Jimmi Weyneth with Oak Hollow goats. Photo credit: Paul Mitchell
No narrative thread connected the 11 discreet vignettes of Debra Loewen’s dreamlike Artifacts at the Goat Palace, an old metalwork factory in an industrial park fallen into disuse in Milwaukee’s upper Riverwest neighborhood. This Wild Space Dance Company site-specific performance was a witty, affecting and sometimes puzzling response by Loewen to the bleakest site I’ve ever seen her choose for such an exploration. Themes emerged: goats, work, a limbo state with a murky past and—as represented by the presence of this show itself—the belief that determined, hard-working, “can do” spirits will shape a good future here. Goats have such spirits, right? Quiet, modest, stubborn when challenged?
As evidence, three small, beautiful goats performed on a grass-covered floor in a pen. With audience members seated on three sides, dancer Jimmi Weyneth, wearing a surrealistic goat mask, moved very slowly, balancing milking and feeding buckets on her head and crooked arm while feeding her flock. Two goats followed her, ready for food, while the third stuck her head through the fence to accept gentle pets from the audience.
Earlier, seated inside the factory and looking outside through a large open garage door, we watched a little herd of young women in yellow dresses run, seemingly at random, and stop short, kicking up dust from the graveled driveway in the gentle light of a softly colored sunset; grass and trees behind them. Later, we saw them penned inside the factory wearing goat bells. With them was a dancer in work clothes, also penned and belled. We’d seen her earlier working mysterious jobs with other workers at the building’s loading dock. And in another episode, tall drapes covered all but the dancers’ hooves, er, feet, till they burst through the barrier in various combinations. Nearby, the real goats watched.
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Group shot. Photo credit Paul Mitchell
One of my favorite scenes, viewed through peepholes in surrounding cardboard walls, was devised by theater artist Tony Horne. Wearing a clown nose and vocalizing accordingly, dancer Shirley Kidd seemed confused in a room of unused vintage furniture and household items. As she slept, Tisiphani Mayfield and Tess Rutkowski arrived—their dark skin beautiful against flowing blue gowns; their smiles generous. When Kidd awoke to find herself in their joyful company, her surroundings had purpose; her world turned welcoming. Another favorite featured Danielle Lohuis and Maggie Seer in white gowns, each the other’s ghost, discovering secreted lights and sounds in a darkened attic.
Tisiphani Mayfield. Photo credit: Paul Mitchell
