the time taken to memorize
the distance between yourself and the thing
change is only legible in relation:
use another genre
invite another idea into yours because of what it does
What happens when we imagine the edifice, those galleries, walkways, lobbies, and that state-of-the-art theater, no longer in its current use?
a set of influences (past, present)
a world within it that normalizes (and makes impressive) certain tropes or gimmicks
the subtext of “blackness as worse than the worst thing imaginable” in this sick fantasy
making the hatred clear but doing nothing about its putridness amongst the rubble
When going about business-as-usual loses its cohesion, but the building still stands?
looking for the scales to tip, looking for ways to draw the boundary
only write when you want to share a revelation, a moment of surprise, with other people
start with concept, then medium
rehearsal is all talk, get to the movement
decide what kinds of gaps need filling
When moss grows over it all and we have to choose to climb through the structure together, make it safe for children again?
welcome the audiences to share and move through the stage space
create the “illusion” of a performance in a dark theater
move out of it, ignore its usual uses
(categories are/as lineage)
Will it still be a useful place? (Do the speakers and lights still work? Can we crack a hole in the ceiling to let in more light?)
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
Will we let each performance make its mark — hack out part of a staircase here, paint that wall turquoise, bring our own furniture, put in shag carpet (or finally take it out)?
living death (we’ve gotten used to dying), living with it
care and the carceral
a solo aligned with therapy
dancer not as victim but as person
entering the stage after silence
Who will show up to use it after the signage and logos have fallen off? What will they believe about what being together to make or watch a performance requires?
ask them to reinvent some piece of the museum’s conditions
what has this artifact been conditioned to narrate?
breathing archive into the present
given enough time, sweat through to the past
ancestor work is trickster work
disorientation practices, habits and behaviors
pressure and traction, consonants and vowels
love notes
levitating, like baptism
who do we allow to think our problems out loud?
(we can’t fill in the imaginations of people for them)
Are these unreasonable questions?
how to put your pulse back up your sleeve
the difficulty that propels us to perform
What tenderness do their answers inspire toward the work to be done in the present, under — or because of — the circumstances?
perhaps we are past help
but where, exactly?
Note: The elements of this piece in italics were inspired by a conversation with artist C. Davida Ingram.