A blog following the creation of the projects in "We’re Watching" by Curatorial Fellow Anna Gallagher-Ross, Center for Curatorial Studies, Bard College, Class of 2017.

IN PROGRESS: An interview with Annie Dorsen of The Great Outdoors

Annie Dorsen works across the fields of theater, film, dance, and digital performance. Between 2010 and 2015, she created a trilogy of algorithmic performances: Hello Hi There, A Piece of Work, and Yesterday Tomorrow. She is a 2017 recipient of the Foundation for Contemporary Arts Theater/Performance award, and a 2014 recipient of the Herb Alpert Award in the Arts. She has taught at Bard College, New York University, Fordham University, and the University of Chicago.

 She spoke with Miriam Felton-Dansky about her work in progress for We’re Watching, titled The Great Outdoors.


Miriam Felton-Dansky: Tell me about the inspiration for the project and how it evolved from an initial idea.

Annie Dorsen: In a way it started as two projects. I had made some videos that used YouTube comments and pop songs, and I got totally fascinated by comments and commenting. I loved reading them; I find them so interesting and weird, and sometimes horrible. A comment is disconnected from a body, of course, but you can still somehow feel the person behind it. Both anonymous and very very specific. I’m interested in what language produces on its own, situations in which you have no other information about the speaker than the words—in performance contexts, when you don’t have an actor—when you just have the language in some kind of pure, readable form. Do you start to imagine bodies? Do you start to imagine characters?

Around the same time I was fantasizing about being under the stars. I thought maybe I would do a piece in a planetarium, maybe connected to research I’ve been doing on Leibniz and the origins of computer science. But at some point I moved the Leibniz material to another project and kept the planetarium for the comments. So that was the starting point: internet comments and a planetarium.

MFD: I remember you’d been describing this project in terms of landscape too. Is that still part of the project?

AD: Yes. Once I got the planetarium, and started spending some time in it, I began thinking about the sublime—that feeling of overwhelming wonder, attraction, repulsion, anxiety….it seemed connected to the notion of the Internet as a kind of virtual landscape.

And then the fourth element in the mix is entropy, which I started reading about in terms of information theory, and then later in the physics sense.

MFD: Entropy is both an information science and a natural science term, right?

AD: Right. In thermodynamics, entropy is about the expenditure of energy over time. We will eventually exhaust all available energy – this is what they call “heat death” – and the universe will wind down into a kind of undifferentiated mass of random particles. It’s also about the unidirectional nature of time: in the classic example, you can’t unmix the milk from the coffee. In the information theory sense, entropy has to do with how you measure the information content of messages. Or to put it another way, how to measure the unpredictability of data or information: the more unpredictable, the higher the information content. They’re actually the same, the info theory and the physics meanings – both are about the movement from order to disorder.

How this will all materialize in the four dimensions of the performance is still an open question.

MFD: But that might effect some kind of progression in the piece?

AD: That’s where we’re starting from, seeing if we can use entropy as a dramatic structure, or arc.

MFD: Who is collaborating with you on the piece?

AD: I’m working with a programmer named Miles Thompson, who’s done a lot of work with neural networks, machine learning. Onome Ekeh, a visual artist, and a composer named Sébastien Roux. Ryan Holsopple is designing the systems for the planetarium show, and the performer is Natalie Galpern.

MFD: How do you imagine spectators taking in this piece?

AD:  I’m hoping it will feel like sitting around a digital campfire. The audience will gather around the flickering projector, with all kinds of text and stories summoned down to us from the “cloud.” I think of it as a storytelling piece, in a very old sense: we gather together to hear the stories of our ancestors. Those stories that tell a community about itself, about what it is. But what are those stories for us now? Maybe they’re coming not so much from the ancestors as from each other, right now, two seconds ago.

MFD: This collective thing, that’s bubbling up everywhere, not localized…

AD: Exactly. And then there’s the feeling you have when you’re out under the real stars. You feel dreamy, and contemplative, and open, and in a slightly altered state of awareness and relaxation. Our planetarium produces that feeling too, even though it’s clearly a digital image.

MFD: Will there be some kind of contrast between that peacefulness and the quality of the comments themselves, which might be angry, or obscene, or nonsensical?

AD: This is one of the questions we’ll be bringing into rehearsal. On the Internet, as we know well, people are extraordinarily reactive, quick to take offense. It’s not just that without body cues it’s hard to tell people’s tone—it’s also I think that we know there are terrible people out there. We assume bad intentions. In this piece, we can look at comments more as speech artifacts from the world rather than as something that implicates us in a dialogue. So maybe this question of being able to relax and look at the stars and listen to these voices coming from the ether, or from the digital realm—maybe in this context we can hear these comments with more sympathy, or at least curiosity.

MFD: What online spaces did you gather comments from? Was that an aesthetic decision?

AD: It wasn’t an aesthetic decision, but it’s had an aesthetic impact. We spent some time trying to collect different sites that had interesting comments, but not every site will let you do a big query to download comments. We ended up going for Reddit because you can take as much information as you want – and for any topic you can think of, there’s at least one subreddit devoted to that topic. We have a list of the top thousand most popular subreddits, and I’ve been picking which ones we want to keep in our mix. That’s had an aesthetic impact because even though you may have one subreddit that’s about alt-right politics, and another that’s a support group for parents of teenagers with cancer, and so on—very different styles—there is still something Reddit-ish about both of them.

MFD: The biennial’s theme is surveillance. Do you see overlap with what you’re working on in this project?

AD: Yes. First, in terms of not knowing who’s out there, who’s watching, who’s reading, who’s listening. But then…we think about surveillance as a tool of state or corporate control, but it’s also a way of watching. That slightly detached, but somehow still purposeful scanning of lots of material…it’s connected to this idea of the Internet sublime, of how we cope with the vastness of it, the virtually infinite.


Miriam Felton-Dansky is a professor in Bard’s Theater & Performance Program.


To find out more and to purchase tickets click here.


Recently I sat down with Alexandro Segade to discuss the inspiration and creative process behind his speculative, multimedia theater epic Future St. which will be part of WE’RE WATCHING this April. Segade is an interdisciplinary artist whose work in performance, video, and multi-media installation uses genres, and the theories associated with them, to foreground the politics and myths of representation. Segade is a founding member of the collective My Barbarian, with Malik Gaines and Jade Gordon. Segade and Gaines have also collaborated on performance projects including a recently debut of a choral opera based on an unpublished novel by science fiction author Octavia Butler. Segade is co- chair of the Film/Video department at Bard College’s Milton Avery Graduate School of Arts and teaches in the BFA program at Parsons in New York City. Segade was born in San Diego, CA, and lives and works in New York and Los Angeles.


AGR: Since November, and even prior to that time, we’ve been watching this dystopian discourse unfold in the political arena, which at times can feel like a sci-fi saga.

AS: Absolutely.

AGR: In light of that, could you talk about what sparked Future Street?

 AS: It’s interesting that right after the election, people started to talk about how 1984 had become a bestseller again. In all my work, I have attempted to address both the concerns of the moment and the historical and artistic precedents for the moment.

AGR: Right.

AS: And during this moment, and leading up to it, other dystopian novels and films were being looked at as models for understanding what was happening and what was to come, from Parable of the Sower to The Handmaid’s Tale. My piece, Future St, which describes a utopia for some, and dystopia for the rest, talks about a lot of the issues we contend with right now: autocracy, spectacle, performances of masculinity, feminism and queerness, technology, and surveillance.  The piece grew very slowly out of my MFA thesis at UCLA, where I was making work about the debate around gay marriage.  It was 2008, California had voted for Proposition 8, which banned gay marriage in the state. There was a window when gay marriage was legal and my partner Malik Gaines and I got married, knowing that our marriage was going to be contested. The feeling I had at that moment was one of a kind: on the one hand there was the election of Obama, and a promise that democracy could function, but on the other hand, we had everybody voting against our personal relationship. I was also interested in the debate within queer communities: not everybody thought “marriage equality” was a great idea. It normalizes relationships, forecloses possibilities, is a marker of privilege, and institutionalizes intimacy.

AGR: What was your perspective on this debate?

AS: Ultimately, Malik and I were ambivalent about marriage, but we needed healthcare, and we wanted to be able to visit each other if we ended up in the hospital. I started to make performances in order to understand these contradictions: writing speeches and conversations, having performers rehearse them, resulting in installations and videos, but I hadn’t found a form. Finally, I found my solution in genre itself: tropes that offer us both a space of possibility and a structure that can be resisted. Science fiction was the perfect way to go because I was thinking so much about what societies could be. The idea was to take all of these anxieties about this marriage debate and ask: what would happen if a society were built to affirm my identity, rather than destroy it?  I started writing about a future homosexual police state, affirming fears on all sides of the gay marriage debate. I imagined a society based on cloning, with clones who were mandated to marry each other, who were also cops, just sitting in a cop car talking about their relationship and the society that they were sworn to protect.  And from there a whole world started to get built.

AGR: You produced a series of performances on this subject, right?

AS: Yes. The first one was called Replicant v. Separatist, which was about the clone cops policing the younger generation who didn’t like the idea of gay marriage and were rebelling against the sexual identity mandated by the clones. Then that developed into another piece called Other Boys and Other Stories which focused more on this generational dissonance. The third performance, Holo Library, is where surveillance began to play a role. I wanted to explore how sexuality and identity have become part of a media landscape that involves screens, sexting, the ways people communicate without a physical body-to-body relationship. In L.A., a lot of gay bars were closing and a big reason was apps like Grindr and SCRUFF. I was thinking about what it means when we start to meditate sexuality, when our relationship is with a screen, rather than a person. I started imagining: what if the screens had consciousness and they were actually aware of their function as conduits? And after Holo Library there was a project called Boy Band Audition which was the least scripted. In it, I would pretend to be the future, and that I was putting together a boy band from the present in order to change the timeline with a hit single. It was a really funny piece.

Future St. brings all these threads together into one one evening length piece. I’ve brought together a team of artists that I really admire. Casting has been an adventure because I’m from L.A. and most of the performers that I’ve worked with on this project are in California. It is really important to me that the actors have a stake in the material so I’ve been going to an LGBTQ-supportive acting studio in New York City. I’m working with actors who identify as gay, trans, and gender queer. I didn’t want this performance to be a bunch of cis male muscle guys wandering around onstage pretending it’s the future…to me that would be really scary.

AGR: Absolutely. Could you say a bit more about the dystopian science fiction models that Future St. draws upon?

AS: I’m a huge fan of science fiction. Ursula Le Guin, Samuel R Delany, and Octavia Butler are three of my favorite writers of all time. I also really like HP Lovecraft. There are also certain filmic examples like Blade Runner, which was one of the first movies I saw in the theater and I remember forgetting I even existed. I just lived in it, was completely seduced by the aesthetic and the mise-en-scéne. As an X-Men comics fan, I love melancholy and existentialism.

AGR: Not to nerd out, but your plot of clones and rebels also makes me think of early Batman, which features the mutant rebellion, who eventually become the sons of Batman…What is so fascinating is you are playing with these science fiction tropes, which in many ways in can be quite normative, and you are inserting this queer, feminist politics…

AS: Completely. As I got older I realized some of the flaws of Blade Runner, such as its unrelenting male gaze. I thought a lot about that image of the woman on a screen that floats above the city in that film. I play with that image in Future St. Why is there a woman on the screen? Is that an interface that could be masking a consciousness of some kind? In Future St. there is this group of older women who are called the Mother’s Brigade, who precede the clone culture and represent the generation of feminists that includes the artist Mary Kelly, who was my mentor at UCLA, and also, of course, my own mother, Irina Kaplan-Segade, who is an activist with GLSEN. What is easily overlooked in the kinds of debates that we have right now is that a lot of the tools for understanding what’s happening can be found in older models of critique and liberation. Feminism is an important touchstone here. I don’t know how we could have an understanding of gender, or more broadly, humanity, without feminist critique.

AGR: Could you talk a bit about the relationship between spectacle and surveillance in Future St.?

AS: That’s an interesting question. We often talk about spectacle in relation to Guy Debord’s The Society of the Spectacle. Debord understood that we were becoming a society mediated through images, and it is the case now that everyone’s relationships are mediated through images. The Situationist critique was that we aren’t living our full lives and therefore we need some kind of participatory situation. But one thing that wasn’t technologically possible for the Situationists was the possibility of direct participation in that spectacle.  Eventually we became the content providers for the spectacle through that participation, and the content we provide can be and is surveilled.

In developing this imaginary gay autocratic state, I’ve been doing research on the connections between fringe homosexual politics and Fascism. We have all of these different permutations, from the Nazi Ernst Rohm, to gay skinheads like Nicky Crane, slain Dutch politician Pim Fortuyn, tech tycoon Peter Thiel, and I-don’t-know-what-you-would-call-him Milo Yiannopoulos, who is finally in trouble for making statements that seem to support pedophilia, I guess. Yiannopoulos used various subcultural outlets, such as 4Chan and Breitbart, to communicate with his audience, but when re-contextualized his statements became evidence that could be used against him.  Privacy no longer exists as such, and surveillance becomes a frame for the data we produce—willingly or not.  People don’t always pay attention to it until it’s time to pay attention to it, but the information is out there.

This is a large part of Future St. The main character finds himself in trouble because everything that he’s ever done has been tracked, and the Replicant police have collected a script about his life, including his memories, and it is their interpretation of that script that determines his fate. In the current moment, when I am on Facebook, I have the sense of surveilling myself and of self-censorship. I put tape over the camera on my laptop, and I keep reading about people’s cell phones being searched at borders. Paranoia is normalized. We are living inside of a spectacle that leads to surveillance automatically: it’s a loop.

AGR: I agree. When I first read about Future St., it seemed fantastic, but also all too real.

AS: I think that’s something that we’ve been thinking about as we work on the text and the design. We keep asking ourselves: is this science fiction? That’s the thing with speculative fiction: it is always this commentary on the current the moment. It feels like it’s futuristic but really it is about the time we are living in.


To find out more and to purchase tickets click here.




Rebecca Capper on Homi K. Bhabha and “Writing the Void”


The body is a writing instrument, an agent of inscription as intervention, caught in the restless agony between violence and security, surveillance and protection. The syntax of the body is a struggling sentence that attempts to make sense of living and writing in the void. [1]  —Homi K. Bhaba


What Remains, a collaboration between Claudia Rankine, Will Rawls, and John Lucas, premiering at WE’RE WATCHING in April, takes inspiration from the ideas of Homi K. Bhabha, one of the world’s leading contemporary postcolonial theorists. His work offers an examination of human rights, cultural analysis, cosmopolitanism, and social memory. Bhabha’s consideration of the way those in power have shaped the historical narrative and the way in which contemporary thinkers can reevaluate this selective past leads to greater insights about the current global conditions as well as the status of humanities discourse in the university. Bhabha is currently an Anne F. Rothenberg Professor of the Humanities and the Director of the Humanities Center at Harvard.

What Remains is particularly inspired by Bhabha’s concept of the void, proposed in an article titled “Writing the Void,” published in this past summer’s issue of Artforum. In his writings on the void, Bhabha highlights the link between racialized bodies and language, specifically the erasure of racial injustice and lived experience, as well as historical genocide. In the article, he states that his curiosity stems from the “hermeneutic anxiety and a historical responsibility that lies at the heart of humanistic thought.”[2] The concept of the void, according to Bhabha, is best understood when approached as a non-poetic term as the theory refers to the emptiness that exists in the midst of cultural erasure. It is the work of humanists—writers, philosophers and artists—that allows for a clearer glimpse into the void. Though it must be noted that language and rhetoric used to describe the void are implicated by an unacknowledged agency. Thereby an author can encounter difficulty using language to talk about the void, and yet language is a necessary tool for shedding light on the places, events, and people considered a part of the void. The struggle then becomes a writer’s ability to express and explore this vacancy without attempting to fill it in themselves.

Rebecca Capper is a senior in the Department of Theater and Performance, Bard College.


[1] Bhabha, Homi K. Writing the Void: Homi K. Bhabha on Language, Identity, and Migration.” Artforum (Summer 2016). 302-307.
[2] Ibid.

IN PROGRESS: An Interview with John Lucas, Claudia Rankine, and Will Rawls of “What Remains”


This past January team members of What Remains were in residence at The Fisher Center for Performing Arts. Premiering at WE’RE WATCHING this April, What Remains is a collaboration between poet, essayist, playwright, and editor, Claudia Rankine, author of the acclaimed poetry collection, Citizen: An American Lyric, among other important works; documentary photographer and filmmaker John Lucas, who has directed and produced several cutting-edge multimedia projects including a collaborative series of video essays with Rankine entitled “Situations”; artist and writer, Will Rawls, who works with dance, objects, sound and speech in solo and group performances that explore the idea of self and becoming; and Professor of the Humanities in the Department of English at Harvard University, Homi K. Bhabha, author of numerous works exploring postcolonial theory, human rights, cultural change and power, among other themes. This interview was conducted at the beginning of the creative process for What Remains.


ANNA GALLAGHER-ROSS: What was the inspiration for this project and what brought you all together to work on it?

CLAUDIA RANKINE: We were brought together by Gideon Lester, the Artistic Director of Theatre and Dance at Bard College. He initially approached me and John because of the work we’ve done documenting racial violence against black men and women in America. He then invited Will Rawls to choreograph and create movement that spoke directly to our line of inquiry. We are also working closely with Homi K. Bhabha, given his recent work on refugee crisis in the U.S. and Europe. The umbrella that we’re working under is this idea of surveillance, even as What Remains thinks specifically about the limited movement of targeted bodies.

JOHN LUCAS: Yes, Gideon had come across some of the videos essays entitled “Situations” that I collaborate on with Claudia. These video essays circle around some of same themes that the project was addressing so Gideon approached us wondering if we would want to get involved with the project.

WILL RAWLS: The inspiration for this project is the rather dark desire to contour the space of erasure that is foisted upon people of color across cultural, legislative, and social fields in the U.S. Claudia, John, and I have been figuring out a way to construct a performance work that can both represent and palpably enact this kind of void. Claudia speaks of this void as an “already dead space”—a term that is both frightening and productive for me. It is important to say that the void is not a metaphor nor is the void empty, far from it. The void is a space of potential energy, one that is both deathly but also charged with liveness and will power.

AGR: What is your perspective on this project in light of the immigration ban Trump has ordered?

CR: From the beginning of Trump’s run, the issue of closing the borders has always been front-and-center. His presidency has turned rhetoric into devastation for hundreds of families, individuals believing themselves here legitimately, holders of green cards, in addition to refugees and undocumented Americans. We want the piece to reflect the deliberate and shameful loss of mobility these human beings are experiencing.

JL: Being a documentary photographer and filmmaker, I have always been the observer, the “surveiller,” so to be collaborating on a project that centers around surveillance is very interesting to me.  I think what the immigration ban has done is brought into the mainstream consciousness, that is the white American conscious, what immigrants and people of color have always lived under, the weary and watchful eye of the overseer.

AGR: What you are each contributing to this project and/or what is your approach to these themes?

CR: Homi Bhabha and I are working on a script.

JL: I will be contributing visuals that will be projected during the live performance as well as in an installation piece.

WR: I am working as director and choreographer. Thus far I spend my time in rehearsals with the performers (3 dancers and 1 sound artist) and then in meetings with Claudia and John discussing the role of text and video. I have written and performed text in my own work for years and enjoy exploring both the expository and textural elements of language. A symbolic word becomes a texture when the person saying it is also imbuing their speaking with a deep physicality. So I am bringing various practices of stuttering, slurring, repetition, and so on, into rehearsals with the performers to explore this idea.

Also, dance can function both as a symbolic form and as a symbolically ambiguous form that is difficult to read or make sense of, even when it is being “beautiful.” I like both of these possibilities and feel that they align with how I am trying to work with text in the piece as well. So I am expecting that a full spectrum of legibility and illegibility—in both text and movement—to be present in the work. The question of legibility of course reflects back on your question about surveillance. When is it important to self-announce in the face of constant erasure and when is it more crucial to remain opaque as a form of resistance to white hegemony that enforces and requires a surveilled transparency at all times. Edouard Glissant speaks of the right to opacity in his work The Poetics of Relation and I am aiming to create a work that claims this right.

AGR: Could you say a bit more about how this project speaks to theme of surveillance?

WR: Black bodies have always been under surveillance in this country—whether that surveillance has been in terms of police control, video surveillance or racist legal policy that has the tireless capacity to reinvent itself from era to era. Black people have nonetheless continued to invent art and political positions to circumnavigate and counteract these suppressive forces. The point of departure for this work is to experiment with the possibility of performance as a place of discovery and self-determination while addressing these kinds of forces. Something I’m particularly focused on is how performance, especially in the Western theatrical and visual arts context, is one in which the audience is predominantly white. The performers in What Remains all identify as black. The reality of this tension is something we are exploring in rehearsals.

AGR: How do you see the role of spectatorship and witnessing within the immersive environment that you will be constructing in Tower Storage at the Fisher Center this April? Do you imagine these collective encounters that engage in this “memorialization” as a way of repositioning subjects? 

JL: My hope is that we can turn a bit of the gaze back onto the audience. Maybe we can create a bit of discomfort or awareness of being observed.

WR: We are not engaging in memorialization per se. That word feels too imbued with an institutional agenda that I associate with governments. Also, the performers in this piece are alive right now, and I would never want the grandiose gesture of memorialization to overshadow their immense talent and presence as performers in the here and now. This piece does speak to a history of violence in the U.S. that must be reckoned with but not in order to congeal into a memorial. My interest is in how to construct a performance that will address the ethics of exposure—the power differential and dynamic feedback loop between an audience and performers. In this feedback loop lies all of the death and life of which Claudia, John and I speak.

To find out more and to purchase tickets click here.







Introducing WE’RE WATCHING


We’re Watching is a performance exhibition about surveillance, and the second edition of the Live Arts Bard Biennial.  We refer to the biennial as a “performance exhibition” because it borrows elements from the infrastructures of art exhibitions and performance festivals.  This experimental, hybrid format provides an extraordinary context in which to encounter the work of leading contemporary artists.

We launched the LAB Biennial in 2014 with The House is Open, a performance exhibition that explored the dynamic relationship between the worlds of the performing and visual arts.  Frank Gehry’s magnificent building usually functions as a classical performance venue with designated areas for spectators and performers, but The House is Open offered a very different relational structure, transforming the theatre into a temporary museum. The public was invited to roam through spaces in the building that are usually off limits, and to engage with art projects installed in temporary “galleries” made from backstage areas, wings, storage rooms, hidden corridors, and lobbies, as well as more conventional performance venues.  The constant flow of spectators and site-specific projects created new public spaces in unexpected corners, and the whole Fisher Center became a welcoming and inclusive site for art.  The experience taught us a great deal about the building, and inspired us to  imagine new environments in which to experience and reflect on contemporary art and performance.  This was how the LAB Biennial was born.

Each edition of the Biennial will take as its subject a question or challenge for the twenty-first century.  LAB will invite a group of artists from across disciplines to consider the question from multiple perspectives and forms, creating a complex, and sometimes contradictory matrix of ideas.  The performance exhibition is the culmination of a two-year cycle of artist research and development, which also includes undergraduate courses at Bard, conferences and colloquia, artist residencies, and experiments.  We see the Biennial as a kind of brain trust, in which artists, scholars, students, and the public come together to reflect on a matter of great significance to our world.

The subject of the 2017 Biennial We’re Watching is the systems and technologies of surveillance, and their impact on our contemporary lives.  The exhibition includes seven new performances and installations—several of them commissioned by LAB—by artists working across the disciplines of theater, dance, performance, visual art, film and video, sound, and virtual reality.

Surveillance is not a new subject for the art world.  From Andy Warhol’s Outer and Inner Space to Trevor Paglen’s photographic documentation of the NSA and Jill Magid’s performances for CCTV, artists have long grappled with the visible and invisible infrastructures of the surveillance state.  Theater, too, has studied the interplay of spectator and spectated since the invention of drama; the very word “theater” derived from the Greek for “the watching place.”  In the The Empty Space Peter Brook famously reminds us that an act of surveillance is inherent to all performance:

“A man walks across this empty space whilst someone else is watching him, and this is all that is needed for an act of theatre to be engaged.”

The technologies and systems of surveillance are, however, expanding at an unprecedented rate in the 21st century, and are changing and challenging the way we relate to government, law enforcement, corporations, and each other.  The artists of We’re Watching are interrogating the new realities of our age, from social media and chatrooms to biometrics, WikiLeaks, drone warfare, corporate spying, and state interference in elections.

Performance is a profoundly human medium, and We’re Watching will explore the human impact of life in a state of surveillance.  We invite you to join us as we collectively consider questions that shape our networked lives: How does surveillance affect our bodies, our minds, our relationships, our sense of ourselves as citizens?  Who is watching us, and whom are we watching?  In an age of increasing activism and resistance, can watching be a political act?  Does privacy still matter? We’re Watching will not provide answers, but offers a space for complex thought, reflection, and fantasy—so vital to the sustenance of our democracy.

We look forward to welcoming you to the Fisher Center for four remarkable days this April.


Gideon Lester, Artistic Director, Theater & Dance