Madeline Stillwell becomes an extension of her surroundings, embracing the wreckage she inhabits with tender acceptance, submitting her body to its promise of pain without a sound, weaving through conduits of broken, jagged furniture, or burrowing herself beneath the lonely debris left in a defunct, long-forgotten factory loft. The refuse she collects on-site and reconstructs to form her stage invokes in the viewer a kind of bewildered fascination, a romanticized repulsion that lingers long after the performances conclusion.
-Emilie Trice, 2009
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