Kenneth Tam collaborates with groups of men who are willing to investigate, with him, collectively, the liminal space between vulnerability and masculinity, sensuality and sexuality, performance and selfhood, belonging and otherness.
The show was created before the pandemic but feels particularly prescient. A current of surveillance and confinement—the windowless warehouse, the proximity of the dancers (off, off damned coat!)—ripples throughout.
To get to Sun Tunnels, one drives down a series of remote gravel roads, crosses a dry gulch through which the railroad presumably travels, and past a ghost town. There are no street signs or markers. Miles must be counted on the odometer. The cellphone signal disappears about 30 miles prior, on the other side of the Utah state line, near Montello, Nevada, the closest inhabited town.