sharing rhythm creates a political question about who determines rhythm and when trio in unison, with the possibility of becoming either backup dancers or soloists open-ended and absurdist and nonsensical shame as part of gaze
The sun filters through and different hues dance on the table top and blind my eyes. I’m busy but I’ve stopped, and I run my finger softly over it. Its surface, as smooth as a mirror, seems to form a meniscus around my fingers and just for a moment I’m not sure where it begins and I end.
A theatre foyer. Night. It is empty. The doors are locked. But if there were a woman there...
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.
We Balconies will continue to sing our endless songs, our revolutionary shouts and pings: “Other worlds are possible even in impossible times!”
It must be with the sound of bells, bells that play longer than usual, which we perceive more clearly because […]
Can we compose a performance that sails to you across a virtual arc, like these words, with the harp vibration of a telegraph, and no risk of contagion? How do we shrink this microscopic stage?
THE TROUBADOUR THE VIRGIN THE STALKER THE DRUNK THE VIOLIN MAKER
The play begins / The play does not begin.
Lights up on a bare stage enveloped in a heart-shaped frame. Five trans girls over the age of 40 enter holding hands and flirting under bright light.