On Room

“Room” begins with a stoppy starty camera as if it is a purposeful technical error…It makes me think, how can one change the audiences perception of what correct technology means? —Gabrielle

The bareness of the studio, and Eiko’s delicate movements of her gently grazing the window, feels all very familiar to me…I currently occupy a bare room, filled with natural light. The reason why I have maintained composure and sanity is due to the fact that I have two windows in my room. These two windows maintain my connection to the world outside. —Gita

These slow movements are very representative of how time seems to move very slowly during quarantine…The way you gaze out of the room could be interpreted as a longing to escape the room. —Justin

On Visit

The simplicity of the color choices struck me as beautiful as they are all on the spectrum of that color of sunset, ranging from red to gray…I liked the flashes of the images of the hands, because it seemed like I could feel the tactile sensation in my own hands. —Kai

On Visit and Fish House

Both use stillness, patience and eventual growth to pull the audience into a haunting aura, and out through a visual depiction of rebirth. There’s a careful pace and rhythm that grows more and more alive. The slow movement of shadows in “Visit” match the man coming out of water (almost like a fish) and getting acquainted with space in “Fish House”. These function as small episodes of the wonders, complexities, cycles of life. —Trevor

On Another Day

It was as if I could still feel the movement from the dance, even though the photos individually were static. I also noticed the passage of time, from morning to night. Or that is the impression that ordering of the photos gave me, beginning in the clear dawn and passing through the day until the body was only a sunset silhouette behind the screen. Maybe it was actually the abstraction of the body from realistic form into shadow? —Annie

The action in the stills are ambiguous but there is a palpable distress. The title of the video matched with the stills is ominous and references a perpetual repetition of these frozen windows of distress. The sound of this video consists of various unidentifiable muffled noises. This video speaks to many of the ways I’ve been feeling under the conditions of this pandemic. —Juliette

On Fish House

At first, he seems awkward and unaccustomed to being on dry land. Finally, he seems to become human again, wandering off toward the house in the distance as if he as awakened from a dream..Since the performer is no longer in view, in some ways Eiko, as the camera person, becomes the performer. —Ella

The performer’s body moves in a way that is not human. Almost as if he is the fish or organism that has washed up on the dock…For me the slowness of the movements creates more tension and is dramatic. —Justin

I can’t really tell what the relationship between the body and the water is. Since there are no literal fish in the video, is Jones supposed to be a fish? When they feel the sun, are they a “fish out of water?” Why does Jones walk toward the house, and then walk away? —Kai

On June 9th

Eiko carried an expression of deep sorrow, and I interpreted it to mean that she found it unbearable on this day to be in a world that could be so wicked and cruel. When she stood among the plants, I felt that she was evoking this idea that during times of sadness she finds that she can best identify with the natural world, with the parts of our planet that are not man-made. —Gita

When I enter, I feel silence but there’s a message. I think it resonates with Eiko’s movement…By her movement, I can feel the pains and suffering that George Floyd had to go through, physically (and mentally for living in the American society as minority and being killed by police officers. I felt that Virtual Studio stands up for fighting for peace and this time for all the people oppressed represented by his death. —Hayate

The deep sadness following the murders of George Floyd and Breonna Taylor—and too many others—feels impossible to articulate verbally. Articulating it through movement feels like a more fit memorial and mourning. —Sam

On Rain

Looking at the sky through the ground, dirt, soil, puddles…The existence of one thing in that of another. To see what’s above while looking below. To see yourself when looking in another, particularly nature. To see yourself as part of the natural world while maintaining a separation as different but together and overlapping. —Juliette

Where do the earth and sky meet? Water falls to gather in puddles and seep into the earth. Where it collects, it reflects back images of the sky it has so recently left. Is the rain trying to hold onto the sky? To pull earth, water and air into each other’s embrace? There is a beautiful sadness to the reflections that make their home in puddles. —Sarah

I adore the moment when the rain sounds turn louder during the video’s last few seconds; it feels like you’ve just finished a lovely conversation, the rain drops and grass, partially understood their language, and now it’s the time to carry on. —Ziye

On Attending

Perhaps, when we see others die and leave their bodies, it incites us to question the purpose of our own bodies - how we can challenge the ways in which we have previously understood our bodies. Especially in the midst of a pandemic, when the concept of death as a part of the dialogue of our daily lives has become quite normalized. —Gita

On Your Morning is My Night

There was a moment when the two looked like they were sort of in an intimate position and it felt like something we should not see… it was vulnerable yet it was on a screen and remote and it made me want to see peoples’ faces smushed against the floor more. —Gabrielle

It created an awareness of an intimacy between performers that I was not privy to. I imagined Eiko and Iris having some conversation that I would never be able to hear. The immediacy of that conversation combined with the inability of my access to it created a powerful moment of connection between the performers and the audience. —Will

On Seagull

Getting to look at their movements up close broadened my understanding of what a movement project could look like. Each lengthening of the neck or flapping of the wings was a wonderful and natural movement to watch, and I felt I was equally intrigued by their wonderful wingspan and song as I would be a ballerina's long legs in a classical piece. —Alma

By centering nonhuman actors as the “dancers” within this movement piece, Seagull prompted me to re-see the movement of other beings as aesthetically and spiritually rich. The seagulls’ proximity to the screen was effective in catching the awkward savagery of these large birds that I had had the privilege of witnessing on the beach. —Sarah

I found that the birds were overflowing with human qualities. Through the editing, both story and character formed before my eyes. I saw the bird on the left of the frame continuously picking at his friend/lover and instantly a dynamic between the two was formed...There was something so magnificent about seeing them through this repetitive, meditative and stark lens. —Will