A performance that took place in a 7 x 4 metre box, covered in two-way mirrored Plexiglas film, offered the...
If Cold Was Real. If Dance Was Everything. If Promise Was Lure. If Bait Was Laid. If I Was Keen....
In the yawning space of the machine hall, we assembled. A small group of mourners cloaked in suitable attire, our number countable upon my fingers, no need for the toes.
I was introduced to Melbourne-based choreographer Nat Cursio via her work, “Blizzard,” created and performed at the lovingly restored utility-turned-arts-venue,...
The warmth of the spring day did not hold in the Substation. Inside the capacious, high-ceilinged, former industrial space, it...
