The Fly Honeys are a femme-powered, queer celebratory, all-body loving, smoke-show of a performance project. Hyped as a ‘Chicago institution’, they make high-energy, campy, sticky, glittering productions through dance, comedy, spectacle, and a rotating cast of nationally lauded artists.

The Fly Honey Show opens its final run at Thalia Hall on July 10 for six nights over three weekends. Each weekend, a new lineup of special guest artists will join the Hive for intimate genre-bending performances by some of Chicago’s best singers, stand-ups, pole artists, dancers, drag performers + more, all hosted by our Queen Bee MCs, Mary Williamson and Melissa DuPrey.

The Fly Honeys are a femme-powered, queer celebratory, all-body loving, smoke-show of a performance project. Hyped as a ‘Chicago institution’, they make high-energy, campy, sticky, glittering productions through dance, comedy, spectacle, and a rotating cast of nationally lauded artists.

The Fly Honey Show opens its final run at Thalia Hall on July 10 for six nights over three weekends. Each weekend, a new lineup of special guest artists will join the Hive for intimate genre-bending performances by some of Chicago’s best singers, stand-ups, pole artists, dancers, drag performers + more, all hosted by our Queen Bee MCs, Mary Williamson and Melissa DuPrey.

The Fly Honeys are a femme-powered, queer celebratory, all-body loving, smoke-show of a performance project. Hyped as a ‘Chicago institution’, they make high-energy, campy, sticky, glittering productions through dance, comedy, spectacle, and a rotating cast of nationally lauded artists.

The Fly Honey Show opens its final run at Thalia Hall on July 10 for six nights over three weekends. Each weekend, a new lineup of special guest artists will join the Hive for intimate genre-bending performances by some of Chicago’s best singers, stand-ups, pole artists, dancers, drag performers + more, all hosted by our Queen Bee MCs, Mary Williamson and Melissa DuPrey.

The Fly Honeys are a femme-powered, queer celebratory, all-body loving, smoke-show of a performance project. Hyped as a ‘Chicago institution’, they make high-energy, campy, sticky, glittering productions through dance, comedy, spectacle, and a rotating cast of nationally lauded artists.

The Fly Honey Show opens its final run at Thalia Hall on July 10 for six nights over three weekends. Each weekend, a new lineup of special guest artists will join the Hive for intimate genre-bending performances by some of Chicago’s best singers, stand-ups, pole artists, dancers, drag performers + more, all hosted by our Queen Bee MCs, Mary Williamson and Melissa DuPrey.

In Weathering, ten performers move and morph on a raft-like stage, surrounded by audiences that witness the awe-inspiring evolving tableau of bodies, sounds, scents, liquids, and objects. Dancers gradually shift from barely perceptible gestures to high-velocity sprints and collisions, in what choreographer Faye Driscoll terms “a multi-sensory flesh sculpture surging through the Anthropocene.” As a vocal score resonates throughout the space, dancers spill and careen into the spiral of a hurricane. The audience is drawn into this storm, close enough to smell the sweat, hear the labored breathing, and feel the rising energy of the living symphony of bodies. In our contemporary moment when movements and forces that shape lives can seem difficult to grasp, Driscoll and her collaborators ask: “How do we feel the impact of large events in the intimacy of our own bodies?”

In Weathering, ten performers move and morph on a raft-like stage, surrounded by audiences that witness the awe-inspiring evolving tableau of bodies, sounds, scents, liquids, and objects. Dancers gradually shift from barely perceptible gestures to high-velocity sprints and collisions, in what choreographer Faye Driscoll terms “a multi-sensory flesh sculpture surging through the Anthropocene.” As a vocal score resonates throughout the space, dancers spill and careen into the spiral of a hurricane. The audience is drawn into this storm, close enough to smell the sweat, hear the labored breathing, and feel the rising energy of the living symphony of bodies. In our contemporary moment when movements and forces that shape lives can seem difficult to grasp, Driscoll and her collaborators ask: “How do we feel the impact of large events in the intimacy of our own bodies?”

Please note: Weathering contains nudity and loud sounds. Limited amounts of essential oils will be used within the show. Please contact the Box Office for any specific allergen queries.

In Weathering, ten performers move and morph on a raft-like stage, surrounded by audiences that witness the awe-inspiring evolving tableau of bodies, sounds, scents, liquids, and objects. Dancers gradually shift from barely perceptible gestures to high-velocity sprints and collisions, in what choreographer Faye Driscoll terms “a multi-sensory flesh sculpture surging through the Anthropocene.” As a vocal score resonates throughout the space, dancers spill and careen into the spiral of a hurricane. The audience is drawn into this storm, close enough to smell the sweat, hear the labored breathing, and feel the rising energy of the living symphony of bodies. In our contemporary moment when movements and forces that shape lives can seem difficult to grasp, Driscoll and her collaborators ask: “How do we feel the impact of large events in the intimacy of our own bodies?”

Please note: Weathering contains nudity and loud sounds. Limited amounts of essential oils will be used within the show. Please contact the Box Office for any specific allergen queries.

In Weathering, ten performers move and morph on a raft-like stage, surrounded by audiences that witness the awe-inspiring evolving tableau of bodies, sounds, scents, liquids, and objects. Dancers gradually shift from barely perceptible gestures to high-velocity sprints and collisions, in what choreographer Faye Driscoll terms “a multi-sensory flesh sculpture surging through the Anthropocene.” As a vocal score resonates throughout the space, dancers spill and careen into the spiral of a hurricane. The audience is drawn into this storm, close enough to smell the sweat, hear the labored breathing, and feel the rising energy of the living symphony of bodies. In our contemporary moment when movements and forces that shape lives can seem difficult to grasp, Driscoll and her collaborators ask: “How do we feel the impact of large events in the intimacy of our own bodies?”

Please note: Weathering contains nudity and loud sounds. Limited amounts of essential oils will be used within the show. Please contact the Box Office for any specific allergen queries.

A fierce duet between two women, Knockout is a self-possessed, ever-morphing cinematic dance work contending with the nature of the liminal : a provocative study of the space between desire, intimacy, strength, and survival.

Erin Kilmurray + Kara Brody’s choreographic graphic novel jump-cuts through a thrill-ride of fight sequences, self defense training, toothful camp, odd obsessions, and partnerships that sidestep tidy categorization.

Intoxicating, heart-stopping, and surreal, Knockout exists inside of the disorienting moment after the point of contact but just before hitting the floor. 

TKO, baby.

A fierce duet between two women, Knockout is a self-possessed, ever-morphing cinematic dance work contending with the nature of the liminal : a provocative study of the space between desire, intimacy, strength, and survival.

Erin Kilmurray + Kara Brody’s choreographic graphic novel jump-cuts through a thrill-ride of fight sequences, self defense training, toothful camp, odd obsessions, and partnerships that sidestep tidy categorization.

Intoxicating, heart-stopping, and surreal, Knockout exists inside of the disorienting moment after the point of contact but just before hitting the floor. 

TKO, baby.

A fierce duet between two women, Knockout is a self-possessed, ever-morphing cinematic dance work contending with the nature of the liminal : a provocative study of the space between desire, intimacy, strength, and survival.

Erin Kilmurray + Kara Brody’s choreographic graphic novel jump-cuts through a thrill-ride of fight sequences, self defense training, toothful camp, odd obsessions, and partnerships that sidestep tidy categorization.

Intoxicating, heart-stopping, and surreal, Knockout exists inside of the disorienting moment after the point of contact but just before hitting the floor. 

TKO, baby.

A fierce duet between two women, Knockout is a self-possessed, ever-morphing cinematic dance work contending with the nature of the liminal : a provocative study of the space between desire, intimacy, strength, and survival.

Erin Kilmurray + Kara Brody’s choreographic graphic novel jump-cuts through a thrill-ride of fight sequences, self defense training, toothful camp, odd obsessions, and partnerships that sidestep tidy categorization.

Intoxicating, heart-stopping, and surreal, Knockout exists inside of the disorienting moment after the point of contact but just before hitting the floor. 

TKO, baby.

A fierce duet between two women, Knockout is a self-possessed, ever-morphing cinematic dance work contending with the nature of the liminal : a provocative study of the space between desire, intimacy, strength, and survival.

Erin Kilmurray + Kara Brody’s choreographic graphic novel jump-cuts through a thrill-ride of fight sequences, self defense training, toothful camp, odd obsessions, and partnerships that sidestep tidy categorization.

Intoxicating, heart-stopping, and surreal, Knockout exists inside of the disorienting moment after the point of contact but just before hitting the floor. 

TKO, baby.

A fierce duet between two women, Knockout is a self-possessed, ever-morphing cinematic dance work contending with the nature of the liminal : a provocative study of the space between desire, intimacy, strength, and survival.

Erin Kilmurray + Kara Brody’s choreographic graphic novel jump-cuts through a thrill-ride of fight sequences, self defense training, toothful camp, odd obsessions, and partnerships that sidestep tidy categorization.

Intoxicating, heart-stopping, and surreal, Knockout exists inside of the disorienting moment after the point of contact but just before hitting the floor. 

TKO, baby.

Faye Driscoll’s newest work Weathering is a multi-sensory flesh sculpture made of bodies, sounds, scents, liquids and objects. Ten people (dancers/singers/crew) enact a glacially morphing tableau vivant on a mobile raft-like stage surging through the Anthropocene. Their voices generate a score that crescendos and resonates as they clutch, careen and cleave, in a space too small to contain them, spilling off the edges. The audience embanks the performers, close enough to smell the sweat and feel the steam of the central, spiraling scenes. The symphonically active, luminously living work is a breathing, leaking, choreography of micro events within a momentum thrusting from just beyond the perceivable. Driscoll and her team of collaborators ask: How do we feel the impact of events moving through us which are so much larger? Yet are animating and activating our bodies all the time? How do we get closer to the impact? Can we slow down enough to feel the dust, hurt, howl, absence, spill, plume?

Faye Driscoll’s newest work Weathering is a multi-sensory flesh sculpture made of bodies, sounds, scents, liquids and objects. Ten people (dancers/singers/crew) enact a glacially morphing tableau vivant on a mobile raft-like stage surging through the Anthropocene. Their voices generate a score that crescendos and resonates as they clutch, careen and cleave, in a space too small to contain them, spilling off the edges. The audience embanks the performers, close enough to smell the sweat and feel the steam of the central, spiraling scenes. The symphonically active, luminously living work is a breathing, leaking, choreography of micro events within a momentum thrusting from just beyond the perceivable. Driscoll and her team of collaborators ask: How do we feel the impact of events moving through us which are so much larger? Yet are animating and activating our bodies all the time? How do we get closer to the impact? Can we slow down enough to feel the dust, hurt, howl, absence, spill, plume?

Faye Driscoll’s newest work Weathering is a multi-sensory flesh sculpture made of bodies, sounds, scents, liquids and objects. Ten people (dancers/singers/crew) enact a glacially morphing tableau vivant on a mobile raft-like stage surging through the Anthropocene. Their voices generate a score that crescendos and resonates as they clutch, careen and cleave, in a space too small to contain them, spilling off the edges. The audience embanks the performers, close enough to smell the sweat and feel the steam of the central, spiraling scenes. The symphonically active, luminously living work is a breathing, leaking, choreography of micro events within a momentum thrusting from just beyond the perceivable. Driscoll and her team of collaborators ask: How do we feel the impact of events moving through us which are so much larger? Yet are animating and activating our bodies all the time? How do we get closer to the impact? Can we slow down enough to feel the dust, hurt, howl, absence, spill, plume?

Faye Driscoll’s newest work Weathering is a multi-sensory flesh sculpture made of bodies, sounds, scents, liquids and objects. Ten people (dancers/singers/crew) enact a glacially morphing tableau vivant on a mobile raft-like stage surging through the Anthropocene. Their voices generate a score that crescendos and resonates as they clutch, careen and cleave, in a space too small to contain them, spilling off the edges. The audience embanks the performers, close enough to smell the sweat and feel the steam of the central, spiraling scenes. The symphonically active, luminously living work is a breathing, leaking, choreography of micro events within a momentum thrusting from just beyond the perceivable. Driscoll and her team of collaborators ask: How do we feel the impact of events moving through us which are so much larger? Yet are animating and activating our bodies all the time? How do we get closer to the impact? Can we slow down enough to feel the dust, hurt, howl, absence, spill, plume?

Faye Driscoll’s newest work Weathering is a multi-sensory flesh sculpture made of bodies, sounds, scents, liquids and objects. Ten people (dancers/singers/crew) enact a glacially morphing tableau vivant on a mobile raft-like stage surging through the Anthropocene. Their voices generate a score that crescendos and resonates as they clutch, careen and cleave, in a space too small to contain them, spilling off the edges. The audience embanks the performers, close enough to smell the sweat and feel the steam of the central, spiraling scenes. The symphonically active, luminously living work is a breathing, leaking, choreography of micro events within a momentum thrusting from just beyond the perceivable. Driscoll and her team of collaborators ask: How do we feel the impact of events moving through us which are so much larger? Yet are animating and activating our bodies all the time? How do we get closer to the impact? Can we slow down enough to feel the dust, hurt, howl, absence, spill, plume?

Faye Driscoll’s newest work Weathering is a multi-sensory flesh sculpture made of bodies, sounds, scents, liquids and objects. Ten people (dancers/singers/crew) enact a glacially morphing tableau vivant on a mobile raft-like stage surging through the Anthropocene. Their voices generate a score that crescendos and resonates as they clutch, careen and cleave, in a space too small to contain them, spilling off the edges. The audience embanks the performers, close enough to smell the sweat and feel the steam of the central, spiraling scenes. The symphonically active, luminously living work is a breathing, leaking, choreography of micro events within a momentum thrusting from just beyond the perceivable. Driscoll and her team of collaborators ask: How do we feel the impact of events moving through us which are so much larger? Yet are animating and activating our bodies all the time? How do we get closer to the impact? Can we slow down enough to feel the dust, hurt, howl, absence, spill, plume?

A durational ritual across a vast expanse of ocean shoreline, Faye Driscoll’s Oceanic Feeling charts the slow descent of 16 performers from the dunes and the sand to the water. Seemingly spreading into infinity, the performers - spaced evenly across an almost unseeable distance, enact a sustaining loop of breath and sculptural forms that thwart perspective and seem to tilt our sense of the line between sand and sky.

An epic accumulation over time funnels the ritual to the mouth of the water where bodies connect, laying themselves down at the altar of the ocean. Bodies collide and merge with each other, the sand, the salt, the licking waves, and eventually are enveloped by the womb of the water. A public art work that takes place throughout the three stages of twilight, until the horizon line begins to blur, sky and water becoming one, the public is invited to move with the performance from beach to shore.

Our bodies are predominantly water, the water in our plasma mirrors the chemical structure of ocean water, we - all of us - crawled from ocean to land. Instead of poisoning the ocean, what if we crawled back in? Oceanic Feeling turns toward the ecological body, the animal body.In dissolving the edges between our bodies and those of others, our bodies and the body of the earth, the sky into the sea, Oceanic Feeling is a ritual of surrender, an offering of submergence, a return.

Faye Driscoll’s newest work Weathering is a multi-sensory flesh sculpture made of bodies, sounds, scents, liquids and objects. Ten people (dancers/singers/crew) enact a glacially morphing tableau vivant on a mobile raft-like stage surging through the Anthropocene. Their voices generate a score that crescendos and resonates as they clutch, careen and cleave, in a space too small to contain them, spilling off the edges. The audience embanks the performers, close enough to smell the sweat and feel the steam of the central, spiraling scenes. The symphonically active, luminously living work is a breathing, leaking, choreography of micro events within a momentum thrusting from just beyond the perceivable. Driscoll and her team of collaborators ask: How do we feel the impact of events moving through us which are so much larger? Yet are animating and activating our bodies all the time? How do we get closer to the impact? Can we slow down enough to feel the dust, hurt, howl, absence, spill, plume?

Faye Driscoll’s newest work Weathering is a multi-sensory flesh sculpture made of bodies, sounds, scents, liquids and objects. Ten people (dancers/singers/crew) enact a glacially morphing tableau vivant on a mobile raft-like stage surging through the Anthropocene. Their voices generate a score that crescendos and resonates as they clutch, careen and cleave, in a space too small to contain them, spilling off the edges. The audience embanks the performers, close enough to smell the sweat and feel the steam of the central, spiraling scenes. The symphonically active, luminously living work is a breathing, leaking, choreography of micro events within a momentum thrusting from just beyond the perceivable. Driscoll and her team of collaborators ask: How do we feel the impact of events moving through us which are so much larger? Yet are animating and activating our bodies all the time? How do we get closer to the impact? Can we slow down enough to feel the dust, hurt, howl, absence, spill, plume?

Faye Driscoll’s newest work Weathering is a multi-sensory flesh sculpture made of bodies, sounds, scents, liquids and objects. Ten people (dancers/singers/crew) enact a glacially morphing tableau vivant on a mobile raft-like stage surging through the Anthropocene. Their voices generate a score that crescendos and resonates as they clutch, careen and cleave, in a space too small to contain them, spilling off the edges. The audience embanks the performers, close enough to smell the sweat and feel the steam of the central, spiraling scenes. The symphonically active, luminously living work is a breathing, leaking, choreography of micro events within a momentum thrusting from just beyond the perceivable. Driscoll and her team of collaborators ask: How do we feel the impact of events moving through us which are so much larger? Yet are animating and activating our bodies all the time? How do we get closer to the impact? Can we slow down enough to feel the dust, hurt, howl, absence, spill, plume?

Faye Driscoll’s newest work Weathering is a multi-sensory flesh sculpture made of bodies, sounds, scents, liquids and objects. Ten people (dancers/singers/crew) enact a glacially morphing tableau vivant on a mobile raft-like stage surging through the Anthropocene. Their voices generate a score that crescendos and resonates as they clutch, careen and cleave, in a space too small to contain them, spilling off the edges. The audience embanks the performers, close enough to smell the sweat and feel the steam of the central, spiraling scenes. The symphonically active, luminously living work is a breathing, leaking, choreography of micro events within a momentum thrusting from just beyond the perceivable. Driscoll and her team of collaborators ask: How do we feel the impact of events moving through us which are so much larger? Yet are animating and activating our bodies all the time? How do we get closer to the impact? Can we slow down enough to feel the dust, hurt, howl, absence, spill, plume?

Faye Driscoll’s newest work Weathering is a multi-sensory flesh sculpture made of bodies, sounds, scents, liquids and objects. Ten people (dancers/singers/crew) enact a glacially morphing tableau vivant on a mobile raft-like stage surging through the Anthropocene. Their voices generate a score that crescendos and resonates as they clutch, careen and cleave, in a space too small to contain them, spilling off the edges. The audience embanks the performers, close enough to smell the sweat and feel the steam of the central, spiraling scenes. The symphonically active, luminously living work is a breathing, leaking, choreography of micro events within a momentum thrusting from just beyond the perceivable. Driscoll and her team of collaborators ask: How do we feel the impact of events moving through us which are so much larger? Yet are animating and activating our bodies all the time? How do we get closer to the impact? Can we slow down enough to feel the dust, hurt, howl, absence, spill, plume?

Faye Driscoll’s newest work Weathering is a multi-sensory flesh sculpture made of bodies, sounds, scents, liquids and objects. Ten people (dancers/singers/crew) enact a glacially morphing tableau vivant on a mobile raft-like stage surging through the Anthropocene. Their voices generate a score that crescendos and resonates as they clutch, careen and cleave, in a space too small to contain them, spilling off the edges. The audience embanks the performers, close enough to smell the sweat and feel the steam of the central, spiraling scenes. The symphonically active, luminously living work is a breathing, leaking, choreography of micro events within a momentum thrusting from just beyond the perceivable. Driscoll and her team of collaborators ask: How do we feel the impact of events moving through us which are so much larger? Yet are animating and activating our bodies all the time? How do we get closer to the impact? Can we slow down enough to feel the dust, hurt, howl, absence, spill, plume?

Faye Driscoll’s newest work Weathering is a multi-sensory flesh sculpture made of bodies, sounds, scents, liquids and objects. Ten people (dancers/singers/crew) enact a glacially morphing tableau vivant on a mobile raft-like stage surging through the Anthropocene. Their voices generate a score that crescendos and resonates as they clutch, careen and cleave, in a space too small to contain them, spilling off the edges. The audience embanks the performers, close enough to smell the sweat and feel the steam of the central, spiraling scenes. The symphonically active, luminously living work is a breathing, leaking, choreography of micro events within a momentum thrusting from just beyond the perceivable. Driscoll and her team of collaborators ask: How do we feel the impact of events moving through us which are so much larger? Yet are animating and activating our bodies all the time? How do we get closer to the impact? Can we slow down enough to feel the dust, hurt, howl, absence, spill, plume?

Lucky Plush Productions presents Right Here, created by Melinda Jean Myers in collaboration with Lucky Plush ensemble members and composer/musician Lex Leto. This new dance-theater work explores how the body holds opposing states of motivation and apathy, abundance and loss, and hope and despair during a climate crisis. Through visual storytelling and shared choreographies, the ensemble seeks a roadmap for greater awareness and collective action.