Fellow national curators (myself included) would recognize when our own limitations of history/age/privilege were a barrier and step aside to let others more aligned with an artist or project take over. In this landscape, talented younger artists and curators would receive effective, thoughtful mentorship and training, while those more seasoned would acknowledge and draw inspiration from the energy and ideas of next-generation curators.
What if we define values, principles, and methodologies, resisting the pressure to define outcomes? What if we focus on what drives us and on how we want to live and work together, but leave the imagination open to the concrete shapes our collaboration can take?
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
A theatre foyer. Night. It is empty. The doors are locked. But if there were a woman there...
Duse’s superpower: her capacity to disappear, leaving only her plaster hands as evidence that she was a material presence in the world. Disappearance. Reproduction. She knew the theatrical drill.
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.
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.
Hi Hey hi Hey hey hi
Can you see it? A huge expanse of water, crystal clear, a cliché. Dotted with little floating heads.
In the end there is not nothing. In the end there is endless everything.