PROCESS
We knew early on that the world of Choreomaniac couldn’t be gentle. It had to feel violent—something the bodies had to fight against. Rough, solid, present. In contrast, the performers brought something fragile, almost breakable. This is how we built that tension, step by step.
RESEARCH
We began by looking into period architecture, but after conversations with the team—and with my assistant designer Julia Yelvington—we realized we needed something that felt rough from the start. Not historically accurate, but emotionally charged. Spaces that hit you the moment you see them.
SKETCHES/EXPERIMENTATION
One of the first images that stuck was a blade. Not just as a weapon, but as a symbol—something to fear. It became the first thing the audience saw. Heavy, sharp, suspended. You walked in and thought: What if it falls? When is it going to fall?
VISUALIZATIONS
Early renderings didn’t feel sharp enough. We kept asking: where’s the danger? Then came the idea of a forest—not with trees, but with elements that didn’t represent anything specific, just a presence that closed in on you. It was about defining space by tension, not realism.
DRAFTING
We designed a 10-by-8-foot blade to hang above the stage, rigged to drop at a key moment—“by accident.” We also engineered the wooden head-chopping structure to fold and move quickly, keeping the illusion intact while staying practical for the run.
PAINT ELEVATIONS
The visual contrast we needed came through in the textures. Nothing fancy—just raw, gritty surfaces that felt like they’d been through something. The materials told their own story.
