It feels necessary to reveal the ways that NYC theaters, often touting themselves as cultural forums and hubs for inclusivity, are both succeeding and failing in ways to meet these goals through their most visceral, visual-spatial impressions.
I realize now that what I saw in Danny’s eyes all those years ago – that fleeting, empty stare – was not a vacancy, at all: it was the start of this reckoning. A man who, acutely aware of his place in this industry, fell out of his clownish character for a moment because he was tired of performing it.Read More
They’re playing a guaguancó, and suddenly there is that recognition and return across land, across bodies, across time. The clave is inhabiting us: there is foot-tapping, head-nodding, and – yes, even joy – spreading like smiles on the faces of everyone around me.Read More
For everyone has their Mary – that fleeting friend whose image saturates the memories of childhood, who is impossible to capture wholly. One can only pull, desperately, at the essence she has left behind before it is too late. And perhaps it is always too late.
Disappeared is that sensibility – that transcendental quality only possible when his voice met with the flourish of Deacon’s strings. Every day feels to be a futile exercise in listening for that infinite moment in something else, something new.