Pretend you are free from a narrative. By entering this theater, you have liberated yourself.
For the next 70 minutes, you can swim in someone else’s brain, and Tere O’Connor’s brain is a fascinating place.
A few signposts on this non-narrative journey:
Tere is in love with complexity.
Tangents are signals of inclusiveness.
No one has all the answers.
Tere tells me, “this is how I process information and then present that result to an audience.” What structure is created to hold the hose of events that we all contend with?
I would suggest that the result in the case of Long Run is almost architectural. Watch for the scaffolding. The secret passageways. The subterranean pond. Notice the shifts in dynamics or textures. Can your eye catch someone going from complete stillness to full-out flying frenzy?
This inter-personal journey is one of my favorite things about dance, or a novel, or any other time-based art form. We are given the chance to explore someone else’s inner terrain, and in turn, question what our own must look like.
(Tere O’Connor’s Long Run was presented at Columbia College Chicago’s Dance Center in October 2018.)