me imagine a catastrophic snowfall in Shelby County, KY, or the action in Correspondence. But really the numbers aren’t for me. They’re for my laptop.
A Reproduction (all the ghosts were children) : Gloss
The more I travel this story with them, the more and more familiar it becomes; more and more a part of my imagination, and less and less what it was when I encountered it.