Passages

On stage, two dancers and three actors spin around themselves, shaking loose fragments of memories. They wish they could name the world, know their own names. What does a name mean? A rose is a rose is a rose is a. They do not know. They wait for the rain. Around them, faded books, piles of black earth, a wind-up teddy bear in a yellow raincoat, red rain boots. In the air, the words of Baricco, Lagarce and Stein, whispers and laughter, a few songs, a paper airplane, bodies suspended in space. No rain. They are there, all of them, gathered together in dispersion: an orchestration of solitudes.