inner house created and performed by Christine Cennett, Alissa Cardone, Amie Laster, DeAnna Pellecchia, and Ingrid Schatz sound score by Grayson Hugh set design by Michael Dowling
"There were some very striking images, especially of one woman (DeAnna Pellecchia) hanging upside down, half in and out of the house, as if testing the air, then another standing on the roof as if about to fly, only to fall into the arms of those below with breathtaking abandon." – Karen Campbell, The Boston Globe Ghosts, dreams, rooms, memories, and grandmothers are at the core of INNER HOUSE, a collaborative piece centered in, on, and around a 6 x 6 x 8-foot yellow ochre house with silver tiled interior by visual artist, Michael Dowling. The original music composition by Grayson Hugh is a rich tapestry of acoustic instruments, voice, and text The Boston Globe has called "gorgeous." Combining a time-bending, poetic narrative with athletic physicality, dancers Christine Bennett, Alissa Cardone, Amie Laster, DeAnna Pellecchia and Ingrid Schatz reveal the personal histories within the walls of the house.
In my dreams there are old things. In my dreams there was a house. In the dusk of summer I walk these places.
Into the floor I walk. Into the table and drawers and shelves. I walk through the rooms And chant all the songs of stairs and broken dishes. I remember the atmosphere.
Under the deep front porch Into the basement I walk. In a white furnace This was the nightgown-wearing place.
I have this dream Where my grandfather’s piano Is sitting outside under the trees. When I play the old keys The high notes sound like the ocean. The low notes stick and sink And are full of sand. But my heart beats faster With the smell of the sea and blueberries.
In the dusk of summer I go running through the playgrounds. Through trees and bushes I hear The familiar music. My pearls splayed and stripped bare I am thirteen and running to My own beautiful light Where no one else has been. With old hands I go there In the dusk of summer. Under the street lamp I step Through the dust and clutter. I gaze at the window Where we laid down in time still velvet. The ghost of my heart Is everywhere.
In the eyes of the broken mirror My veins are ringing. In the high steeple trees My songs are frozen. My voice is caught in the leaves.