What if nothing ever got better? What if that’s all there is? What if the car in front of you really does have a dead body in it? Would wings help? We learn to speak because things are hard and they resist us. We learn to resist because things are hard and they speak to us. Why do we stay? Because all lies have not been told yet.

The frozen heart is almost exactly what makes movement impossible. The frozen heart next to the frozen hamster in the freezer you forgot to give a proper burial to after returning from holiday to discover the unfortunate demise of a cherished pet.
Cherished. Cherishing something and losing something cherished forever. That’s what is looked for in Take me home with you. Hope. Hopelessness. The unspoken and the unspeakable and the aching arching dance of words to wordlessness.
What does it really take to go through a desert when you are amputated? Why do we go anyway? To get to the other side.
Take me home with you builds a landscape of words, emotions, and movements. Choreography as an act of nostalgia re-membering, piecing all these elements together like clues and body parts, mapping a land between meaning and meaninglessness.