‘The sense memory of domestic spaces’

Like Colvin House—where dropshift dance presented a fuller iteration of ROOMS in April after three years of development—Gunder House is a landmark Edgewater mansion in a real estate subdivision developed by John Lewis Cochran. Located just north of the Berger Park Cultural Center and a few steps west from the lake, the Classical Revival-style home dates back to the first decade of the 20th century and was commissioned by Samuel Gunder, president of Pozzinni Pharmaceutical Company, and designed by architect Myron Church. The light brick edifice features a dark, arched doorway flanked by torchlike lamps. Upon entering the house, a volunteer invites visitors to explore freely for the first half hour.

ROOMS
Through 11/23: Fri 11/8 and 11/22 6:30 PM, Sat 11/6 and 11/23 11:30 AM and 2 PM; Gunder House, 6129 N. Sheridan, 978-317-5577, dropshiftdance.com, $25 suggested donation

Ropes of LED lights coil around the margins of rooms where mirrors tilted against the walls intercept views. In the basement, the dust and must of detritus. On the second-floor landing, a loom with an incomplete weaving. Further in, cardboard boxes filled with shards of colored glass stand in a room with empty wastebaskets set upon the tables. A series of drawings rest above the windows, a penciled sphere serves as a study of both dimension and color. On a windowsill, a pink plastic pig flaps its plastic wings, never taking flight. A cluttered bathroom, mop askew on the floor, offers views of the water below. And in the first-floor water closet, something wonderful: the dim light of teal light bulbs and “driftwood”-scented candles offer projections in cobalt blue and aqua that reflect in the mirrors and over the arched ceiling with shifting speed, rapidly bubbling up and slowing to a flow (the projection and video are by Andrew Henke and Gary Walker; much of the above, as it later transpired, was simply how the park district kept the house).

After 30 minutes, we gather in the library, where the persistent click of a slide projector gives a steady rhythm. The sound of cars passing on Sheridan Road mixes with the rushing sound of the lake. Three dancers (Andrea Cerniglia, Christina Chammas, and Alexandra Claiborne-Naranjo) with containers of objects each face a mirror and begin to arrange their things: a VHS tape of The Secret Garden, threadbare stuffed animals, friendship bracelets, CDs, postcards, knickknacks. It’s as if each person, peering at their own reflection, is building a shrine to their memory. On the floor, a Post-it note states, “This place is ours.” After the objects are in place, they unfold ovoid fabrics (by Collin Bunting), each cut with two holes near the center—armholes or peepholes—each adorned in its own way. They drape the fabrics over themselves, nestle within them, swaddle themselves, share touch and space. A braid mingles with the fringe of the fabric. Bodies occasionally emerge one at a time and often merge together, forming shapes like tents or forts.

Inspired by the “sense memory of domestic spaces,” as described by dropshift director Cerniglia, ROOMS, which shares what she calls “samplings” of DWELL/burrow (2022), bloom (2023), and objects (2023), seems private to the internal lives of its players.