Meredith Monk has been at it for twenty years now, moving steadily across an artistic landscape that seems to span the world and more. I suppose she should be called a revolutionary, since her work obeys the dictates of no other form or authority; but the events she coordinates on stage never look as though they're rebelling, never look as though they're striving to be new and different. Everything proceeds with calm and certainty, and no matter how weird the accumulated details become, each moment strikes with its own absolute truth. By the end of the evening we see that in fact it isn't weird—it's Meredith Monk. What we picked up at the box office earlier was a ticket to her consciousness.
—Laura Shapiro, Seattle Weekly, May 9, 1984
(found in Meredith Monk, edited by Deborah Jowitt)
Bones and breath, flesh and soul. Meditation and exuberance. Community and solitude. Grieving in death, joy in life.