In Ben We Trust T-Shirt
Not only the products are shown in the selection, but we also offer other products with this design. Below is a list of products available, Please contact us if you do not see this product in our product options. We will contact you within 12 hours And you will have the product according to your requirements, see more on the available products. Click here to buy this shirt: You Know What That Sounds Like Not My Problem T-Shirt The play’s the thing—but it may not be the only thing.The National Theatre’s Romeo & Juliet, originally scheduled to run last summer in London, joined the many stage productions canceled by the coronavirus pandemic. It seemed like there never was a story of more woe—but the show must go on. Producers endeavored to salvage what they could and reconfigured the project for the small screen.Shot at the playhouse over 17 days in December, the resulting production—premiering on PBS this Friday, April 23, in honor of William Shakespeare’s birthday (his 457th, for those counting)—mirrors the conditions under which it was made. Amid the backdrop of not only palpable death and soul-grinding sorrow but also the long-simmering tensions of a riven society where violence could break out at any moment, every grazing touch feels charged and every embrace precarious. Stepping into the well-worn shoes of the star-crossed lovers are two of the most buzzed-about actors of late: Jessie Buckley, who turned in impressive performances in 2018’s Wild Rose and the 2019 HBO series Chernobyl before garnering acclaim in Fargo season four and last year’s Charlie Kaufman thriller I’m Thinking of Ending Things; and Josh O’Connor, who in February won a Golden Globe for his portrayal of a sniveling young Prince Charles in The Crown and also appeared last year in Autumn de Wilde’s Emma.What drew both actors to these misadventured piteous overthrows was their yearning to get back on the boards—where both got their start—after years of critical-darling movies and prestige dramas. They had also wanted to collaborate after meeting almost a decade ago through theater circles and “knocking around each other for ages,” as O’Connor puts it via phone from Dublin, where he’s shooting the refugee drama Provision with Black Panther’s Letitia Wright.They found kindred spirits in one another—both were raised in artistic, pastoral families—and even once hatched a fanciful plan to live and work together with a like-minded group. “Sort of like collective-slash-cult,” O’Connor explains, before Buckley, also on the line, laughingly protests, “It wasn’t a cult, Josh, it was a commune!” “Would have turned into a cult,” he mutters.Their easy rapport translates into compelling chemistry onscreen. “Josh is one of my best friends, and I knew that I could fall off the cliff with it,” affirms Buckley, who called in from the English countryside, where she has been working on Alex Garland’s latest film. Love also played a role, as perhaps it must when it comes to one of the all-time great love stories. “Love in my own life had changed massively when this came my way,” Buckley says cryptically. “I just thought, I really want to figure out what love might be like in this play.”O’Connor, on the other hand, initially approached the role as toward school—with heavy looks. “I had this irrational idea of what Romeo and Juliet was,” he admits. “My limited experience of it was like: Here are two people who are just really naive, and all the adults are like, ‘You have no idea what love is, and you have no idea what you’re doing.’ I was on the adult side. I always felt that it is quite easy for particularly Romeo to be a little bit whiny. He goes from lovesick to being completely mad in love with someone else, and it all happens quite quickly.” Just think of all the (iconic) times Leonardo DiCaprio weeps in Baz Luhrmann’s 1996 adaptation.But he was quickly won over by the prospect of taking the storied National Theatre stage alongside Buckley. “I remember feeling terrified but also so thrilled and with fires in our bellies to go and tell this unbelievably epic love story on that stage.”Their enthusiasm for the production made it all the more devastating when it was shut down last spring. They approached the idea of a filmed version with some trepidation; both have said they had little interest in a Romeo and Juliet film project. “The prospect of doing it for film was a whole different story,” Buckley says candidly, not least because director Simon Godwin, artistic director of the Shakespeare Theatre Company in Washington, D.C., had never made anything for the screen before. “You’re creating it for an audience that will be seeing it through a screen, not one that will live it with you live every single night. That liveness with an audience is the great joy of being in a theater. This new thing is a bit scary because we don’t know what it is yet, and we have to create it basically from the ground up.”“Jessie and I had just spent three or four years making films,” O’Connor adds. The change in course “suddenly felt a little bit underwhelming.” In hindsight, he chuckles, “there’s nothing underwhelming about it at all. It’s as terrifying, if not more terrifying, making a film like that.” (He says both will continue searching for something to “scratch that itch” to perform together onstage.)Buckley recalls a quote O’Connor shared from the pioneering filmmaker Derek Jarman: “Oh how Shakespeare would have loved cinema!” (The two also exchanged music in preparation.) “What’s so incredible about Shakespeare is that the emotions are enormous,” she says. “It has the ability to reach to the back of a huge theater space but also the kind of electricity that you can contain when making a film, and have it still as vibrating as it is in a huge theater.”This production’s extraordinary conditions inevitably put a fresh cast on the most continuously popular of all Shakespeare’s plays since its first bow in the mid-1590s. “We are telling a very different story now because of the reality of what our circumstance was like,” Buckley says. “Our world of Romeo and Juliet was being told because of the pandemic. Creating it within the belly of a theater meant that we had to find a way to incorporate the reality, to make a building that had been asleep for the first time come to life again through story.”That reality included COVID testing twice a week and the most intimate scenes filmed in the first few hours after negative results. (At times a pillow stood in for the fair maiden.) “Something that was so present when we were filming was the fact that we couldn’t touch each other,” Buckley says, “and yet we were dealing with love and hate, where people’s relationships with each other are built through touch or lack of it. Actually, what was happening outside was helpful for the inside of our world.” The stifled feeling of lockdown pervades the film: steel walls clank down, heavy doors slide shut—there’s no natural light and no way out.It’s an onscreen world that captures this singular, remarkable period. “Jessie always says this is like a locked piece and moment in time that won’t repeat,” O’Connor says. “In a time when we can’t make work, in a space where we can’t allow people in, that concoction brewed something totally unique, which will never happen again.”Anon, here’s an exclusive clip of the famous balcony scene from Great Performances: Romeo & Juliet:Great Performances: Romeo & Juliet premieres Friday, April 23, at 9 p.m. on PBS, PBS.org, and the PBS Video app. I started dancing in Flushing, Queens—home of The Nanny and my family in the early ’80s—at age three. It was pre-memory, but the photos in fat, sticky albums capture my black bowl cut, my pink leotard, and my arms overhead in ballet’s fifth position. Dance was pure fun then, but it would come to mean everything to me.Later, dance was also exercise, though I never thought of it as such. It was confidence, as I swallowed my jitters and did the running man onstage at my first recital, C+C Music Factory blasting under hot, high school auditorium lights. Dance was friendship, when my trusted partner and I wore nude bodysuits painted with mermaid scales and performed an en pointe duet to the soothing sounds of Enya in our teens. (We’d also don hot pink wigs and pleather jumpsuits for a probably inappropriately saucy Rolling Stones medley.) Dance was ambition, because I wrote my college essays about it; leadership when I captained my high school’s Rockettes-inspired kick line. It was self-discovery, set to Britney Spears’s “Toxic” on the banquettes and at packed summer-share houses of my 20s and wild joy at my wedding. Dance was art, as my dad and I wondered at Swan Lake under the starburst chandeliers at the Metropolitan Opera House. As I got older, going to dance class whenever I could was a rare chance to hold on to myself; when parents take their kids to activities and cultivate their interests, it’s often at the expense of their own.Last year, the dancing stopped—the public dancing, anyway. I still jumped around my kitchen, most memorably to BTS’s “Dynamite” with my daughter on Inauguration Day, or pranced to Dua Lipa while putting away endless amounts of laundry. Until a recent Friday night, I hadn’t gone out dancing in more than a year; but what broke the dry spell was Social! The Social Distance Dance Club at the Park Avenue Armory, a performance-art experience conceived by Talking Heads icon David Byrne, prolific Broadway choreographer Steven Hoggett, and set designer Christine Jones. Social! invites 100 people to bust moves in “their own socially distanced spotlights”—my waking dream—in the cavernous Wade Thompson Drill Hall. Adding to the allure: Byrne is a family hero; one of the dance highlights of my life was getting up from my seat, at Byrne’s insistence, during American Utopia on Broadway when he played “Burning Down the House.” Even my four-year-old son knows the lyrics—“take a look at these hands”—to “Born Under Punches.”I got ready like I used to get ready—blasting LCD Soundsystem and Lady Gaga, putting on tights, over-the-knee boots, and blue mascara. Unlike how I used to get ready, there were no pregame drinks because I was rushing out after taking my kids to swim class. Instead of a bouncer, I was greeted at the Park Avenue Armory with a shallow nasal swab—the mandatory rapid COVID test given to every attendee. I won’t pretend it wasn’t an anxiety-and-stress cocktail as I sat in a folding chair in the waiting area, an attendant telling us he was anticipating our results via headset. The assorted crowd looked unassuming: A lady in head-to-toe neon pink and a blonde topknot sat six feet in front me; in front of her, there was a doyenne who called to mind Sex and the City’s Bunny MacDougal, wearing rhinestone ballet flats. Sometimes, at children’s birthday parties, someone asks me, perplexed: “Are you wearing blue mascara?” No one had that query here.Once cleared as collectively COVID negative—reader, a cheer broke out—we filed in neat lines into the Drill Hall, and my mouth dropped beneath my mask: the high drama of the dark, 55,000-square-foot space, but for rainbow-colored, game-show spotlights! There was an eerie silence under the disco ball, bathed in an almost holy light. Would it be awkward to dance like this—sober, masked, distanced, alone together? Would my body remember how to do it? It certainly helped when Byrne, like a kind of voice of God, boomed over the speakers, first affirming the Indigenous roots of the Armory and Manhattan itself and then talking us through a classic dancer’s warm-up: head rolls, hip pops. One of the first songs from DJ Mad Love as played by Karine Plantadit was Daft Punk’s “Lose Yourself to Dance”—and I obeyed.The scene inside the ArmoryIn a purple spotlight all my own, I lost the daily fear and anger of the past year and found myself doing one of the things I loved most in the world. Some people around me were barely moving. Others jumped in place, “rolled the invisible ball” with their hands (a signature Phish show move), or did riffs on the Charleston. I danced a little bit of everything I’d ever danced: body rolls, rib-cage isolations, party-girl bounces, a splash of jazz. Everything and anything felt perfectly appropriate here. A magical moment came during the Grease anthem “You’re the One That I Want” when the badass dancer in the spotlight diagonal to mine and I locked eyes and made like Olivia Newton-John and John Travolta in the carnival shake shack, shimmying toward and away from one another in time. Dance—and I’d like to think myriad childhood screenings of Grease—was the primal, unspoken connection between this total stranger and me. It was nothing but pure fun again, and it felt more precious than it ever had. How lucky we were to be there in quasi public, somewhere other than the kitchen, working up a sweat under masks.For social lubrication and preparation purposes, Byrne sent attendees a five-minute video with a few moves to learn beforehand. In a kilt and Mary Janes, he taught us “shaky knees,” “puppet legs” (raising your knees and wrists in unison), and “stopping traffic” with both arms extended. Social! ended this way, with 100 people puppet legging together—a hopeful glimpse of art born out of isolation. “History has shown how times of crisis can disrupt the dance floor—and reshape it. During the 1918 influenza pandemic, many dance halls in the U.S. and Britain were closed and people endured similar social distancing measures as today,” Will Coldwell wrote in a recent Financial Times article titled “COVID will not squash our deep-seated need to dance.” Snippets of the piece flashed on a big screen in the Social! waiting room. “When normality returned, dance clubs flourished. The Roaring Twenties and the Jazz Age saw years of pent-up energy—as well as trauma and grief—burnt up on the dance floor.” Dancing came right back to me. It made me feel like everything will come back. “Remember the old world?” Byrne’s voice echoed in the hall. “We’re gonna make a better one.” This week, Frieze makes its return to New York. Scuttled last year due to the coronavirus pandemic, the five-day event will be the city’s first in-person, single-venue art fair since the Armory Show last spring (and Frieze’s first showing since Frieze L.A. in February 2020).Much about Frieze New York will be familiar to regulars, from the wide-ranging group of participating galleries to the engaging program of discussions, screenings, and other activations planned; but perhaps more still will be slightly modified to suit our current moment. (For one thing, this year’s visitors will not commute to Randall’s Island.)So, what does a major art fair look like in 2021? Below, find everything you need to know about Frieze New York. This year, Frieze New York will take place at The Shed in Manhattan’s Hudson Yards, running from May 5 through 9. As ever, the fair will bring together galleries from all over the world, if on a somewhat smaller scale: There will be approximately 60 exhibitors onsite at The Shed, compared to the 190 that typically turn up to Randall’s Island. (“The Shed was designed for flexibility, both in its architecture and its programming, which made it the best partner for this year,” Rebecca Ann Siegel, Frieze’s director of Americas and content has said.) Its popular “Frame” section, overseen this year by gallerists Olivia Barrett (of Chatêau Shatto in Los Angeles) and Sophie Mörner (of Company Gallery in New York), will also return; spotlighting emerging galleries established fewer than 10 years ago.Frieze Viewing Room, a rich program of virtual “collaborations, special projects and talks,” will run alongside the physical fair for those unable to attend in person.Representational justice will be a focus, with more than 50 galleries and institutions paying tribute to the Vision & Justice Project, an initiative established by Harvard professor Sarah Lewis “to expand visual literacy and explore the connection between race, citizenship, and image making.” Throughout the fair, gallerists will respond to the Vision & Justice Project’s mission—and to the prompt “How are the arts responsible for disrupting, complicating, or shifting narratives of visual representation in the public realm?”—through artworks, digital events, and more.For the Vision & Justice Project tribute, Massimo De Carlo will show Sanford Biggers’s Cipher. It belongs to Biggers’s ongoing Chimeras series, combining “various African and European masks, busts and figures that explore historical depictions of the body and their subsequent myths, narratives, perceptions and power.”Sanford Biggers, Cipher, 2019. Marmo di Kilkenny / Kilkenny marble, 74 × 23 × 20 cm.For those lucky enough to claim their tickets before they all sold out (one can join a waitlist here), COVID-19 safety will be a top priority at The Shed. Entry times are staggered by 15-minutes increments; visitors must submit either a recent negative COVID test or proof that they have been fully vaccinated for at least 14 days; and temperature checks and masks are required, including for children. As the Wall Street Journal reported, the total occupancy of the The Shed will be limited to about 850 through Frieze, including staff. Among the highlights of this year’s presentations: new paintings and sculptures by Dana Schutz, courtesy of David Zwirner; three works by the French artist Daniel Buren, courtesy of Lisson Gallery; important assemblages by Thornton Dial, courtesy of David Lewis; and new commissions from Carrie Mae Weems and Hank Willis Thomas for the Vision & Justice Project tribute. Additionally, “The Looking Glass”—a group show curated by Daniel Birnbaum, artistic director of Acute Art, and Emma Enderby, curator of The Shed—will foreground “augmented reality works” by Precious Okoyomon, Cao Fei, and Kaws. Both onsite and off, Frieze has inspired all kinds of intriguing programming. MatchesFashion.com, for instance, has created a video tour of the fair with curator and writer Antwaun Sargent, a podcast with photographer Catherine Opie, and a Frieze audio guide, among other media; and to coincide with The week’s events, Maison Margiela will debut an 11-monitor video installation of Marco Brambilla’s Nude Descending a Staircase No. 3 at its Crosby Street store. (Happily for anyone who misses Frieze proper, Brambilla’s installation will be on view to the public from May 5 through July 6.) 6 Available products for You Know What That Sounds Like Not My Problem T-Shirt: Classic Men’s Shirt Classic Women’s Shirt Women’s The Boyfriend Tee Women’s Heather Wicking Tee Women’s Scoop Neck T-shirt Women’s Slouchy top Women’s Organic Tee Men’s Short Sleeve Tee Unisex Jersey Short Sleeve Tee Men’s Cotton Crew Tee Unisex Ultra Cotton Tee Men’s Heather Dri-Fit Tee Men’s Polo Shirt Men’s Jersey Polo Shirt Unisex Ringer Tee Men’s Lightweight Fashion Tee Men’s V-Neck Unisex Jersey Short Sleeve V-Neck Tee Women V-Neck Women’s Jersey Short Sleeve Deep V-Neck Tee Unisex Hoodie Unisex Heavy Blend™ Full-Zip Hooded Sweatshirt Men’s Lightweight Zip Hooded Sweatshirt Unisex French Terry Zip Hoodie AOP Unisex Zip Hoodie Unisex Longsleeve Unisex Jersey Long Sleeve Tee Unisex 3/4 Sleeve Baseball Tee Unisex Tri-Blend 3/4 Raglan Tee Men’s Varsity Jacket Youth T-shirt Sweatshirt Unisex Tank Top Men’s Sleeveless Performance Tee Women’s Cut & Sew Racerback Dress Women’s Pencil Skirt Women’s Cut & Sew Casual Leggings Women’s Sponge Fleece Wide Neck Sweatshirt Kids Regular Fit Tee Infant Long Sleeve Bodysuit Mug $22.99 Phone Case Bags Unisex Flip-Flops Available Size: XS, S, M, L, XL, 2XL, 3XL, 4XL, 5XL Available Color: Black, Cardinal Red, Forest Green, Gold, Navy, Royal, Sport Grey, White… Thorshirts This product belong to hung3 In Ben We Trust T-Shirt Not only the products are shown in the selection, but we also offer other products with this design. Below is a list of products available, Please contact us if you do not see this product in our product options. We will contact you within 12 hours And you will have the product according to your requirements, see more on the available products. Click here to buy this shirt: You Know What That Sounds Like Not My Problem T-Shirt The play’s the thing—but it may not be the only thing.The National Theatre’s Romeo & Juliet, originally scheduled to run last summer in London, joined the many stage productions canceled by the coronavirus pandemic. It seemed like there never was a story of more woe—but the show must go on. Producers endeavored to salvage what they could and reconfigured the project for the small screen.Shot at the playhouse over 17 days in December, the resulting production—premiering on PBS this Friday, April 23, in honor of William Shakespeare’s birthday (his 457th, for those counting)—mirrors the conditions under which it was made. Amid the backdrop of not only palpable death and soul-grinding sorrow but also the long-simmering tensions of a riven society where violence could break out at any moment, every grazing touch feels charged and every embrace precarious. Stepping into the well-worn shoes of the star-crossed lovers are two of the most buzzed-about actors of late: Jessie Buckley, who turned in impressive performances in 2018’s Wild Rose and the 2019 HBO series Chernobyl before garnering acclaim in Fargo season four and last year’s Charlie Kaufman thriller I’m Thinking of Ending Things; and Josh O’Connor, who in February won a Golden Globe for his portrayal of a sniveling young Prince Charles in The Crown and also appeared last year in Autumn de Wilde’s Emma.What drew both actors to these misadventured piteous overthrows was their yearning to get back on the boards—where both got their start—after years of critical-darling movies and prestige dramas. They had also wanted to collaborate after meeting almost a decade ago through theater circles and “knocking around each other for ages,” as O’Connor puts it via phone from Dublin, where he’s shooting the refugee drama Provision with Black Panther’s Letitia Wright.They found kindred spirits in one another—both were raised in artistic, pastoral families—and even once hatched a fanciful plan to live and work together with a like-minded group. “Sort of like collective-slash-cult,” O’Connor explains, before Buckley, also on the line, laughingly protests, “It wasn’t a cult, Josh, it was a commune!” “Would have turned into a cult,” he mutters.Their easy rapport translates into compelling chemistry onscreen. “Josh is one of my best friends, and I knew that I could fall off the cliff with it,” affirms Buckley, who called in from the English countryside, where she has been working on Alex Garland’s latest film. Love also played a role, as perhaps it must when it comes to one of the all-time great love stories. “Love in my own life had changed massively when this came my way,” Buckley says cryptically. “I just thought, I really want to figure out what love might be like in this play.”O’Connor, on the other hand, initially approached the role as toward school—with heavy looks. “I had this irrational idea of what Romeo and Juliet was,” he admits. “My limited experience of it was like: Here are two people who are just really naive, and all the adults are like, ‘You have no idea what love is, and you have no idea what you’re doing.’ I was on the adult side. I always felt that it is quite easy for particularly Romeo to be a little bit whiny. He goes from lovesick to being completely mad in love with someone else, and it all happens quite quickly.” Just think of all the (iconic) times Leonardo DiCaprio weeps in Baz Luhrmann’s 1996 adaptation.But he was quickly won over by the prospect of taking the storied National Theatre stage alongside Buckley. “I remember feeling terrified but also so thrilled and with fires in our bellies to go and tell this unbelievably epic love story on that stage.”Their enthusiasm for the production made it all the more devastating when it was shut down last spring. They approached the idea of a filmed version with some trepidation; both have said they had little interest in a Romeo and Juliet film project. “The prospect of doing it for film was a whole different story,” Buckley says candidly, not least because director Simon Godwin, artistic director of the Shakespeare Theatre Company in Washington, D.C., had never made anything for the screen before. “You’re creating it for an audience that will be seeing it through a screen, not one that will live it with you live every single night. That liveness with an audience is the great joy of being in a theater. This new thing is a bit scary because we don’t know what it is yet, and we have to create it basically from the ground up.”“Jessie and I had just spent three or four years making films,” O’Connor adds. The change in course “suddenly felt a little bit underwhelming.” In hindsight, he chuckles, “there’s nothing underwhelming about it at all. It’s as terrifying, if not more terrifying, making a film like that.” (He says both will continue searching for something to “scratch that itch” to perform together onstage.)Buckley recalls a quote O’Connor shared from the pioneering filmmaker Derek Jarman: “Oh how Shakespeare would have loved cinema!” (The two also exchanged music in preparation.) “What’s so incredible about Shakespeare is that the emotions are enormous,” she says. “It has the ability to reach to the back of a huge theater space but also the kind of electricity that you can contain when making a film, and have it still as vibrating as it is in a huge theater.”This production’s extraordinary conditions inevitably put a fresh cast on the most continuously popular of all Shakespeare’s plays since its first bow in the mid-1590s. “We are telling a very different story now because of the reality of what our circumstance was like,” Buckley says. “Our world of Romeo and Juliet was being told because of the pandemic. Creating it within the belly of a theater meant that we had to find a way to incorporate the reality, to make a building that had been asleep for the first time come to life again through story.”That reality included COVID testing twice a week and the most intimate scenes filmed in the first few hours after negative results. (At times a pillow stood in for the fair maiden.) “Something that was so present when we were filming was the fact that we couldn’t touch each other,” Buckley says, “and yet we were dealing with love and hate, where people’s relationships with each other are built through touch or lack of it. Actually, what was happening outside was helpful for the inside of our world.” The stifled feeling of lockdown pervades the film: steel walls clank down, heavy doors slide shut—there’s no natural light and no way out.It’s an onscreen world that captures this singular, remarkable period. “Jessie always says this is like a locked piece and moment in time that won’t repeat,” O’Connor says. “In a time when we can’t make work, in a space where we can’t allow people in, that concoction brewed something totally unique, which will never happen again.”Anon, here’s an exclusive clip of the famous balcony scene from Great Performances: Romeo & Juliet:Great Performances: Romeo & Juliet premieres Friday, April 23, at 9 p.m. on PBS, PBS.org, and the PBS Video app. I started dancing in Flushing, Queens—home of The Nanny and my family in the early ’80s—at age three. It was pre-memory, but the photos in fat, sticky albums capture my black bowl cut, my pink leotard, and my arms overhead in ballet’s fifth position. Dance was pure fun then, but it would come to mean everything to me.Later, dance was also exercise, though I never thought of it as such. It was confidence, as I swallowed my jitters and did the running man onstage at my first recital, C+C Music Factory blasting under hot, high school auditorium lights. Dance was friendship, when my trusted partner and I wore nude bodysuits painted with mermaid scales and performed an en pointe duet to the soothing sounds of Enya in our teens. (We’d also don hot pink wigs and pleather jumpsuits for a probably inappropriately saucy Rolling Stones medley.) Dance was ambition, because I wrote my college essays about it; leadership when I captained my high school’s Rockettes-inspired kick line. It was self-discovery, set to Britney Spears’s “Toxic” on the banquettes and at packed summer-share houses of my 20s and wild joy at my wedding. Dance was art, as my dad and I wondered at Swan Lake under the starburst chandeliers at the Metropolitan Opera House. As I got older, going to dance class whenever I could was a rare chance to hold on to myself; when parents take their kids to activities and cultivate their interests, it’s often at the expense of their own.Last year, the dancing stopped—the public dancing, anyway. I still jumped around my kitchen, most memorably to BTS’s “Dynamite” with my daughter on Inauguration Day, or pranced to Dua Lipa while putting away endless amounts of laundry. Until a recent Friday night, I hadn’t gone out dancing in more than a year; but what broke the dry spell was Social! The Social Distance Dance Club at the Park Avenue Armory, a performance-art experience conceived by Talking Heads icon David Byrne, prolific Broadway choreographer Steven Hoggett, and set designer Christine Jones. Social! invites 100 people to bust moves in “their own socially distanced spotlights”—my waking dream—in the cavernous Wade Thompson Drill Hall. Adding to the allure: Byrne is a family hero; one of the dance highlights of my life was getting up from my seat, at Byrne’s insistence, during American Utopia on Broadway when he played “Burning Down the House.” Even my four-year-old son knows the lyrics—“take a look at these hands”—to “Born Under Punches.”I got ready like I used to get ready—blasting LCD Soundsystem and Lady Gaga, putting on tights, over-the-knee boots, and blue mascara. Unlike how I used to get ready, there were no pregame drinks because I was rushing out after taking my kids to swim class. Instead of a bouncer, I was greeted at the Park Avenue Armory with a shallow nasal swab—the mandatory rapid COVID test given to every attendee. I won’t pretend it wasn’t an anxiety-and-stress cocktail as I sat in a folding chair in the waiting area, an attendant telling us he was anticipating our results via headset. The assorted crowd looked unassuming: A lady in head-to-toe neon pink and a blonde topknot sat six feet in front me; in front of her, there was a doyenne who called to mind Sex and the City’s Bunny MacDougal, wearing rhinestone ballet flats. Sometimes, at children’s birthday parties, someone asks me, perplexed: “Are you wearing blue mascara?” No one had that query here.Once cleared as collectively COVID negative—reader, a cheer broke out—we filed in neat lines into the Drill Hall, and my mouth dropped beneath my mask: the high drama of the dark, 55,000-square-foot space, but for rainbow-colored, game-show spotlights! There was an eerie silence under the disco ball, bathed in an almost holy light. Would it be awkward to dance like this—sober, masked, distanced, alone together? Would my body remember how to do it? It certainly helped when Byrne, like a kind of voice of God, boomed over the speakers, first affirming the Indigenous roots of the Armory and Manhattan itself and then talking us through a classic dancer’s warm-up: head rolls, hip pops. One of the first songs from DJ Mad Love as played by Karine Plantadit was Daft Punk’s “Lose Yourself to Dance”—and I obeyed.The scene inside the ArmoryIn a purple spotlight all my own, I lost the daily fear and anger of the past year and found myself doing one of the things I loved most in the world. Some people around me were barely moving. Others jumped in place, “rolled the invisible ball” with their hands (a signature Phish show move), or did riffs on the Charleston. I danced a little bit of everything I’d ever danced: body rolls, rib-cage isolations, party-girl bounces, a splash of jazz. Everything and anything felt perfectly appropriate here. A magical moment came during the Grease anthem “You’re the One That I Want” when the badass dancer in the spotlight diagonal to mine and I locked eyes and made like Olivia Newton-John and John Travolta in the carnival shake shack, shimmying toward and away from one another in time. Dance—and I’d like to think myriad childhood screenings of Grease—was the primal, unspoken connection between this total stranger and me. It was nothing but pure fun again, and it felt more precious than it ever had. How lucky we were to be there in quasi public, somewhere other than the kitchen, working up a sweat under masks.For social lubrication and preparation purposes, Byrne sent attendees a five-minute video with a few moves to learn beforehand. In a kilt and Mary Janes, he taught us “shaky knees,” “puppet legs” (raising your knees and wrists in unison), and “stopping traffic” with both arms extended. Social! ended this way, with 100 people puppet legging together—a hopeful glimpse of art born out of isolation. “History has shown how times of crisis can disrupt the dance floor—and reshape it. During the 1918 influenza pandemic, many dance halls in the U.S. and Britain were closed and people endured similar social distancing measures as today,” Will Coldwell wrote in a recent Financial Times article titled “COVID will not squash our deep-seated need to dance.” Snippets of the piece flashed on a big screen in the Social! waiting room. “When normality returned, dance clubs flourished. The Roaring Twenties and the Jazz Age saw years of pent-up energy—as well as trauma and grief—burnt up on the dance floor.” Dancing came right back to me. It made me feel like everything will come back. “Remember the old world?” Byrne’s voice echoed in the hall. “We’re gonna make a better one.” This week, Frieze makes its return to New York. Scuttled last year due to the coronavirus pandemic, the five-day event will be the city’s first in-person, single-venue art fair since the Armory Show last spring (and Frieze’s first showing since Frieze L.A. in February 2020).Much about Frieze New York will be familiar to regulars, from the wide-ranging group of participating galleries to the engaging program of discussions, screenings, and other activations planned; but perhaps more still will be slightly modified to suit our current moment. (For one thing, this year’s visitors will not commute to Randall’s Island.)So, what does a major art fair look like in 2021? Below, find everything you need to know about Frieze New York. This year, Frieze New York will take place at The Shed in Manhattan’s Hudson Yards, running from May 5 through 9. As ever, the fair will bring together galleries from all over the world, if on a somewhat smaller scale: There will be approximately 60 exhibitors onsite at The Shed, compared to the 190 that typically turn up to Randall’s Island. (“The Shed was designed for flexibility, both in its architecture and its programming, which made it the best partner for this year,” Rebecca Ann Siegel, Frieze’s director of Americas and content has said.) Its popular “Frame” section, overseen this year by gallerists Olivia Barrett (of Chatêau Shatto in Los Angeles) and Sophie Mörner (of Company Gallery in New York), will also return; spotlighting emerging galleries established fewer than 10 years ago.Frieze Viewing Room, a rich program of virtual “collaborations, special projects and talks,” will run alongside the physical fair for those unable to attend in person.Representational justice will be a focus, with more than 50 galleries and institutions paying tribute to the Vision & Justice Project, an initiative established by Harvard professor Sarah Lewis “to expand visual literacy and explore the connection between race, citizenship, and image making.” Throughout the fair, gallerists will respond to the Vision & Justice Project’s mission—and to the prompt “How are the arts responsible for disrupting, complicating, or shifting narratives of visual representation in the public realm?”—through artworks, digital events, and more.For the Vision & Justice Project tribute, Massimo De Carlo will show Sanford Biggers’s Cipher. It belongs to Biggers’s ongoing Chimeras series, combining “various African and European masks, busts and figures that explore historical depictions of the body and their subsequent myths, narratives, perceptions and power.”Sanford Biggers, Cipher, 2019. Marmo di Kilkenny / Kilkenny marble, 74 × 23 × 20 cm.For those lucky enough to claim their tickets before they all sold out (one can join a waitlist here), COVID-19 safety will be a top priority at The Shed. Entry times are staggered by 15-minutes increments; visitors must submit either a recent negative COVID test or proof that they have been fully vaccinated for at least 14 days; and temperature checks and masks are required, including for children. As the Wall Street Journal reported, the total occupancy of the The Shed will be limited to about 850 through Frieze, including staff. Among the highlights of this year’s presentations: new paintings and sculptures by Dana Schutz, courtesy of David Zwirner; three works by the French artist Daniel Buren, courtesy of Lisson Gallery; important assemblages by Thornton Dial, courtesy of David Lewis; and new commissions from Carrie Mae Weems and Hank Willis Thomas for the Vision & Justice Project tribute. Additionally, “The Looking Glass”—a group show curated by Daniel Birnbaum, artistic director of Acute Art, and Emma Enderby, curator of The Shed—will foreground “augmented reality works” by Precious Okoyomon, Cao Fei, and Kaws. Both onsite and off, Frieze has inspired all kinds of intriguing programming. MatchesFashion.com, for instance, has created a video tour of the fair with curator and writer Antwaun Sargent, a podcast with photographer Catherine Opie, and a Frieze audio guide, among other media; and to coincide with The week’s events, Maison Margiela will debut an 11-monitor video installation of Marco Brambilla’s Nude Descending a Staircase No. 3 at its Crosby Street store. (Happily for anyone who misses Frieze proper, Brambilla’s installation will be on view to the public from May 5 through July 6.) 6 Available products for You Know What That Sounds Like Not My Problem T-Shirt: Classic Men’s Shirt Classic Women’s Shirt Women’s The Boyfriend Tee Women’s Heather Wicking Tee Women’s Scoop Neck T-shirt Women’s Slouchy top Women’s Organic Tee Men’s Short Sleeve Tee Unisex Jersey Short Sleeve Tee Men’s Cotton Crew Tee Unisex Ultra Cotton Tee Men’s Heather Dri-Fit Tee Men’s Polo Shirt Men’s Jersey Polo Shirt Unisex Ringer Tee Men’s Lightweight Fashion Tee Men’s V-Neck Unisex Jersey Short Sleeve V-Neck Tee Women V-Neck Women’s Jersey Short Sleeve Deep V-Neck Tee Unisex Hoodie Unisex Heavy Blend™ Full-Zip Hooded Sweatshirt Men’s Lightweight Zip Hooded Sweatshirt Unisex French Terry Zip Hoodie AOP Unisex Zip Hoodie Unisex Longsleeve Unisex Jersey Long Sleeve Tee Unisex 3/4 Sleeve Baseball Tee Unisex Tri-Blend 3/4 Raglan Tee Men’s Varsity Jacket Youth T-shirt Sweatshirt Unisex Tank Top Men’s Sleeveless Performance Tee Women’s Cut & Sew Racerback Dress Women’s Pencil Skirt Women’s Cut & Sew Casual Leggings Women’s Sponge Fleece Wide Neck Sweatshirt Kids Regular Fit Tee Infant Long Sleeve Bodysuit Mug $22.99 Phone Case Bags Unisex Flip-Flops Available Size: XS, S, M, L, XL, 2XL, 3XL, 4XL, 5XL Available Color: Black, Cardinal Red, Forest Green, Gold, Navy, Royal, Sport Grey, White… Thorshirts This product belong to hung3
Not only the products are shown in the selection, but we also offer other products with this design. Below is a list of products available, Please contact us if you do not see this product in our product options. We will contact you within 12 hours And you will have the product according to your requirements, see more on the available products. Click here to buy this shirt: You Know What That Sounds Like Not My Problem T-Shirt The play’s the thing—but it may not be the only thing.The National Theatre’s Romeo & Juliet, originally scheduled to run last summer in London, joined the many stage productions canceled by the coronavirus pandemic. It seemed like there never was a story of more woe—but the show must go on. Producers endeavored to salvage what they could and reconfigured the project for the small screen.Shot at the playhouse over 17 days in December, the resulting production—premiering on PBS this Friday, April 23, in honor of William Shakespeare’s birthday (his 457th, for those counting)—mirrors the conditions under which it was made. Amid the backdrop of not only palpable death and soul-grinding sorrow but also the long-simmering tensions of a riven society where violence could break out at any moment, every grazing touch feels charged and every embrace precarious. Stepping into the well-worn shoes of the star-crossed lovers are two of the most buzzed-about actors of late: Jessie Buckley, who turned in impressive performances in 2018’s Wild Rose and the 2019 HBO series Chernobyl before garnering acclaim in Fargo season four and last year’s Charlie Kaufman thriller I’m Thinking of Ending Things; and Josh O’Connor, who in February won a Golden Globe for his portrayal of a sniveling young Prince Charles in The Crown and also appeared last year in Autumn de Wilde’s Emma.What drew both actors to these misadventured piteous overthrows was their yearning to get back on the boards—where both got their start—after years of critical-darling movies and prestige dramas. They had also wanted to collaborate after meeting almost a decade ago through theater circles and “knocking around each other for ages,” as O’Connor puts it via phone from Dublin, where he’s shooting the refugee drama Provision with Black Panther’s Letitia Wright.They found kindred spirits in one another—both were raised in artistic, pastoral families—and even once hatched a fanciful plan to live and work together with a like-minded group. “Sort of like collective-slash-cult,” O’Connor explains, before Buckley, also on the line, laughingly protests, “It wasn’t a cult, Josh, it was a commune!” “Would have turned into a cult,” he mutters.Their easy rapport translates into compelling chemistry onscreen. “Josh is one of my best friends, and I knew that I could fall off the cliff with it,” affirms Buckley, who called in from the English countryside, where she has been working on Alex Garland’s latest film. Love also played a role, as perhaps it must when it comes to one of the all-time great love stories. “Love in my own life had changed massively when this came my way,” Buckley says cryptically. “I just thought, I really want to figure out what love might be like in this play.”O’Connor, on the other hand, initially approached the role as toward school—with heavy looks. “I had this irrational idea of what Romeo and Juliet was,” he admits. “My limited experience of it was like: Here are two people who are just really naive, and all the adults are like, ‘You have no idea what love is, and you have no idea what you’re doing.’ I was on the adult side. I always felt that it is quite easy for particularly Romeo to be a little bit whiny. He goes from lovesick to being completely mad in love with someone else, and it all happens quite quickly.” Just think of all the (iconic) times Leonardo DiCaprio weeps in Baz Luhrmann’s 1996 adaptation.But he was quickly won over by the prospect of taking the storied National Theatre stage alongside Buckley. “I remember feeling terrified but also so thrilled and with fires in our bellies to go and tell this unbelievably epic love story on that stage.”Their enthusiasm for the production made it all the more devastating when it was shut down last spring. They approached the idea of a filmed version with some trepidation; both have said they had little interest in a Romeo and Juliet film project. “The prospect of doing it for film was a whole different story,” Buckley says candidly, not least because director Simon Godwin, artistic director of the Shakespeare Theatre Company in Washington, D.C., had never made anything for the screen before. “You’re creating it for an audience that will be seeing it through a screen, not one that will live it with you live every single night. That liveness with an audience is the great joy of being in a theater. This new thing is a bit scary because we don’t know what it is yet, and we have to create it basically from the ground up.”“Jessie and I had just spent three or four years making films,” O’Connor adds. The change in course “suddenly felt a little bit underwhelming.” In hindsight, he chuckles, “there’s nothing underwhelming about it at all. It’s as terrifying, if not more terrifying, making a film like that.” (He says both will continue searching for something to “scratch that itch” to perform together onstage.)Buckley recalls a quote O’Connor shared from the pioneering filmmaker Derek Jarman: “Oh how Shakespeare would have loved cinema!” (The two also exchanged music in preparation.) “What’s so incredible about Shakespeare is that the emotions are enormous,” she says. “It has the ability to reach to the back of a huge theater space but also the kind of electricity that you can contain when making a film, and have it still as vibrating as it is in a huge theater.”This production’s extraordinary conditions inevitably put a fresh cast on the most continuously popular of all Shakespeare’s plays since its first bow in the mid-1590s. “We are telling a very different story now because of the reality of what our circumstance was like,” Buckley says. “Our world of Romeo and Juliet was being told because of the pandemic. Creating it within the belly of a theater meant that we had to find a way to incorporate the reality, to make a building that had been asleep for the first time come to life again through story.”That reality included COVID testing twice a week and the most intimate scenes filmed in the first few hours after negative results. (At times a pillow stood in for the fair maiden.) “Something that was so present when we were filming was the fact that we couldn’t touch each other,” Buckley says, “and yet we were dealing with love and hate, where people’s relationships with each other are built through touch or lack of it. Actually, what was happening outside was helpful for the inside of our world.” The stifled feeling of lockdown pervades the film: steel walls clank down, heavy doors slide shut—there’s no natural light and no way out.It’s an onscreen world that captures this singular, remarkable period. “Jessie always says this is like a locked piece and moment in time that won’t repeat,” O’Connor says. “In a time when we can’t make work, in a space where we can’t allow people in, that concoction brewed something totally unique, which will never happen again.”Anon, here’s an exclusive clip of the famous balcony scene from Great Performances: Romeo & Juliet:Great Performances: Romeo & Juliet premieres Friday, April 23, at 9 p.m. on PBS, PBS.org, and the PBS Video app. I started dancing in Flushing, Queens—home of The Nanny and my family in the early ’80s—at age three. It was pre-memory, but the photos in fat, sticky albums capture my black bowl cut, my pink leotard, and my arms overhead in ballet’s fifth position. Dance was pure fun then, but it would come to mean everything to me.Later, dance was also exercise, though I never thought of it as such. It was confidence, as I swallowed my jitters and did the running man onstage at my first recital, C+C Music Factory blasting under hot, high school auditorium lights. Dance was friendship, when my trusted partner and I wore nude bodysuits painted with mermaid scales and performed an en pointe duet to the soothing sounds of Enya in our teens. (We’d also don hot pink wigs and pleather jumpsuits for a probably inappropriately saucy Rolling Stones medley.) Dance was ambition, because I wrote my college essays about it; leadership when I captained my high school’s Rockettes-inspired kick line. It was self-discovery, set to Britney Spears’s “Toxic” on the banquettes and at packed summer-share houses of my 20s and wild joy at my wedding. Dance was art, as my dad and I wondered at Swan Lake under the starburst chandeliers at the Metropolitan Opera House. As I got older, going to dance class whenever I could was a rare chance to hold on to myself; when parents take their kids to activities and cultivate their interests, it’s often at the expense of their own.Last year, the dancing stopped—the public dancing, anyway. I still jumped around my kitchen, most memorably to BTS’s “Dynamite” with my daughter on Inauguration Day, or pranced to Dua Lipa while putting away endless amounts of laundry. Until a recent Friday night, I hadn’t gone out dancing in more than a year; but what broke the dry spell was Social! The Social Distance Dance Club at the Park Avenue Armory, a performance-art experience conceived by Talking Heads icon David Byrne, prolific Broadway choreographer Steven Hoggett, and set designer Christine Jones. Social! invites 100 people to bust moves in “their own socially distanced spotlights”—my waking dream—in the cavernous Wade Thompson Drill Hall. Adding to the allure: Byrne is a family hero; one of the dance highlights of my life was getting up from my seat, at Byrne’s insistence, during American Utopia on Broadway when he played “Burning Down the House.” Even my four-year-old son knows the lyrics—“take a look at these hands”—to “Born Under Punches.”I got ready like I used to get ready—blasting LCD Soundsystem and Lady Gaga, putting on tights, over-the-knee boots, and blue mascara. Unlike how I used to get ready, there were no pregame drinks because I was rushing out after taking my kids to swim class. Instead of a bouncer, I was greeted at the Park Avenue Armory with a shallow nasal swab—the mandatory rapid COVID test given to every attendee. I won’t pretend it wasn’t an anxiety-and-stress cocktail as I sat in a folding chair in the waiting area, an attendant telling us he was anticipating our results via headset. The assorted crowd looked unassuming: A lady in head-to-toe neon pink and a blonde topknot sat six feet in front me; in front of her, there was a doyenne who called to mind Sex and the City’s Bunny MacDougal, wearing rhinestone ballet flats. Sometimes, at children’s birthday parties, someone asks me, perplexed: “Are you wearing blue mascara?” No one had that query here.Once cleared as collectively COVID negative—reader, a cheer broke out—we filed in neat lines into the Drill Hall, and my mouth dropped beneath my mask: the high drama of the dark, 55,000-square-foot space, but for rainbow-colored, game-show spotlights! There was an eerie silence under the disco ball, bathed in an almost holy light. Would it be awkward to dance like this—sober, masked, distanced, alone together? Would my body remember how to do it? It certainly helped when Byrne, like a kind of voice of God, boomed over the speakers, first affirming the Indigenous roots of the Armory and Manhattan itself and then talking us through a classic dancer’s warm-up: head rolls, hip pops. One of the first songs from DJ Mad Love as played by Karine Plantadit was Daft Punk’s “Lose Yourself to Dance”—and I obeyed.The scene inside the ArmoryIn a purple spotlight all my own, I lost the daily fear and anger of the past year and found myself doing one of the things I loved most in the world. Some people around me were barely moving. Others jumped in place, “rolled the invisible ball” with their hands (a signature Phish show move), or did riffs on the Charleston. I danced a little bit of everything I’d ever danced: body rolls, rib-cage isolations, party-girl bounces, a splash of jazz. Everything and anything felt perfectly appropriate here. A magical moment came during the Grease anthem “You’re the One That I Want” when the badass dancer in the spotlight diagonal to mine and I locked eyes and made like Olivia Newton-John and John Travolta in the carnival shake shack, shimmying toward and away from one another in time. Dance—and I’d like to think myriad childhood screenings of Grease—was the primal, unspoken connection between this total stranger and me. It was nothing but pure fun again, and it felt more precious than it ever had. How lucky we were to be there in quasi public, somewhere other than the kitchen, working up a sweat under masks.For social lubrication and preparation purposes, Byrne sent attendees a five-minute video with a few moves to learn beforehand. In a kilt and Mary Janes, he taught us “shaky knees,” “puppet legs” (raising your knees and wrists in unison), and “stopping traffic” with both arms extended. Social! ended this way, with 100 people puppet legging together—a hopeful glimpse of art born out of isolation. “History has shown how times of crisis can disrupt the dance floor—and reshape it. During the 1918 influenza pandemic, many dance halls in the U.S. and Britain were closed and people endured similar social distancing measures as today,” Will Coldwell wrote in a recent Financial Times article titled “COVID will not squash our deep-seated need to dance.” Snippets of the piece flashed on a big screen in the Social! waiting room. “When normality returned, dance clubs flourished. The Roaring Twenties and the Jazz Age saw years of pent-up energy—as well as trauma and grief—burnt up on the dance floor.” Dancing came right back to me. It made me feel like everything will come back. “Remember the old world?” Byrne’s voice echoed in the hall. “We’re gonna make a better one.” This week, Frieze makes its return to New York. Scuttled last year due to the coronavirus pandemic, the five-day event will be the city’s first in-person, single-venue art fair since the Armory Show last spring (and Frieze’s first showing since Frieze L.A. in February 2020).Much about Frieze New York will be familiar to regulars, from the wide-ranging group of participating galleries to the engaging program of discussions, screenings, and other activations planned; but perhaps more still will be slightly modified to suit our current moment. (For one thing, this year’s visitors will not commute to Randall’s Island.)So, what does a major art fair look like in 2021? Below, find everything you need to know about Frieze New York. This year, Frieze New York will take place at The Shed in Manhattan’s Hudson Yards, running from May 5 through 9. As ever, the fair will bring together galleries from all over the world, if on a somewhat smaller scale: There will be approximately 60 exhibitors onsite at The Shed, compared to the 190 that typically turn up to Randall’s Island. (“The Shed was designed for flexibility, both in its architecture and its programming, which made it the best partner for this year,” Rebecca Ann Siegel, Frieze’s director of Americas and content has said.) Its popular “Frame” section, overseen this year by gallerists Olivia Barrett (of Chatêau Shatto in Los Angeles) and Sophie Mörner (of Company Gallery in New York), will also return; spotlighting emerging galleries established fewer than 10 years ago.Frieze Viewing Room, a rich program of virtual “collaborations, special projects and talks,” will run alongside the physical fair for those unable to attend in person.Representational justice will be a focus, with more than 50 galleries and institutions paying tribute to the Vision & Justice Project, an initiative established by Harvard professor Sarah Lewis “to expand visual literacy and explore the connection between race, citizenship, and image making.” Throughout the fair, gallerists will respond to the Vision & Justice Project’s mission—and to the prompt “How are the arts responsible for disrupting, complicating, or shifting narratives of visual representation in the public realm?”—through artworks, digital events, and more.For the Vision & Justice Project tribute, Massimo De Carlo will show Sanford Biggers’s Cipher. It belongs to Biggers’s ongoing Chimeras series, combining “various African and European masks, busts and figures that explore historical depictions of the body and their subsequent myths, narratives, perceptions and power.”Sanford Biggers, Cipher, 2019. Marmo di Kilkenny / Kilkenny marble, 74 × 23 × 20 cm.For those lucky enough to claim their tickets before they all sold out (one can join a waitlist here), COVID-19 safety will be a top priority at The Shed. Entry times are staggered by 15-minutes increments; visitors must submit either a recent negative COVID test or proof that they have been fully vaccinated for at least 14 days; and temperature checks and masks are required, including for children. As the Wall Street Journal reported, the total occupancy of the The Shed will be limited to about 850 through Frieze, including staff. Among the highlights of this year’s presentations: new paintings and sculptures by Dana Schutz, courtesy of David Zwirner; three works by the French artist Daniel Buren, courtesy of Lisson Gallery; important assemblages by Thornton Dial, courtesy of David Lewis; and new commissions from Carrie Mae Weems and Hank Willis Thomas for the Vision & Justice Project tribute. Additionally, “The Looking Glass”—a group show curated by Daniel Birnbaum, artistic director of Acute Art, and Emma Enderby, curator of The Shed—will foreground “augmented reality works” by Precious Okoyomon, Cao Fei, and Kaws. Both onsite and off, Frieze has inspired all kinds of intriguing programming. MatchesFashion.com, for instance, has created a video tour of the fair with curator and writer Antwaun Sargent, a podcast with photographer Catherine Opie, and a Frieze audio guide, among other media; and to coincide with The week’s events, Maison Margiela will debut an 11-monitor video installation of Marco Brambilla’s Nude Descending a Staircase No. 3 at its Crosby Street store. (Happily for anyone who misses Frieze proper, Brambilla’s installation will be on view to the public from May 5 through July 6.) 6 Available products for You Know What That Sounds Like Not My Problem T-Shirt: Classic Men’s Shirt Classic Women’s Shirt Women’s The Boyfriend Tee Women’s Heather Wicking Tee Women’s Scoop Neck T-shirt Women’s Slouchy top Women’s Organic Tee Men’s Short Sleeve Tee Unisex Jersey Short Sleeve Tee Men’s Cotton Crew Tee Unisex Ultra Cotton Tee Men’s Heather Dri-Fit Tee Men’s Polo Shirt Men’s Jersey Polo Shirt Unisex Ringer Tee Men’s Lightweight Fashion Tee Men’s V-Neck Unisex Jersey Short Sleeve V-Neck Tee Women V-Neck Women’s Jersey Short Sleeve Deep V-Neck Tee Unisex Hoodie Unisex Heavy Blend™ Full-Zip Hooded Sweatshirt Men’s Lightweight Zip Hooded Sweatshirt Unisex French Terry Zip Hoodie AOP Unisex Zip Hoodie Unisex Longsleeve Unisex Jersey Long Sleeve Tee Unisex 3/4 Sleeve Baseball Tee Unisex Tri-Blend 3/4 Raglan Tee Men’s Varsity Jacket Youth T-shirt Sweatshirt Unisex Tank Top Men’s Sleeveless Performance Tee Women’s Cut & Sew Racerback Dress Women’s Pencil Skirt Women’s Cut & Sew Casual Leggings Women’s Sponge Fleece Wide Neck Sweatshirt Kids Regular Fit Tee Infant Long Sleeve Bodysuit Mug $22.99 Phone Case Bags Unisex Flip-Flops Available Size: XS, S, M, L, XL, 2XL, 3XL, 4XL, 5XL Available Color: Black, Cardinal Red, Forest Green, Gold, Navy, Royal, Sport Grey, White… Thorshirts This product belong to hung3 In Ben We Trust T-Shirt Not only the products are shown in the selection, but we also offer other products with this design. Below is a list of products available, Please contact us if you do not see this product in our product options. We will contact you within 12 hours And you will have the product according to your requirements, see more on the available products. Click here to buy this shirt: You Know What That Sounds Like Not My Problem T-Shirt The play’s the thing—but it may not be the only thing.The National Theatre’s Romeo & Juliet, originally scheduled to run last summer in London, joined the many stage productions canceled by the coronavirus pandemic. It seemed like there never was a story of more woe—but the show must go on. Producers endeavored to salvage what they could and reconfigured the project for the small screen.Shot at the playhouse over 17 days in December, the resulting production—premiering on PBS this Friday, April 23, in honor of William Shakespeare’s birthday (his 457th, for those counting)—mirrors the conditions under which it was made. Amid the backdrop of not only palpable death and soul-grinding sorrow but also the long-simmering tensions of a riven society where violence could break out at any moment, every grazing touch feels charged and every embrace precarious. Stepping into the well-worn shoes of the star-crossed lovers are two of the most buzzed-about actors of late: Jessie Buckley, who turned in impressive performances in 2018’s Wild Rose and the 2019 HBO series Chernobyl before garnering acclaim in Fargo season four and last year’s Charlie Kaufman thriller I’m Thinking of Ending Things; and Josh O’Connor, who in February won a Golden Globe for his portrayal of a sniveling young Prince Charles in The Crown and also appeared last year in Autumn de Wilde’s Emma.What drew both actors to these misadventured piteous overthrows was their yearning to get back on the boards—where both got their start—after years of critical-darling movies and prestige dramas. They had also wanted to collaborate after meeting almost a decade ago through theater circles and “knocking around each other for ages,” as O’Connor puts it via phone from Dublin, where he’s shooting the refugee drama Provision with Black Panther’s Letitia Wright.They found kindred spirits in one another—both were raised in artistic, pastoral families—and even once hatched a fanciful plan to live and work together with a like-minded group. “Sort of like collective-slash-cult,” O’Connor explains, before Buckley, also on the line, laughingly protests, “It wasn’t a cult, Josh, it was a commune!” “Would have turned into a cult,” he mutters.Their easy rapport translates into compelling chemistry onscreen. “Josh is one of my best friends, and I knew that I could fall off the cliff with it,” affirms Buckley, who called in from the English countryside, where she has been working on Alex Garland’s latest film. Love also played a role, as perhaps it must when it comes to one of the all-time great love stories. “Love in my own life had changed massively when this came my way,” Buckley says cryptically. “I just thought, I really want to figure out what love might be like in this play.”O’Connor, on the other hand, initially approached the role as toward school—with heavy looks. “I had this irrational idea of what Romeo and Juliet was,” he admits. “My limited experience of it was like: Here are two people who are just really naive, and all the adults are like, ‘You have no idea what love is, and you have no idea what you’re doing.’ I was on the adult side. I always felt that it is quite easy for particularly Romeo to be a little bit whiny. He goes from lovesick to being completely mad in love with someone else, and it all happens quite quickly.” Just think of all the (iconic) times Leonardo DiCaprio weeps in Baz Luhrmann’s 1996 adaptation.But he was quickly won over by the prospect of taking the storied National Theatre stage alongside Buckley. “I remember feeling terrified but also so thrilled and with fires in our bellies to go and tell this unbelievably epic love story on that stage.”Their enthusiasm for the production made it all the more devastating when it was shut down last spring. They approached the idea of a filmed version with some trepidation; both have said they had little interest in a Romeo and Juliet film project. “The prospect of doing it for film was a whole different story,” Buckley says candidly, not least because director Simon Godwin, artistic director of the Shakespeare Theatre Company in Washington, D.C., had never made anything for the screen before. “You’re creating it for an audience that will be seeing it through a screen, not one that will live it with you live every single night. That liveness with an audience is the great joy of being in a theater. This new thing is a bit scary because we don’t know what it is yet, and we have to create it basically from the ground up.”“Jessie and I had just spent three or four years making films,” O’Connor adds. The change in course “suddenly felt a little bit underwhelming.” In hindsight, he chuckles, “there’s nothing underwhelming about it at all. It’s as terrifying, if not more terrifying, making a film like that.” (He says both will continue searching for something to “scratch that itch” to perform together onstage.)Buckley recalls a quote O’Connor shared from the pioneering filmmaker Derek Jarman: “Oh how Shakespeare would have loved cinema!” (The two also exchanged music in preparation.) “What’s so incredible about Shakespeare is that the emotions are enormous,” she says. “It has the ability to reach to the back of a huge theater space but also the kind of electricity that you can contain when making a film, and have it still as vibrating as it is in a huge theater.”This production’s extraordinary conditions inevitably put a fresh cast on the most continuously popular of all Shakespeare’s plays since its first bow in the mid-1590s. “We are telling a very different story now because of the reality of what our circumstance was like,” Buckley says. “Our world of Romeo and Juliet was being told because of the pandemic. Creating it within the belly of a theater meant that we had to find a way to incorporate the reality, to make a building that had been asleep for the first time come to life again through story.”That reality included COVID testing twice a week and the most intimate scenes filmed in the first few hours after negative results. (At times a pillow stood in for the fair maiden.) “Something that was so present when we were filming was the fact that we couldn’t touch each other,” Buckley says, “and yet we were dealing with love and hate, where people’s relationships with each other are built through touch or lack of it. Actually, what was happening outside was helpful for the inside of our world.” The stifled feeling of lockdown pervades the film: steel walls clank down, heavy doors slide shut—there’s no natural light and no way out.It’s an onscreen world that captures this singular, remarkable period. “Jessie always says this is like a locked piece and moment in time that won’t repeat,” O’Connor says. “In a time when we can’t make work, in a space where we can’t allow people in, that concoction brewed something totally unique, which will never happen again.”Anon, here’s an exclusive clip of the famous balcony scene from Great Performances: Romeo & Juliet:Great Performances: Romeo & Juliet premieres Friday, April 23, at 9 p.m. on PBS, PBS.org, and the PBS Video app. I started dancing in Flushing, Queens—home of The Nanny and my family in the early ’80s—at age three. It was pre-memory, but the photos in fat, sticky albums capture my black bowl cut, my pink leotard, and my arms overhead in ballet’s fifth position. Dance was pure fun then, but it would come to mean everything to me.Later, dance was also exercise, though I never thought of it as such. It was confidence, as I swallowed my jitters and did the running man onstage at my first recital, C+C Music Factory blasting under hot, high school auditorium lights. Dance was friendship, when my trusted partner and I wore nude bodysuits painted with mermaid scales and performed an en pointe duet to the soothing sounds of Enya in our teens. (We’d also don hot pink wigs and pleather jumpsuits for a probably inappropriately saucy Rolling Stones medley.) Dance was ambition, because I wrote my college essays about it; leadership when I captained my high school’s Rockettes-inspired kick line. It was self-discovery, set to Britney Spears’s “Toxic” on the banquettes and at packed summer-share houses of my 20s and wild joy at my wedding. Dance was art, as my dad and I wondered at Swan Lake under the starburst chandeliers at the Metropolitan Opera House. As I got older, going to dance class whenever I could was a rare chance to hold on to myself; when parents take their kids to activities and cultivate their interests, it’s often at the expense of their own.Last year, the dancing stopped—the public dancing, anyway. I still jumped around my kitchen, most memorably to BTS’s “Dynamite” with my daughter on Inauguration Day, or pranced to Dua Lipa while putting away endless amounts of laundry. Until a recent Friday night, I hadn’t gone out dancing in more than a year; but what broke the dry spell was Social! The Social Distance Dance Club at the Park Avenue Armory, a performance-art experience conceived by Talking Heads icon David Byrne, prolific Broadway choreographer Steven Hoggett, and set designer Christine Jones. Social! invites 100 people to bust moves in “their own socially distanced spotlights”—my waking dream—in the cavernous Wade Thompson Drill Hall. Adding to the allure: Byrne is a family hero; one of the dance highlights of my life was getting up from my seat, at Byrne’s insistence, during American Utopia on Broadway when he played “Burning Down the House.” Even my four-year-old son knows the lyrics—“take a look at these hands”—to “Born Under Punches.”I got ready like I used to get ready—blasting LCD Soundsystem and Lady Gaga, putting on tights, over-the-knee boots, and blue mascara. Unlike how I used to get ready, there were no pregame drinks because I was rushing out after taking my kids to swim class. Instead of a bouncer, I was greeted at the Park Avenue Armory with a shallow nasal swab—the mandatory rapid COVID test given to every attendee. I won’t pretend it wasn’t an anxiety-and-stress cocktail as I sat in a folding chair in the waiting area, an attendant telling us he was anticipating our results via headset. The assorted crowd looked unassuming: A lady in head-to-toe neon pink and a blonde topknot sat six feet in front me; in front of her, there was a doyenne who called to mind Sex and the City’s Bunny MacDougal, wearing rhinestone ballet flats. Sometimes, at children’s birthday parties, someone asks me, perplexed: “Are you wearing blue mascara?” No one had that query here.Once cleared as collectively COVID negative—reader, a cheer broke out—we filed in neat lines into the Drill Hall, and my mouth dropped beneath my mask: the high drama of the dark, 55,000-square-foot space, but for rainbow-colored, game-show spotlights! There was an eerie silence under the disco ball, bathed in an almost holy light. Would it be awkward to dance like this—sober, masked, distanced, alone together? Would my body remember how to do it? It certainly helped when Byrne, like a kind of voice of God, boomed over the speakers, first affirming the Indigenous roots of the Armory and Manhattan itself and then talking us through a classic dancer’s warm-up: head rolls, hip pops. One of the first songs from DJ Mad Love as played by Karine Plantadit was Daft Punk’s “Lose Yourself to Dance”—and I obeyed.The scene inside the ArmoryIn a purple spotlight all my own, I lost the daily fear and anger of the past year and found myself doing one of the things I loved most in the world. Some people around me were barely moving. Others jumped in place, “rolled the invisible ball” with their hands (a signature Phish show move), or did riffs on the Charleston. I danced a little bit of everything I’d ever danced: body rolls, rib-cage isolations, party-girl bounces, a splash of jazz. Everything and anything felt perfectly appropriate here. A magical moment came during the Grease anthem “You’re the One That I Want” when the badass dancer in the spotlight diagonal to mine and I locked eyes and made like Olivia Newton-John and John Travolta in the carnival shake shack, shimmying toward and away from one another in time. Dance—and I’d like to think myriad childhood screenings of Grease—was the primal, unspoken connection between this total stranger and me. It was nothing but pure fun again, and it felt more precious than it ever had. How lucky we were to be there in quasi public, somewhere other than the kitchen, working up a sweat under masks.For social lubrication and preparation purposes, Byrne sent attendees a five-minute video with a few moves to learn beforehand. In a kilt and Mary Janes, he taught us “shaky knees,” “puppet legs” (raising your knees and wrists in unison), and “stopping traffic” with both arms extended. Social! ended this way, with 100 people puppet legging together—a hopeful glimpse of art born out of isolation. “History has shown how times of crisis can disrupt the dance floor—and reshape it. During the 1918 influenza pandemic, many dance halls in the U.S. and Britain were closed and people endured similar social distancing measures as today,” Will Coldwell wrote in a recent Financial Times article titled “COVID will not squash our deep-seated need to dance.” Snippets of the piece flashed on a big screen in the Social! waiting room. “When normality returned, dance clubs flourished. The Roaring Twenties and the Jazz Age saw years of pent-up energy—as well as trauma and grief—burnt up on the dance floor.” Dancing came right back to me. It made me feel like everything will come back. “Remember the old world?” Byrne’s voice echoed in the hall. “We’re gonna make a better one.” This week, Frieze makes its return to New York. Scuttled last year due to the coronavirus pandemic, the five-day event will be the city’s first in-person, single-venue art fair since the Armory Show last spring (and Frieze’s first showing since Frieze L.A. in February 2020).Much about Frieze New York will be familiar to regulars, from the wide-ranging group of participating galleries to the engaging program of discussions, screenings, and other activations planned; but perhaps more still will be slightly modified to suit our current moment. (For one thing, this year’s visitors will not commute to Randall’s Island.)So, what does a major art fair look like in 2021? Below, find everything you need to know about Frieze New York. This year, Frieze New York will take place at The Shed in Manhattan’s Hudson Yards, running from May 5 through 9. As ever, the fair will bring together galleries from all over the world, if on a somewhat smaller scale: There will be approximately 60 exhibitors onsite at The Shed, compared to the 190 that typically turn up to Randall’s Island. (“The Shed was designed for flexibility, both in its architecture and its programming, which made it the best partner for this year,” Rebecca Ann Siegel, Frieze’s director of Americas and content has said.) Its popular “Frame” section, overseen this year by gallerists Olivia Barrett (of Chatêau Shatto in Los Angeles) and Sophie Mörner (of Company Gallery in New York), will also return; spotlighting emerging galleries established fewer than 10 years ago.Frieze Viewing Room, a rich program of virtual “collaborations, special projects and talks,” will run alongside the physical fair for those unable to attend in person.Representational justice will be a focus, with more than 50 galleries and institutions paying tribute to the Vision & Justice Project, an initiative established by Harvard professor Sarah Lewis “to expand visual literacy and explore the connection between race, citizenship, and image making.” Throughout the fair, gallerists will respond to the Vision & Justice Project’s mission—and to the prompt “How are the arts responsible for disrupting, complicating, or shifting narratives of visual representation in the public realm?”—through artworks, digital events, and more.For the Vision & Justice Project tribute, Massimo De Carlo will show Sanford Biggers’s Cipher. It belongs to Biggers’s ongoing Chimeras series, combining “various African and European masks, busts and figures that explore historical depictions of the body and their subsequent myths, narratives, perceptions and power.”Sanford Biggers, Cipher, 2019. Marmo di Kilkenny / Kilkenny marble, 74 × 23 × 20 cm.For those lucky enough to claim their tickets before they all sold out (one can join a waitlist here), COVID-19 safety will be a top priority at The Shed. Entry times are staggered by 15-minutes increments; visitors must submit either a recent negative COVID test or proof that they have been fully vaccinated for at least 14 days; and temperature checks and masks are required, including for children. As the Wall Street Journal reported, the total occupancy of the The Shed will be limited to about 850 through Frieze, including staff. Among the highlights of this year’s presentations: new paintings and sculptures by Dana Schutz, courtesy of David Zwirner; three works by the French artist Daniel Buren, courtesy of Lisson Gallery; important assemblages by Thornton Dial, courtesy of David Lewis; and new commissions from Carrie Mae Weems and Hank Willis Thomas for the Vision & Justice Project tribute. Additionally, “The Looking Glass”—a group show curated by Daniel Birnbaum, artistic director of Acute Art, and Emma Enderby, curator of The Shed—will foreground “augmented reality works” by Precious Okoyomon, Cao Fei, and Kaws. Both onsite and off, Frieze has inspired all kinds of intriguing programming. MatchesFashion.com, for instance, has created a video tour of the fair with curator and writer Antwaun Sargent, a podcast with photographer Catherine Opie, and a Frieze audio guide, among other media; and to coincide with The week’s events, Maison Margiela will debut an 11-monitor video installation of Marco Brambilla’s Nude Descending a Staircase No. 3 at its Crosby Street store. 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