So what is left when the striving and the building and the fighting are done? What is the life that continues when human life is over?
Such questions tend to surface whenever we’re confronted with the fact of our mortality, whether in specific or collective terms. And if you, like many people I know these days, have been thinking along such lines, you may well want to seek out the company of Richard Maxwell.
Or rather his avatars, who have colonized the ground-floor space of the Greene Naftali gallery in Chelsea, where Mr. Maxwell’s paradoxically bleak and buoyant “Paradiso” runs through Feb. 10. (The production is free, though reservations are necessary.) There, a select assortment of beings, human and otherwise, are considering the end of us all in deeply affecting terms.
“Welcome to the play, by the way,” one of them says in the opening moments of this hourlong production. The nice thing about a play is “it makes a place wherever we gather,” somewhere “to put ideas that otherwise would just float in space.”
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