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The springtime torrent of production has broken through the shutdown-that-was with thrilling force.
The current New York performance jamborees, though, arent catering primarily to newcomers or out-of-towners.
(This is not theFrieze Art Fair.
The money in play at Frieze could power roughly a thousand of these festivals.)
Still, it wasnt polish but profusion that was the point.
I admit that the Winter Garden is not my favorite space in lower Manhattan.
The sweeping staircase that sweeps to nowhere?
Los Angeles can keep it.
There is no live performer: We listen to everything through headphones.
Disorientation makes up for a lack of space; a twisting path conveys possibility and freedom.
Perhaps it will make you think about how labyrinths have been used as healing and meditation tools.
Walking the same repetitive turning pattern can help you find a sense of center if youve lost it.
Instead, entering an Afrofemononomy show is like being invited into a discussion as its still going on.
The group is inscribing its own concerns on Collins, whose writing is important and underexposed.
(Why havent we had a major revival of her eerie, operaticThe Brothers?)
Like any other exercise, artgoing takes stamina.
We look like a sedentary bunch, sitting in our chairs facing in one direction could anything be easier?
But it does take practice, and we all seemed to be relearning.
I got to more than a dozen performances, all strange and wild and unalike.
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