They are nurses, knowing more than they let on, and caring.
They are dancers, dancing because they like it. They like the effect their dancing has on others, too.
They are shamans, guiding energies about the space, shifting between times and spaces. Things are sliding over and under and between.
They are cogs in a machine, an old machine that does something that feels old, like weaving. A dip on one and a blip on the other make it so that the woven fabric’s pattern has occasional ‘faults’.
They are showwomen in a sideshow, moving around with the circus, happy to be on the fringes. They host the weirdoes. They are good at connecting the odd with the usual, because they do that in themselves.
They are scientists, conducting experiments with the glee of finding out something new, though they know that that’s unlikely. They do not sigh.
They are clairvoyants, knowing what will happen but releasing just enough information to have you believe them. You don’t quite believe them until later when the things they said seem to appear before you as solid hallucinations.
They are actors, speaking in languages they do not know, but with the energy of someone who understands everything always, like a superhero, or a bossyboots.
They are workers, busy with tasks. The need for the task is, frankly, not their business, or ours.
They are midwives, birthing themselves and the rest into presence.
They are Ethel and Julius Rosenberg, or perhaps the ghosts of them, or perhaps reincarnations. The two are the two but each one does not have one each. This makes absolute sense to all of us watching. Ethel and Julius have an elephant.
They are magicians, doing tricks and conjuring spells alternately. They don’t know which is which.
Devised, directed and performed by Karen Christopher and Sophie Grodin
Sound design: Boris Hauf
Dramaturgy: Lito Walkey
Lighting design and production management: Martin Langthorne
Tour production: Sally Rose