A Fringe Quickie (#293) with ‘Tide’

What misconceptions do you think people have about you/your show – would you like to clear them up?

Tide follows two girls as they navigate the aftermath of sexual assault and familial loss at a silent retreat by the ocean. The show is often mistaken for a straightforward tragedy or a love story neatly resolved through healing — but I’m not interested in clear-cut genres or tidy, redemptive endings. The story closes in uncertainty — with medication, confusion, and silence — yet also with tenderness and the quiet possibility of hope. As an ensemble, we’re committed to telling stories that hold the full weight of pain without romanticizing it, while still making space for connection, resilience, and growth.

If you/your show were a school subject what would you/it be and why?

Tide would definitely be an art class — the kind where the teacher urges you to be brave, to try the strangest medium, to make a mess. You mix every color you can find and end up with shades you never expected. The canvas is smudged. Your hands are stained. Maybe there’s even a streak of blue across your cheek. It’s not always pretty, but it’s honest.

How do you keep your performances fresh every night?

Our storytelling blends physical theatre with color. At the start of each show, we place three bottles of paint — blue, yellow, and red — onstage. Two actors use their hands as brushes, painting beaches, oceans, and moonlight that mirror their emotional journeys. The stage begins as a blank canvas and gradually transforms into a chaotic collision of color. Since we never know how the hues will mix or how bodies will move through them, no two performances are ever the same.

About the show