They organize the world by cutting away most of it. Then let some in. How light is refracted through an old bottle on a windowsill. How a screen pixilates autumn. The framing. I write to tug at the edges, to mess with right angles. What is just beyond what is seen? Just below? To write is to unravel the rectangle. To disbelieve it. Live performances—especially dance—are a way to attune myself to what is happening outside the house of language. Stages can be windows. The idea of training the body to try the impossible thrills me. To translate what most people assume to be nonverbal through language, that’s thrilling too. I want to write something you can’t write…that you aren’t supposed to be able to write. A book is a window. Windows are all the beautiful rules I want to break.
—  Kirsten Kaschock; on windows