September 19, 2014 · Collusion
Collaboration: three people trying to figure out how to make Shakespeare’s storm feel real when the actual wind off the Pacific is already doing half the work. We’re not building a set. We’re negotiating with architecture that predates us and will outlast us, trying to figure out where bodies should stand, how voices will […]
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September 14, 2014 · Wanderlust
Out of the rolling ocean the crowd came a drop gently to me, Whispering, I love you, before long I die, I have travell’d a long way merely to look on you to touch you, For I could not die till I once look’d on you, For I fear’d I might afterward lose you. Now […]
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September 11, 2014 · FalseArt
Andres Amador is out there on some windswept strip of beach, dragging a rake through wet sand like some deranged Zen monk, creating beach art, massive geometric mandalas, that would make the ancients weep. Two hours of work. Maybe three if he’s feeling ambitious. Intricate, precise, beautiful beyond any reasonable measure of beauty. And then… […]
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September 3, 2014 · Speculation
The cemetery was vanity transmogrified into stone. Instead of growing more sensible in death, the inhabitants of the cemetery were sillier than they had been in life. Milan Kundera, The Unbearable Lightness of Being Truth? About getting to the marrow of what Shakespeare actually meant? Then get your ass out of those antiseptic black box […]
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September 1, 2014 · Speculation
We Players Lear Rehearsal at Battery Wallace in the Marin Headlands Doth any here know me? This is not Lear: Doth Lear walk thus? speak thus? Where are his eyes? Either his notion weakens, his discernings Are lethargied–Ha! waking? ’tis not so. Who is it that can tell me who I am? Shakespeare, King Lear, […]
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August 24, 2014 · Industries
We Players Vessels for Improvisation at Hyde Street Pier with inkBoat and Rova Saxophone Quartet. In the long history of humankind (and animal kind, too) those who learned to collaborate and improvise most effectively have prevailed. Charles Darwin
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August 15, 2014 · Speculation
I know this thing is doomed. Katie knows it too, though we don’t say it out loud during our afternoon rehearsals in that sweatbox of a studio space in Los Feliz. Michael doesn’t know, which is somehow worse. Or maybe he does. The heat in LA is biblical, relentless. Beckett. Happy Days. A woman buried […]
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