she’s here!!!!!
my first born child- i mean, my book- is officially available for preorder! click the link below to get your hands on a copy…click quick for early bird perks ;)
Category Archives: Lifestyle
book release: september first!
i am so excited to announce that #thesilhouetteinside will be officially released september 1, 2020! it’s been such a labor of love this past year, and a thrill to have you along on the journey the past few weeks.
stay tuned for a COVER REVEAL coming very soon (wink) and preorder details (hint, perks) to follow!
three things…
a poem from the #cuttingroomfloor of “the silhouette inside”:
circe can’t go home
oceanid with holographic hair
her formation is terrestrial
every cell hails de la mer
saltwater nymph
imprisoned in her own shell
destined to sway the unwilling
to hold them in her hell
historically avoided
her plea silent like the sea
to be requited is to be understood;
to be understood is to be free
tormented temptress
neither goddess nor goodness, she waits
for the creature who will create her
the only one who holds two fates
circe can’t stay home
her liquid lips must rise
to meet her lightning lover
in the heavy-handed skiesv
a sneak peek!
an anniversary.
a year ago, in the glow of your post-show, we shared a bottle of WA in the king’s club and discovered that we both collect matches. you did a jerry seinfeld impression and i sang the praises of providence. we kissed for the first time that night in vail, and spent the next night making excuses to keep walking around the village, willing the sun not to come up. three days later, i cancelled a trip to nyc and drove up to jacob’s pillow to see you. and we knew.
seven months of phone calls and splitting weekends between our cities + five months of quarantining together = one whole year. i’m not one for sappy posts, but boy, you make life good(t).
begin again
One of my dearest interweb-turned-real-life friends recently retired from her career as a dancer with the Joffrey Ballet. We were FaceTiming one night, her eyes lit by the faint glow of a porch light somewhere in North Carolina, when I asked how she was feeling about her “new life” as a mother and student of interior design. Her answer was simple and has stuck, taffy-pulling my mind ever since:
“I’m a beginner again.”
Her voice sounded equal parts nervous and optimistic, refreshed by the concept of starting over. She went on to point out the fact that as professional ballet dancers, we have trained our entire lives to (never quite) master one very specific skill. Since adolescence, our focus has been sole: dance. Starting a career at the age of 18 creates a certain sense of comfort, if not accomplishment, in that field. Leaving the studio and stage to forge a new path, well that is something else entirely.
It’s been quite a while, my friend pointed out, since she felt this brand new. She had not set out to learn a the foundation of a completely new trade in nearly two decades. Yes, it’s scary to suddenly feel so unsure of your footing. But guess what? It’s also exhilarating to not always know.
I’m finding all of this to be so very true as I navigate the murky (to me) waters of writing, illustrating, formatting, publishing, and distributing a book. This completely new set of skills that call upon another side of my creativity. Suddenly all of those years spent training expertise into expert seem much further away.
Was I really a beginner at ballet once, learning french vocabulary and using stories to memorize the order of exercises at the barre?
So we do what dancers do. I apply what a life on stage has given me here, behind the curtain, as I give voice to the girl in the wings. Determination, patience, and flexibility. Try, learn, begin again. Let’s publish a book.
“the silhouette inside” is coming so soon! stay tuned, friends.
a book, i hope
Processed with VSCO with e3 preset
Sweaty afternoons spent illustrating my book on the porch, punctuated by my usual seaside summer jaunts to York and Newport. Trying to retain some semblance of normalcy in a world turned upside-down…
C and I have taken to an evening stroll down Blackstone to stretch our legs and get out of the house, even if behind masks. Lately I find myself craving a disconnect from the all-consuming screens that seem to have taken over more and more of my awake time as connecting with the world in a physical way has become so limited. I will never consider myself an extravert, but as an artist, I certainly glean inspiration from the sights, sounds, and yes, those mysterious people of the outside world.
A few nights ago, we took our walk at the height of golden hour: that magical time of night where it feels as though the clouds have touched down to the treetops and your head floats up high enough into the branches to meet them. Everything seems just a bit more special…even your routine walk around the neighborhood. It hit me then- as I saw the low sun flare through fat, happy July leaves and felt a poem coming on- that I had written most of my book on this very same walk.
Almost every day last summer began with a walk to Wildflour. Between my home and my favorite café, words appeared in my mind. Sometimes one at a time, other times in hoards that clogged my ears and threatened to spill out my mouth if I did not sit down and write them out in time. Some days I would rush frantically to my café, so as not to lose a single syllable. Other times I let the words steep deep in my skull. Marinate before serving.
Pushing through the café doors, ordering my usual Providence Breakfast tea, finding a table on the coveted back wall, all of these keeping my words tangled somewhere behind my tongue, until finally, the release. An open laptop, a half full notebook, an outpouring.
One day, as I walked up with my empty teacup to ask for “a bit more hot water when you get a chance?” the barista (taking my cup before I finished, all too familiar with my daily re-steep request) posed a question toward me instead: “What are you writing over there?” She smiled graciously through orange-red lips and admitted to noticing the way I stare blankly into the coffee-scented air when I’m thinking. “A book, I hope,” was my optimistic reply.
Twelve months later, a new July has found me, with a very new set of summer routines. Kept from my café, I’ve collected the poems I wrote there; Remembering a past me and her previous tea, sipping in the day and exhaling words on a page.
My debut book of poetry and drawings “the silhouette inside” is coming soon.
breathed into being
Processed with VSCO with e5 preset
Processed with VSCO with e5 preset
Setting sail from one sweet port to the next. Finding an upturned lip in the darkened threads of a couch. Seeing stripes in the reflection of a metallic basin. Counting days, hours, minutes…then losing track of everything and anything at all.
Dancing and romancing, singing tragedies without words. Becoming someone else for an evening, savoring their spark, pushing away their sorrow. Remembering that acting can intercept with reality and- even when you don’t intend it- life informs your art.
Noticing the frayed string of a tiny tea bag. Imagining the one-sided conversation heard by strangers in the park all the way on the other end of the telephone. Imagining the way his eyes flicker when he’s saying something serious. At night, wrapping myself in the weight of us; In the daytime, walking light as air.
All of these things can be used. Taken, molded, changed, wrapped around a different character, and breathed into being on stage. And just as easily, when the time comes and the final curtain calls, they unwrap from around your limbs and dissolve into memories. A beautiful catalogue to return to from the next life.
“I’ve never been good at goodbyes.” So darling, I’ll see you soon.
benefit speaks
Processed with VSCO with f1 preset
Processed with VSCO with a6 preset
Processed with VSCO with e5 preset
Processed with VSCO with a6 preset
“The world gave me many things, but the only thing I ever kept was absolute solitude.”
-Dulce Maria Loynez, Absolute Solitude
In the busy bodies of modern humans, you will find many cluttered minds. Wade deeper into the rising tide of the millennial mind, resist the pull of digital distraction and you will find a sliver of longing. Small and made of negative space like the eye of a needle, soft as an echo, this little longing looks for real connection.
Locating and listening to this longing may sound tough, but the true challenge lies in deciphering its request. In a culture where connection may be an epidemic, we must learn the difference between connecting with a pixelated person and a tangible one. Sometimes connecting with others requires a reconnection with oneself. Enter the Benefit Street Stroll I took myself on this past weekend…
I am a lover of solitude. There are few things I can’t do alone, and in fact, I often prefer it this way. Recently, though, I have found myself longing for some company, reaching for a hand when the cobblestones snag my shoe.
Instead, I got an afternoon of connection with the city I love. I stumbled upon a tour of the Stephen Hopkins house, a pocket of Providence history ripe with rebellious stories and shadows of the past. I tucked myself into the Athenaeum, searched for Georges Sand, got to know Walt Whitman, and filled several pages of my journal, reflecting on just how much can change in a year. Or two. Or three. I took the time to notice the colors of the homes matching the blushing autumn sky. I sifted through the crackling confetti fallen from trees that will too soon be sleeved in snow.
I decided to learn what I already knew: You are never truly alone, if you can listen when your city speaks to you.
root to rise
Processed with VSCO with a9 preset
Processed with VSCO with a9 preset
Processed with VSCO with c2 preset
Processed with VSCO with a9 preset
Processed with VSCO with e5 preset
Processed with VSCO with c2 preset
We’re sliding into slower days and I’m splayed out, one foot into nesting mode and the other five toes clinging dearly to the adventurous personality of my summer skin. As I’ve mentioned before, these past 8 months have been a real metamorphoses for me. In February, I was dropped hard onto the earth. In March, I learned how bitter it could be. In April, I recited a manifesto. In May, I was reborn, I dove into a lake. In June, I was surprised. I hugged my soulmates and let go of fear. In July, I harnessed a confidence I never knew lived inside me all along. By August, I was floating.
Then September rolled up. In her suitcases she carried anxiety and doubt, a familiar overthinking that kept me up at night. Toxic ambivalence. This duality of heart that served me such clarity 8 months ago, in the amber light of fall just clouded my lens. With my head already underwater, I’ve got no choice but to kick and paddle. So I swim.
A certain someone recently acknowledged the indescribable feeling that comes from just being with your art. No expectations, no homework, no parameter of time. Just pure connection with this inhuman, breathing beast that has grown with you always. It will make you whole, if you just let it.
Today, I am channeling that. Restore. Refresh. A new month, a new mindset. Let’s work, let’s play. Happy October.
not to worry
Processed with VSCO with e5 preset
Processed with VSCO with e5 preset
“I worried a lot. Will the garden grow, will the rivers
flow in the right direction, will the earth turn
as it was taught, and if not how shall
I correct it?
Was I right, was I wrong, will I be forgiven,
can I do better?
Will I ever be able to sing, even the sparrows
can do it and I am, well,
hopeless.
Is my eyesight fading or am I just imagining it,
am I going to get rheumatism,
lockjaw, dementia?
Finally I saw that worrying had come to nothing.
And gave it up. And took my old body
and went out into the morning,
and sang.”
-Mary Oliver, I Worried
shaping the clay
Processed with VSCO with a6 preset
Processed with VSCO with f2 preset
It’s simply impossible to put this summer into words. But on a recent train ride home from New York, on the final page of a journal that has seen me through some big transitions, I tried. In the spirit of celebrating vulnerability and staying accountable, here is that entry- unedited, raw, and rambling. If you are interested…
I am not standing still.
I am evolving, changing, growing, blooming, becoming. Shaping my clay, never into the kiln, careful to never let the dust quite settle. I am so grateful for the gift that this summer has been. The shift to total positivity. The timing. I am awake, I am alive. I am here. I am everywhere.
I am vowing to stay curious. To stay lost. And to always appreciate roaming. Even when things get hard, when I cry, when I get hurt, when winter seems too long and ballet seems too hard. I have been created by every experience I have had so far, and this process continues infinitely. The good and the bad. The bad things seem to thrust me ever more vigorously into a season of light and hope, and for that I am incredibly thankful.
I have found my balance, and learned that it is an active pursuit- not something to set and forget. It is my daily actions, the decision to get out. To take risks, to talk to strangers. To interact with my world and notice its ebbs and flows. To lean into the current and also go against the grain. To see the patch of sunlight on the floor and cuddle with it. To feel the weight of the world and turn towards, not away, from it. This mixture, this recipe, it’s always changing, adjusting.
The greatest asset: flexibility of spirit. The ability to re-envision my life again and again. To see the endless possibilities ahead of me, and know that reality will look like none of them. To celebrate that. To see the future as unlimited in variation, but so preciously limited in length. To be given this perspective right when I needed it, and to be given the ability to share it by doing what I love. To connect with new places and faces. To experience new relationships. To feel love. To love. To be loved in so many different ways. To love every little bit of it.
Happy September. Keep shaping.
Setting The Barre 