Late afternoon. The sun hits the plywood stage at an odd angle, actors squint into the light, and the audience shifts on metal chairs, already a bit restless. The script…
The first time I walked into a warehouse theater in Franklin and saw a concrete floor used as both stage and scenery, I remember the sound more than anything. Shoes…
The house on the corner looks different tonight. Porch light on, shadows clean and sharp, siding the color of dusk right before stage lights warm up. If you walk past…
Light hits the set like a confession: a red wall breathing in the dark, a pale blue doorway that feels colder than the fog, a thin line of yellow across…
The floor gives a quiet crack when you cross the room, the wall has a thin shadow of a line running from door frame to ceiling, and that one window…
The conference room smells faintly of old coffee and fresh photocopies. Fluorescent tubes hum overhead, flattening color, turning everyone a little gray. Between you and the venue rep: a polished…
The chairs are still empty. The lights are half on, that strange gray hour when a space feels like it is holding its breath. Tape lines on the floor, half-built…
The spotlight burns hot, bleaching the colors from a single actor's face while the rest of the stage disappears into shadow. One body carries every story, every identity, every possibility.…
A sheet of plywood leans against the wall, its surface scratched with stories from shows past. Faint outlines of painted bricks, a ghost of a window frame, tape marks from…
The house lights sit somewhere between dim and tender, soft enough that faces blur into one shared shadow. The stage smells faintly of paint and dust and hairspray. A child…