Pushing through twin doors at the end of the hall, I arrive at an empty theater. What have I come here for? What do I want the theater to do for me–to do to me?
She is my sister, but I see her as my daughter. I was six when I first held her. I am eighteen when I embrace her now.
A queer sense of volume filling the ears with silence. Like a child’s hand in his hand. Body quivers and aches. Touch me not.
For the first time in recorded history, one can now travel to any large urban development and perceive architecture that appears familiar regardless of its geographical location. How did this standardization come about?
Whenever an author lays claim to what it means to be Black, a site of disruption is created, wherein a Black audience member is expected to identify with or see as “truth” a representation of himself that cannot be.
Since the very first daguerreotype, photographs have been a way to capture a moment in time. What other media are able to encapsulate our memories?
We value a musician's completed compositions, technical virtuosity, or the ability of a performer to express emotion. But what about the value of listening?