Oh, October. Sweet month of change. Temperatures finally dropping, but the sky does not yet fade. A dark bar incites its usual existential sound; crunchy brussels and and fluffy hummus abound. A bright breakfast expands palettes into poaching, Nick’s eggs + veggies do the experimental coaching. A weekend date requires little more than borrowed beanies and held mitts: a westside going golden and freshly layered knits. Dusty vintage rockets provoke one too many sneezes, strip-shouldered mannequins provide warm woolen squeezes. Grocery store hide-and-seek yields new plant babes and boo Sunday snacks. Portuguese fado follows carefully unplanned naps. Beanfriend makes soups, 90s Bourdain loops. Welcome, Dear Autumn, we’ve been waiting for you.
Ah, autumn. This weekend felt short, yet decidedly fall.
There was a cousin visit, complete with brunch, a stroll through Swan Point and heavy and happy life discussions.
There was teatimesthree and lots more walking, leaf rustling, west side mansion shopping, and poster hunting. There were Bucks & Dunnies, Ducks & Bunnies, pumpkin peeping, late night cookie baking (have you ever made just one chocolate chip cookie?) and more “life discussing”.
In a few hours it’s toes first back into ballet, but for now, I’m savoring the warm fuzzies of this photo diary.
One of first dates was spent behind the handlebars, racing down a bus tunnel with bellies full of froyo. We biked our way through Vernon to Giverny, up to Monet’s gardens and back again. We pedaled along train tracks to a rusty old bridge in East Providence, and crossed a bridge over the Seine to meet a whirring train headed for Paris.
Of course, if we’re not biking, please find us brunching. Oh, pretty please.
Savory crêpes, sweet pancakes, miso fettuccini, we’ve brunched it all. No discrimination. Many a pilgrimmage in Paris led to golden eggs and spicy avocado toast.
So a Monday dedicated to biking from Barrington to Bristol for brunch? Bliss.
So much can happen in the quick quarter of an orbit.
The wily weather tests and the earth changes her ticking dress. New faces become your favorites and different places are dubbed The Best.
An adventurer’s comfort lies in knowing that discovery chases the bend of the wind.
Temporal tides tempt exploration, and seasonal shifts never meet an end.
Does this spot look familiar? Despite the 80-degree week days, so far September’s weekends have welcomed a slight chill to Providence, and it’s got me feeling all kinds of cozy. And cozy feels deserve warm brunch and beanies. M and I decided to celebrate autumn’s arrival by filling our bellies with Salted Slate and visiting a rickety old friend of ours. Man, I love September.
Friday night I had my first evening rehearsal of the season, and it was actually quite a lovely time. Alex and I insisted on lighting the studios with the overhead chandeliers that are usually reserved for black box events like Up Close On Hope, and of course self-proclaimed perpetual youth that he is, our boss was all too happy to allow it. Rehearsing moonlight doused in the soft glow of chandeliers was completely transporting. A slow drip of darkness from the two large windows facing 4th Street wafted its way in and filled the studio with a fuzzy, dim weight. Our chandeliers indulged us with their moony glow. The alternative lighting left an effect on the room, like the entire space had closed its eyes and our rehearsal was its subconscious monologue. We were that thing, that strange stream of movement it had no real control over imagining when its eyelids were pulled down. It was then that I realized, I do about 80 percent of this piece with my own eyes closed, something I have never incorporated into a performance before. Every step of the sleepy pas de deux felt notably more honest that night, my hollow hands paddling amidst an intangible, weightless mass, the invisible density of darkness. Heavy, but completely immune to gravity. How frustrating to be held captive in this impossible sensation.
Before heading off to said evening rehearsal, I decided to take advantage of my long break and the beautiful fall foliage by going out for a walk around Swan Point Cemetery, right at the end of Blackstone Boulevard. Swan Point is one of the most peaceful places I’ve ever wandered into, so much so that before I knew it I had myself completely lost amongst the red leaves and tomb stones. What was meant to be a quick stroll turned into a 2.5-hour walk, but I don’t regret it for a minute. Sometimes a long lonely walk with just the company of your own thoughts is exactly what the doctor ordered.
Definitely feeling the eerie October vibes these days, if you hadn’t already noticed…
ps- check out this video of choreographer Ilya Kozadayev, discussing one of the other pieces he set on FBP.