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.
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?
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.
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.
this is a list of edits from previous shows in their absence other things were possible some of them hurt