A Little Light Reading

hi everyone. so, well, i kind of fell down on the job these past two weeks. end of semester, moved apartments, holiday craziness, dog ate my homework …. all that stuff. the death star will be fully operational once again in 2012 (until the world ends, at any rate). meantime,

PUSSY FAGGOT! Queer New York! June Event!

This month, our outing and after-party will be a one-stop shopping affair. Thursday, June 7th: Earl Dax’s splendiferous queer cabaret series, PUSSY FAGGOT! (which is now <a=”https://theperformanceclub.org/2012/04/773/” target=”_blank” rel=”noopener”>three years old, a very advanced toddler…), returns to its New York home, The Delancey. Admission is just $10, or $6 with

Ode to Sweat

Nicole Mannarino in Sarah Michelson’s “Devotion Study #1—The American Dancer.” Photos: Paula Court. Perspiration is so par for the course in dance that it typically doesn’t warrant mention, beyond the occasional casual one. Dancers work hard; they sweat; big deal. Except every once in awhile it is a big deal.

Required Reading

Those of you who followed the old Performance Club may recall my ode to 53rd State Press, a boutique outfit for contemporary performance texts. Here’s a little excerpt from that 2009 post: “I was always the person who kept everyone’s scripts from readings,” 53rd State founder Karinne Keithley explained to

Skin Deep

By Kathy Wasik Last weekend, I danced in Deborah Hay’s Blues, a work presented as part of a series curated by the choreographer Ralph Lemon at the Museum of Modern Art in New York City. The piece involved two casts, the titles of which were based on the skin color

Exchange Mechanism

By Cody Eikman It is a delivery of a confidential message in a private space. Archangel Gabriel visits the Virgin Mary, revealing to her a change in her own bodily state unbeknownst to herself: Immaculate Conception. The most striking characteristic of the European paintings depicting this biblical scene, particularly those

Postscript

By Robert Tyree TBA:12 has hit the road, but Portland’s still here. Wanna watch the dust settle? After 10 days waking up for the Time-Based Arts festival—dive-bombing stoplights on my bike to get less late for 10 a.m. workshops (or noon chats)—these past mornings have been sluggish. More heartbroken than hung-over,