Abandon all hope, ye who enter here. While those ominous words may not hang above Flashpoint’s door, Dante would recognize this place.

Cautiously making our way around the darkened room — the seats are roped off with black ribbon — accompanied by a jazzy score with otherworldly tones, we are both beckoned and repelled by an aural and visual cacophony coming from installations along the length of the stage.  Intrigued by their blinking, beeping, honking (that’s the traffic video center stage on a six-by-eight-foot screen) and hypnotically rippling (its little video brother right beside it), we almost trip over the metal-framed cube at the entryway. [Read more...]

If Mother Teresa could see us all now, wondering how to play our parts, she might remind us that we can do no great things, only small things with great love. But more often than not in The Saint Plays, that great love gets channeled into the small things themselves. [Read more...]

Scott Fitzgerald located the dark night of the soul at three o’clock in the morning, but Sarah Kane was more precise: it is a seventy-two minute window of lucidity that begins at 4:48 a.m. and ends at six – the darkest hour before a dawn that never comes. [Read more...]

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Artists who work in the medium of pain should, as a matter of safety, keep their personal and professional lives separate. One imagines Dante – whose work this piece recalls , [Read more...]