You’ve got these three women. Dread, Horror, and Alarm. The Graeae, those primordial hags who share one fucking eye between them, passing it back and forth like it’s the last spliff at the end of the world. And they’re not tucked away in some theater where the already converted stumble in with their smug pretensions […]
Continue Reading →Decay, it doesn’t announce itself with trumpets. It seeps in through the cracks like cigarette smoke under a bathroom door, until one night you’re sitting in what used to be a vital space and you realize you’re watching a wake, not a party. Franconia Performance Salon #11. By this point, the whole enterprise had that […]
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Speculation: Backstage We Players Macbeth at Fort Point, 2014 Backstage We Players Macbeth at Fort Point So always avoid banality. That is, avoid illustrating the author’s words and remarks. If you want to create a true masterpiece you must always avoid beautiful lies: the truths on the calender under each date you find a proverb […]
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I’ve seen a lot of places where people decide to make art happen, and most of them are lying to you about what they are. Di Rosa is different. It’s not lying. 22 acres of Northern California wetlands and this weird, sprawling collection that refuses to behave like a proper museum, it’s got that swampy, […]
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Solipsism Backstage at We Players‘ Macbeth at Fort Point “My darling,” she said at last, are you sure you don’t mind being a mouse for the rest of your life?” “I don’t mind at all” I said. “It doesn’t matter who you are or what you look like as long as somebody loves you.” Roald […]
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The peacock doesn’t give a shit about your aesthetic comfort. It struts through Di Rosa like some psychedelic deity that wandered off a Fillmore poster and decided to take up permanent residence among the sculptures. This isn’t cuteness. It’s dominance with tail feathers. The preserve itself sprawls across these wine country acres like some beautiful […]
Continue Reading →The government shutdown ran them off last year, locked the gates mid production like some kind of Kafkaesque joke, but they came back. The Golden Gate’s up there doing its thing, that low thrumming hum of bridge cable and wind and traffic I feel in my chest more than hear. The light comes through these […]
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