SHORE: Performance | Part 4 of 4 Oct 19, 2015

by Natasha Marin

The smell of rain, whales’ gaze, deep breathing, harmonic, gasp. This syncopates everything.

Somehow Whale, the Symbol becomes Whale the Portal. There are songs of whispering. There is belly. There is undulation. There is water. There is opening. There is a throughway and a way through.

“And then there is a sound the world has never heard.”

Emily Johnson tells us to listen many times. There is the smell of rain. Listen. Whales’ eyes gazing. And then there is the sound of breath. It is fucking impressive to watch this catalyst, aptly named, dance-tell her story with such sprezzatura—effortless grace. She is crawling forward in the sound.


Everything is sound. Every step is like a tea ceremony just for you.

I will say it—the only thing that could make this more … would be more bodies of color—more microcosm, less entitlement of flesh—well meaning I’m sure, but perhaps too distant? If you want to open a portal to the other side, dance can be enough with the solemn promise of brown potential. I count 8 of the 24 bodies, with my generous Caribbean eye-- my whale eye, gazing. The sound of rain. A missed opportunity.

Invisible cues make the others more like a school or a flock or a herd The chorus is a collective noun.

Every solo, a mystery in epic exhaustion. At the end one man stands and I want to join him.


Afterward, my friend concludes that the arc is subjective.

As an artist, SHORE was about honoring the voices and rhythms and owning them with both freedom and tenacity.


NATASHA MARIN is a local writer, artist, and community organizer. By day she is the Community Outreach Coordinator for Resource Media, a non-profit PR Firm, and after work she tears holes in the space-time continuum to run an international experiment called Miko Kuro’s Midnight Tea ( while single-mothering two awesome kiddos. Follow her on Twitter @mikokuro.