Reveal Unseen

Here’s a first look at our first set up. I’ve wanted to do this shoot for over a year. Dr. Cristina Matera allowed us to take over her OBGYN office to explore the incredible strength & simultaneous vulnerability associated w childbirth & women’s health



Here’s a quick glimpse of our Brecht work that we are all very proud of. staging this scene made me sick to my stomach, although it’s technically very fun to play. sometimes you play a character that allows an audience to see into a moment of historical atrocity. an act of service is required to not be liked on stage. but the creation / fall / redemption arc of all good things means you depict depravity (Third Reich) to remind us how much graciousness is needed in this entropic world full of suffering. 


Off Broadway Development

Ripping off the overshare bandaid... I’ve done a lot of plays / musicals / camera work in ma lyfe. And I’ve loved it all. But none of them have required my full & total self quite like this: living it, processing it, then learning to respectfully, honestly, & artfully offer it back in my form. So here we go w the Off-Broadway development production of a story that will grip me for the rest of my life. I owe myself a very long essay on what it means to raise a new incarnation of a show as Producer / Writer / Actor while simultaneously raising an infant-turned-toddler. Bottom line: I needed to know how strong I was to do this. & immune myself further to someone always being displeased or judging or offering opinions on how you are raising your babies — don’t matter, y’all. Raise It. Be relentless in what you know is right. Work. Cry. And be gracious with yourself. — I owe 3,598 people a major, enormous thank you. Half of you who follow me are those people. (Wait, I only have 17 followers...) Bottom line, join the continuing journey here: 



I did something today that was organic, peaceful and morbid. This was my response. 

a story about me & an organic, morbid hour of life


I bought an urn this week. 

I’ve procrastinated on buying it because i didn’t like the feeling of more change. 

But I bought it and today is the day.

I am listening to two audio stories to accompany the task. The first is Anton Chekhov's THE BEAUTIES, read by Philip Pullman, and the second is Hans Christian Andersen's THE EMPEROR'S NEW CLOTHES.

I begin cutting open the urn box paraphernalia, superfluous but appreciated. The white marble container needs protection and honor. As I cut into the cardboard, treated to look like wood, and wire metal binding, I carefully examine each piece as if it is a Vermeer original. I touch the smooth marble and notice the inside has a rough, sanded look. Simultaneously Pullman’s lulling British accent retells the Chekhovian story which he describes as “a story about nothing and another story about nothing.” But the detail is so vivid and picturesque, the twisting corners of description are so complex and satisfying that you don’t care. You receive it as a moment of life captured, as if you are inside a still life painting. I’m thankful someone took the time to tell me about the emotions accompanying pedestrian nothingness.

A feeling of melancholy grips me. But then it morphs into a release, a resigning to peace above situational turmoil. I smile.

I change my Audible track and THE EMPEROR’S NEW CLOTHES begins.

I start to transition the ashes of my friend whom has been in a hard, black plastic case inside a hefty plastic bag I received from the crematory. He’s been in our bedroom for almost two years. I lift the plastic bag with his remains over the mouth of the marble. I carefully inch the remains down the inside of bag until I know it will pour without fear of the remains spilling. As I pour my friend into the marble, there is a cloud of dust that billows up into my face. It smells metallic and earthy. He is dust to dust and ashes to ashes in my kitchen. It feels commonplace and monumental. I wonder what will happen to my body when I die. Who will care and where will I be? I miss him so much.

I’m not fearful as I think these things. I feel peace and an urgency that is mixed with excitement. 

I finish pouring him into the marble and stare at it. Then, in the hard, black plastic case he was in previously, I see a metal tag with his Crematory number: 4802. I place that on top of the ashes and place the marble lid atop. I notice I have his ashes on the top of my right hand. I take my hand and brush it over my left forearm. This feels morbid and organic. 

I smile again and know he would be happy to be in such a regal container. 

All the while, the story of Hans Christian Andersen’s tale is tumbling into my ears and I can’t believe how apropos it feels. The story is about a man and his so-called friends who are tricked over and over and over again into believing that something is beautiful, wonderful and stylish when it doesn’t even exist. Because of the fear of being culturally irrelevant, a man walks into public naked because he would rather be popular than truthful. It’s not until a child in the audience whispers “But he hasn’t got anything on” that everyone realizes they have traded common sense for the fleeting fashionable opinion.

I carry the urn into our bedroom and place it facing the window. I make a conscious note that he is not in the urn. He is a healthy and joyous soul beyond this place. But I still draw comfort from his dust.

My friend was a man with very little means and often lived on the streets. But he was like the child in the audience whispering, and sometimes yelling, common sense when everyone else was caught up in a rat race. He was unafraid to say the hard things to me and to everyone around him. He had nothing to lose by telling the truth.

This scares and inspires me. So I make an Evernote list of all the countries I’ve visited and the ones I still want to visit. I include states I’ve never visited. I write the areas in which I’m potentially telling lies because I’m afraid. I write that I have been stunted a bit. Part of me seemed to die with my friend, but today he is whispering again like that brave child. He says, “Don’t take no wooden nickels” and he says “Life isn’t about you.” Lastly he says, “Don’t lie, girl.”

Coney Island & Broadway Sessions

Yesterday, after DUST CANT KILL ME rehearsals, my hot hubby, our summer intern, Katie, and I went to Coney Island! My husband is doing a 35 day challenge where he doing 35 things he's never done every day for 35 days, leading up to his birthday. Yesterday was ride the Wonder Wheel! We snuck in a Nathan's hot dog, too. Then, I finished the night with a late night performance of the gorgeous song ADELINE with the cast of DUST CAN'T KILL ME at Broadway Sessions. Get out of your normal routine. It will inspire you.


Truly happy to be joining a new piece that focuses on the struggle of the Dust Bowl that will premiere at NYMF in August.  This is a period in history that affected both sides of my family & I'm thankful to be re-exploring their struggle via this piece. All the info and more story points can be found here: or

Below are my father and grandfathers, Frank Davis, Keith Davis and Oscar Brown.