‘Lux: a solo show’ @ Artstillery
Photos by Zach Huggins (@mrhuggins on Insta)
Cover art by Stephen Brodie(@stephenbrodieofficial on Insta)
—Ryan Maffei
Though it’s treacherous to comment on an actor’s physical characteristics, Meagan Harris’ eyes are uniquely striking. The deep, expressive pools peering off the poster of Lux: a solo show—the piece Harris conceived and cultivated in Guadalajara and Madrid—emanate an intense pathos, and a dread suffused with wonder. Harris eyes convey an incandescence brighter than most. They are portals to an electric energy she’s adapted to diverse challenges, such as fusing “living cartoon” and “audience surrogate” in Ochre House’s Daddy’s Rabbits, or winning us over as the lead cad in Shakespeare Everywhere’s Taming of the Shrew. Those eyes are part of why she’s one of the best local actors for selling overstatement. So it’s a neat treat to see her lean into naturalism and vulnerability for her one-person show Lux, presented at Artstillery’s 723, the company’s community space in West Dallas.
Harris has done one-person shows as an understudy (Open, Spaceman), not to mention played vulnerability before. But given her chief wheelhouses, it feels apt that she’s filtered her debut original work through a handful of unusual and heightened performance styles. Lux’s director, Carlos García Estévez, began his collaboration with Harris as her instructor for a contemporary commedia dell’arte workshop. He is the founder of Manifesto Poetico, whose website will explain to you their diverse pursuits a lot better than I can; phrases like “spatial dramaturgy” and “the threshold of consciousness” drive home their stated mission of shattering the boundaries of creative expression. But Lux turns on a more familiar style signaled by Harris’ outlandish garb and red nose—it is, among other things, a clown show.
My well-trained companion provided some insight into the art of clowning that helped me appreciate what Harris is up to here. The persona of the clown must be conceived with intense specificity, and (she told me) “clowning is about curating an experience beyond mere performance.” The clown’s main function is to entertain, to bring joy—but they also operate with absolute openness to their surroundings. A clown is in active dialogue with the audience, and must be absolutely present; that’s where “spatial dramaturgy” comes in. The second Harris enters the space, in character, the fourth wall crumbles to dust. She bravely adopts her goofiest comportment (her deployment of tongue is at “Miley at the 2013 VMAs” level), yet every sound from the crowd startles her like a vacuum does a puppy.
Harris’ character is named Sally deLux, and she does have a “Sally” energy, if we’re thinking of, say, A Nightmare Before Christmas—a living doll with a bright exterior and a deep well of inner melancholy. She invites us, through pantomime, into her morning routine (including life-threatening amounts of coffee), and tackles the ordeals of elevator travel and the voice on the other end of the ringtone. Armando Monsivais plays her invaluable foil, contributing sound effects and a wonderful spare soundtrack on his electric guitar, as well as playing an occasional straight man for double-act business. (You may also be called upon for this job.) Other costars include Pepito, a little duck missing from a Jeep somewhere, and a nameless puppet, whose symbolic import is apparent in tonally distinct vignettes bathed in blue light.
Justin Locklear designed that puppet, Courtney Amaro designed that light, Elliott Stapleton made that light happen, and besides Estévez and Monsivais, that’s Lux’s whole team. But in the intimate—if vaguely industrial, and hip as hell—Artstillery space, you become a part of the show. Lux is fast-paced, though it feels like a thousand things happen. And though its narrative arc feels expertly sculpted, it runs on spontaneity—via Harris’ restless body and endlessly expressive face (her control over which is as masterful as her comic timing), Sally’s tumble from hurdle to hurdle, and the way we can influence the action with a titter or gasp, not to mention actually participating. Everyday stakes balloon into life and death perils, and artful set pieces abound; in my favorite, poured sand floats like mist across the room.
Oh, and the show is almost entirely in Spanish. Estimates of audience fluency varied (my partner whispered translations to me). This is Texas, after all. But majority comprehension is unlikely, so the choice serves multiple functions. In a way, it’s a kind of non sequitur, at least for attendees to whom Spanish is all Greek. In a way, it’s political, in a climate where Spanish speakers are among the most threatened Americans. In a way, it’s poetry: some of the scarce English passages throw light on how much prettier Romance languages are, even with deliberate repetitious and simplified writing. And in a way, it underscores the isolation of a character struggling with interpersonal communication. But I doubt Harris meant any of that, even if she thought of all of it. She wrote Lux in Mexico. Voilà: Spanish.
Harris does invite audience members to raise their hands if they want something repeated in English, and though the crowd operated with respectful restraint on opening night, I can imagine audiences meeting the offer in a ripple effect that extends Lux well beyond its brisk hour. I don’t recommend this—but I do recommend taking Harris up on her offer to engage with Sally as readily as she engages with you. For a short time, she’s all yours, a heart doing circus tricks across its sleeve. When Friday’s show ended, Harris vanished and returned, red nose pocketed—and there stood a polite, almost shy artist many of us knew but only a few knew very well. The anxiety Sally just conquered, as portrayed by an actor of exceptional commitment, remained slightly palpable. So Lux is not just a clown show – it’s a magic show.
WHEN: July 11-20, 2025
WHERE: 723 Fort Worth Ave, Dallas
WEB: artstillery.org
