This set is largely Senga’s world, which Ever inelegantly trips his way into (you can see a bit of his personality in the standing desk he uses at the periphery, though; Ever is definitely the sort of fellow who would take to heart to the health benefits of furniture). Senga's apartment, a standard Manhattan single bedroom, illustrates the layers of her life—it has morphed from a place in which she barely takes time to sleep, into a cocoon of sorts: a filthy den where she can lick her wounds and wallow in the misery of limbo.
What is your favorite piece of the Dancing Lessons set, and why?
I adored getting to plunk a tiny kitchen right into the living room. It’s very Manhattan, and wonderfully unusual to see next to a couch.
Did any aspect of the set change from your original plans?
For a long while we had a bed lofted above the kitchen to make the apartment feel that much more cramped, but ultimately cut it because of the challengingly low ceiling in FlynnSpace.
What questions did you ask yourself early on when designing a set?
I explored two enormous questions:
1. How can we translate Senga into the material world of her apartment? The script holds a lot of answers, but we also, as a group, rooted around into the unspoken depths of her character for answers.
2. How can we situate the set within FlynnSpace to achieve everything we need for staging? Sight lines and poles are always a problem, but we also needed a lot of wall space for doors and windows and the kitchen. None of the standard audience configurations could achieve good sight lines, good blocking, and enough wall space for us.
Why do you believe theatre is important?
Theatre brings us together as a community of humans. It inspires us to explore topics and emotions bigger than just ourselves and to experience a slice of the divine. Together we laugh and cry and marvel, not in the isolation of our living rooms, but seated among friends and strangers, both. Sharing an experience and a story allows us to better understand and empathize with each other.