Wednesday, September 2, 2009
Nobody knows what we are doing, we don't know what we are doing, nobody cares.
Saturday, August 29, 2009
The girl and her toy boys, spinning around her doll house, spinning around the walls of her spinning mind, until everything is stuck from the artificial gravity. The old people in the audience stare at her from a distance and wave, like when they used to take their own kids at Luna Park.
Saturday, July 18, 2009
As the mess progressively accumulates on stage, one might fear that the mind is a dangerous place to leave in. By the end, though, despite of all appearances, all the agony, the fear, and the tears can actually set one free.
The photographer is actually producing a painting - the roads acting like brush strokes and the earth filling in the spaces with appropriately matching colors. The mines, though, allude to a different discipline; displayed in clear view they require the same study like skin wounds in a medicine book.
A maze of invisible walls; this is where we are. We try to find each other, wondering around the curves, the ghost doors. Our images are distorted through the layers of space between us. It's just air that prevents us from touching each other.
Thursday, July 16, 2009
The production is an interesting battle between the dark thoughts of human existence and the feel-good intentions of commercial theater. We are shown the hole, the grave, but in place of what really lies inside, we get a birthday cake instead.
It's amazing how easy the eye gets tricked in seeing things that are not there. And how easily the mind gets entertained with a play of dimensions. These works produce instant, universal, primitive awe. They are like a rainbow.
Sunday, July 5, 2009
This should have been a silent film: the characters' words don't add much to what already is so beautifully shown. It's the landscape, the moments between, that narrate the story, this allegory of a father and a son, bliss and murder included.
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
Take each thing as what it is, the mirror, the flowers, the dancers, the sequence of a man's life, of all humanity, devoid of irony, and try to find meaning. This is the nothing that holds everything. This is Australia.
Sunday, June 28, 2009
Saturday, June 13, 2009
Friday, June 12, 2009
Ingredients for the great big cake of things: mix water, fire, and stone, in a bowl with spirits from the other world, and stir it with light. Then pour it into the spaces between life and death, and bake for eternity. Tape it.
Thursday, June 11, 2009
A battle of familiar sorts, Anna and Grace, in the galactic ventures of a different spaceship, familiar stories of bad and good, idealism and capitalism, father and daughter, past and present, and animated sidekicks. The pages of the biggest magazine issue ever are filled not with beauty or advertising, but with snapshots of the same universe that is everyone, really.
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
The past hides backstage, waiting with the actors and the props to reveal itself, slowly and beautifully, upside down, backwards, inside out, and sometimes with a tear or a scream. When the whole story is told, it falls victim to its own profoundness: somewhere in Bangladesh, there's more important stories to be told.
Monday, June 8, 2009
I will read you a poem about words and life and fate, the first human in space, and communism and capitalism, and, did I mention, fate, and camels and bicycles and dogs, and the most beautiful woman on earth, and, yes, Russia,'can't feel my ears' cold Russia. I will read you a poem about words and life and...