Perhaps this was something that happened to you once in your life. Perhaps one day, when you were young, you got lost in the forest and something happened to you. So in a way, you want to go back to that place to understand what happened to you.
I do not imagine a theater, because I live theater, breathe it in and out; I dream it. But, if I had to imagine a theater, then I'd like to imagine that the languages that have been forgotten, which are still spoken in many parts of the world, would be part of this new playwriting.
It is raw, it is real, it is happening with you in the room and can only be experienced in the “here and now.” It is open to a multiplicity of heres and nows depending on the realities, perceptions, localities... of those present.
A theatre foyer. Night. It is empty. The doors are locked. But if there were a woman there...
Dangling in mid-air like a thrust-out tongue, an oval-shaped rocky surface extends from the mouth of a cave to form a rough-hewn apron stage in the middle of a mountain.
It happened during the pandemic, when private, physical, intimate time was subjected to "state of emergency" regulations. While scrolling through my feed, reading about the severe blow to Israeli democracy, I saw an invitation ...
It’s an experiment in placing the private in public, says the director—a device HE will learn to use well in the many years to come.
Our theatre languages – not one, but many – will reflect the myriad visual, physical, social, musical and storytelling lives of our place and time, in the local vernaculars.
I’m a single lesbian looking for a lover. I’m 44. My favourite food is chops. I make art to make […]
Imagine a theatre of dream interpretation. A manifesto for a theatre of healing stolen cultural memory.