Swede Hollow Ghost Sonata
(I'm slow on talking about this one and there are only two more performances, next Saturday and Sunday. The show is a collaboration between Sod House Theater and Black Label Movement. It's free, though donations are encouraged. So RUN, don't walk, and get tickets now: https://www.sodhousetheater.org/swede-hollow-ghost-sonata)
The minute Nathan Keepers and Sarah Agnew came out as two comic park guides (oh wait, Nathan was the "Assistant Tour Guide"), I knew we were in good hands.
But when they had us close our eyes, and then open them to find this magical cast of characters standing on the stones in front of us (all brilliantly costumed by Rhiannon Fiskradatz, I'll add), I knew it was going to be much more than that.
And then we as a group followed their echoing voices through a tunnel into the park, to a play that starts with a declaration of love on a chuppah-like bench. That then meanders into the forest to scenes that are different each time (pro-tip — when you go with a kid, you are always right in the action). That sometimes comes together in community scenes, and in direct conversations with the performers about our ancestors. And that ends with light and hope. I was lucky enough to stand next to a friend who could translate the final song, sung in Swedish, to me. And I left with a sense of heartfelt community.
In sixth grade, Minnesota students study the state's history, and right now the main topic is immigration. I'm so excited for her to go and talk about this piece to them.
And as we sat at Mañana afterwards eating pupusas, we discussed the current trend of so many books and plays and songs and photographs and the art that surrounds us focusing right now on immigration, on our stories. As Patrick said, when we look back in twenty years (if we make it that long), we'll see this as a rich time when these histories were what we craved, as a people, to have art serve as a way to fight back. Because our stories matter.
(photo credit - the amazing Patrick Rhone)
The minute Nathan Keepers and Sarah Agnew came out as two comic park guides (oh wait, Nathan was the "Assistant Tour Guide"), I knew we were in good hands.
But when they had us close our eyes, and then open them to find this magical cast of characters standing on the stones in front of us (all brilliantly costumed by Rhiannon Fiskradatz, I'll add), I knew it was going to be much more than that.
And then we as a group followed their echoing voices through a tunnel into the park, to a play that starts with a declaration of love on a chuppah-like bench. That then meanders into the forest to scenes that are different each time (pro-tip — when you go with a kid, you are always right in the action). That sometimes comes together in community scenes, and in direct conversations with the performers about our ancestors. And that ends with light and hope. I was lucky enough to stand next to a friend who could translate the final song, sung in Swedish, to me. And I left with a sense of heartfelt community.
In sixth grade, Minnesota students study the state's history, and right now the main topic is immigration. I'm so excited for her to go and talk about this piece to them.
And as we sat at Mañana afterwards eating pupusas, we discussed the current trend of so many books and plays and songs and photographs and the art that surrounds us focusing right now on immigration, on our stories. As Patrick said, when we look back in twenty years (if we make it that long), we'll see this as a rich time when these histories were what we craved, as a people, to have art serve as a way to fight back. Because our stories matter.
(photo credit - the amazing Patrick Rhone)
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