Objects, props, costumes, and fragments of scenery pass through stages of activation.

Once their moment on stage has ended and their presence in the hot sets has cooled, they move into the archive, where they shift from action to recollection, from use to potential.

In the archive they serve as both memory and material, waiting to be reactivated. Here, past and future converge; what was once live becomes still, only to find new contexts and tell further stories.

Many of these props carry the imprint of spectatorship, the gaze of the film viewer, the theatre-goer, the receiver of entertainment. They hold traces of friendship, disguise, grief, and joy.

Those interested in encountering these objects in their charged, performative state can find a corresponding category on the website

 I will love you as a candle loves a draft, as a password loves to be forgotten, as a missing puzzle piece loves the frustration it leaves behind.

I will love you as a train loves arriving late and as a shadow loves stretching in the golden hour, and I will love you as a misplaced wallet loves the moment its absence is discovered.

I will love you as a rumor loves a closed door and as a closed door loves an ear pressed against it.

I will love you as a conspiracy loves loose ends and as loose ends love unraveling...

I will love you as an antique desk loves a secret drawer, and as a secret drawer loves a stack of old love letters, and as a stack of old love letters loves falling into wrong hands, and as the wrong hands love breaking a seal, and as a broken seal loves being read, and as a reader loves skimming the last line too quickly in their rush to reach the finish line.

I will love you until all secrets have been uncovered, until every drawer is opened, until every lock has lost its key and every key has lost its purpose.

I will love you until every misplaced object has found its way home, until every burning bridge has been rebuilt, until every debt has been repaid and every council adjourns out of sheer exhaustion.

I will love you until R. forgets how to lie and W. stops waiting for answers, until V. understands that U. never needed saving, and until U. realizes that no one ever does. 

I will love you until the distance between us is no longer measured in miles or years, but in the quiet certainty that neither U. nor I. would recognize the other in a crowded room.

I will love you as you drift further into the corners where old stories gather dust, where unfinished sentences no longer expect an ending 

You know the world can see uuuuus
In a way that's different than who we are

No closing speech, no farewell song, only the squeak of shoes on stone.No curtain falling, just an ignored finish line. 

Surrounded by glass: the windows, the walls, the mosaic.

An architecture that promises transparency.From the senate hall, a fracture spreads.

It follows the corridor, gnaws its way toward the auditorium.

A gathering of splinters in space. The glass is pre-fractured (a material in the state of almost breaking).

Like a decision deferred.

Like a structure on the verge of collapse, yet still holding.

Like a hierarchy fissured, though no one can tell if it will truly break.

How do we find our way toward the show we want to see, the one already unfolding all around us?

A sign, double-sided and upside down, marks and describes a street, a current, mirrored on the ceiling, drifting in reflection.

Fixed points in time define the distances, tying new shortcuts and detours into place.

The show, an abstract destination; no direction can ever miss it.