Eliza Vale. Or is she Elena? Or neither? Or both? Curiously, I think the answer is: yes. We are – all of us – in a constant flow of becoming and unraveling. Expanding. Contracting. Fitting in. Choosing more. Elbows out. Heads bowed. Masks on. Guards down. BadaBoom forces us to acknowledge our own contradictions and moral complicity…perhaps our own complacency…to consider what exactly drives our courage? Our conviction? Our compass? The BadaBoom team barely dipped our toes into these discoveries, but in sharing this singular experience with our audience, we dove into the depths together. We swam around, witnessed, reflected, connected, dialogued, diatribed… it was a wild ride. And there is more to come! Eliza/Elena has much more to say, but for now, gratitude prevails. 🖋️📕👓PS don’t spill boiling water on your wrist the day of the show, ya’ll. 0/10 do not recommend.
Eliza Vale. Or is she Elena? Or neither? Or both? Curiously, I think the answer is: yes. We are – all of us – in a constant flow of becoming and unraveling. Expanding. Contracting. Fitting in. Choosing more. Elbows out. Heads bowed. Masks on. Guards down. BadaBoom forces us to acknowledge our own contradictions and moral complicity…perhaps our own complacency…to consider what exactly drives our courage? Our conviction? Our compass? The BadaBoom team barely dipped our toes into these discoveries, but in sharing this singular experience with our audience, we dove into the depths together. We swam around, witnessed, reflected, connected, dialogued, diatribed… it was a wild ride. And there is more to come! Eliza/Elena has much more to say, but for now, gratitude prevails. 🖋️📕👓PS don’t spill boiling water on your wrist the day of the show, ya’ll. 0/10 do not recommend.
Eliza Vale. Or is she Elena? Or neither? Or both? Curiously, I think the answer is: yes. We are – all of us – in a constant flow of becoming and unraveling. Expanding. Contracting. Fitting in. Choosing more. Elbows out. Heads bowed. Masks on. Guards down. BadaBoom forces us to acknowledge our own contradictions and moral complicity…perhaps our own complacency…to consider what exactly drives our courage? Our conviction? Our compass? The BadaBoom team barely dipped our toes into these discoveries, but in sharing this singular experience with our audience, we dove into the depths together. We swam around, witnessed, reflected, connected, dialogued, diatribed… it was a wild ride. And there is more to come! Eliza/Elena has much more to say, but for now, gratitude prevails. 🖋️📕👓PS don’t spill boiling water on your wrist the day of the show, ya’ll. 0/10 do not recommend.
Eliza Vale. Or is she Elena? Or neither? Or both? Curiously, I think the answer is: yes. We are – all of us – in a constant flow of becoming and unraveling. Expanding. Contracting. Fitting in. Choosing more. Elbows out. Heads bowed. Masks on. Guards down. BadaBoom forces us to acknowledge our own contradictions and moral complicity…perhaps our own complacency…to consider what exactly drives our courage? Our conviction? Our compass? The BadaBoom team barely dipped our toes into these discoveries, but in sharing this singular experience with our audience, we dove into the depths together. We swam around, witnessed, reflected, connected, dialogued, diatribed… it was a wild ride. And there is more to come! Eliza/Elena has much more to say, but for now, gratitude prevails. 🖋️📕👓PS don’t spill boiling water on your wrist the day of the show, ya’ll. 0/10 do not recommend.
Eliza Vale. Or is she Elena? Or neither? Or both? Curiously, I think the answer is: yes. We are – all of us – in a constant flow of becoming and unraveling. Expanding. Contracting. Fitting in. Choosing more. Elbows out. Heads bowed. Masks on. Guards down. BadaBoom forces us to acknowledge our own contradictions and moral complicity…perhaps our own complacency…to consider what exactly drives our courage? Our conviction? Our compass? The BadaBoom team barely dipped our toes into these discoveries, but in sharing this singular experience with our audience, we dove into the depths together. We swam around, witnessed, reflected, connected, dialogued, diatribed… it was a wild ride. And there is more to come! Eliza/Elena has much more to say, but for now, gratitude prevails. 🖋️📕👓PS don’t spill boiling water on your wrist the day of the show, ya’ll. 0/10 do not recommend.
Eliza Vale. Or is she Elena? Or neither? Or both? Curiously, I think the answer is: yes. We are – all of us – in a constant flow of becoming and unraveling. Expanding. Contracting. Fitting in. Choosing more. Elbows out. Heads bowed. Masks on. Guards down. BadaBoom forces us to acknowledge our own contradictions and moral complicity…perhaps our own complacency…to consider what exactly drives our courage? Our conviction? Our compass? The BadaBoom team barely dipped our toes into these discoveries, but in sharing this singular experience with our audience, we dove into the depths together. We swam around, witnessed, reflected, connected, dialogued, diatribed… it was a wild ride. And there is more to come! Eliza/Elena has much more to say, but for now, gratitude prevails. 🖋️📕👓PS don’t spill boiling water on your wrist the day of the show, ya’ll. 0/10 do not recommend.
Eliza Vale. Or is she Elena? Or neither? Or both? Curiously, I think the answer is: yes. We are – all of us – in a constant flow of becoming and unraveling. Expanding. Contracting. Fitting in. Choosing more. Elbows out. Heads bowed. Masks on. Guards down. BadaBoom forces us to acknowledge our own contradictions and moral complicity…perhaps our own complacency…to consider what exactly drives our courage? Our conviction? Our compass? The BadaBoom team barely dipped our toes into these discoveries, but in sharing this singular experience with our audience, we dove into the depths together. We swam around, witnessed, reflected, connected, dialogued, diatribed… it was a wild ride. And there is more to come! Eliza/Elena has much more to say, but for now, gratitude prevails. 🖋️📕👓PS don’t spill boiling water on your wrist the day of the show, ya’ll. 0/10 do not recommend.
Eliza Vale. Or is she Elena? Or neither? Or both? Curiously, I think the answer is: yes. We are – all of us – in a constant flow of becoming and unraveling. Expanding. Contracting. Fitting in. Choosing more. Elbows out. Heads bowed. Masks on. Guards down. BadaBoom forces us to acknowledge our own contradictions and moral complicity…perhaps our own complacency…to consider what exactly drives our courage? Our conviction? Our compass? The BadaBoom team barely dipped our toes into these discoveries, but in sharing this singular experience with our audience, we dove into the depths together. We swam around, witnessed, reflected, connected, dialogued, diatribed… it was a wild ride. And there is more to come! Eliza/Elena has much more to say, but for now, gratitude prevails. 🖋️📕👓PS don’t spill boiling water on your wrist the day of the show, ya’ll. 0/10 do not recommend.
Eliza Vale. Or is she Elena? Or neither? Or both? Curiously, I think the answer is: yes. We are – all of us – in a constant flow of becoming and unraveling. Expanding. Contracting. Fitting in. Choosing more. Elbows out. Heads bowed. Masks on. Guards down. BadaBoom forces us to acknowledge our own contradictions and moral complicity…perhaps our own complacency…to consider what exactly drives our courage? Our conviction? Our compass? The BadaBoom team barely dipped our toes into these discoveries, but in sharing this singular experience with our audience, we dove into the depths together. We swam around, witnessed, reflected, connected, dialogued, diatribed… it was a wild ride. And there is more to come! Eliza/Elena has much more to say, but for now, gratitude prevails. 🖋️📕👓PS don’t spill boiling water on your wrist the day of the show, ya’ll. 0/10 do not recommend.
Eliza Vale. Or is she Elena? Or neither? Or both? Curiously, I think the answer is: yes. We are – all of us – in a constant flow of becoming and unraveling. Expanding. Contracting. Fitting in. Choosing more. Elbows out. Heads bowed. Masks on. Guards down. BadaBoom forces us to acknowledge our own contradictions and moral complicity…perhaps our own complacency…to consider what exactly drives our courage? Our conviction? Our compass? The BadaBoom team barely dipped our toes into these discoveries, but in sharing this singular experience with our audience, we dove into the depths together. We swam around, witnessed, reflected, connected, dialogued, diatribed… it was a wild ride. And there is more to come! Eliza/Elena has much more to say, but for now, gratitude prevails. 🖋️📕👓PS don’t spill boiling water on your wrist the day of the show, ya’ll. 0/10 do not recommend.
Eliza Vale. Or is she Elena? Or neither? Or both? Curiously, I think the answer is: yes. We are – all of us – in a constant flow of becoming and unraveling. Expanding. Contracting. Fitting in. Choosing more. Elbows out. Heads bowed. Masks on. Guards down. BadaBoom forces us to acknowledge our own contradictions and moral complicity…perhaps our own complacency…to consider what exactly drives our courage? Our conviction? Our compass? The BadaBoom team barely dipped our toes into these discoveries, but in sharing this singular experience with our audience, we dove into the depths together. We swam around, witnessed, reflected, connected, dialogued, diatribed… it was a wild ride. And there is more to come! Eliza/Elena has much more to say, but for now, gratitude prevails. 🖋️📕👓PS don’t spill boiling water on your wrist the day of the show, ya’ll. 0/10 do not recommend.
Eliza Vale. Or is she Elena? Or neither? Or both? Curiously, I think the answer is: yes. We are – all of us – in a constant flow of becoming and unraveling. Expanding. Contracting. Fitting in. Choosing more. Elbows out. Heads bowed. Masks on. Guards down. BadaBoom forces us to acknowledge our own contradictions and moral complicity…perhaps our own complacency…to consider what exactly drives our courage? Our conviction? Our compass? The BadaBoom team barely dipped our toes into these discoveries, but in sharing this singular experience with our audience, we dove into the depths together. We swam around, witnessed, reflected, connected, dialogued, diatribed… it was a wild ride. And there is more to come! Eliza/Elena has much more to say, but for now, gratitude prevails. 🖋️📕👓PS don’t spill boiling water on your wrist the day of the show, ya’ll. 0/10 do not recommend.
Bette. The grandest dame. She came to us wonderfully vintage, at the age of 7 or maybe 8. She was found wandering in the Bronx, a mama dog, with mastitis so severe her teats drug along the sidewalk. A senior dog with little chance at a second life. The second I saw her, I fell in love and told Bryan the reason she had yet to be adopted was because she was meant to be ours. Those Bette Davis eyes sure got us good. Canon called her Barfley Doofus, Bartsey Davoss, Betsy Darwin. A lot of folks thought us a few lettuce leaves short of a salad. What were we thinking, bringing a senior dog we knew nothing about, let alone a pittie, into a house with a baby and a 5 year-old and two unsuspecting cats? But Bryan and I are Aries, and some of our best decisions have been our most impulsive ones, and we didn’t listen. We knew she was ours. First order of business once she was settled? A neat nip/tuck so she could face her future, full-speed ahead. Which, we learned pretty quickly, was the only way she ate. We still don’t think she knew how to chew, just inhale and then bore a hole in your soul waiting for more, confident she would succeed. (Have I mentioned those Bette Davis eyes?) In those first few years, we discovered she had a passion for digging holes and destroying lawns. Fence footers were installed. A fancy dog run was built. Later, artificial turf arrived, and let me tell you – not all heroes wear capes. She was a contralto tessitura, whose operatic bark greeted mailperson, sanitation worker, and neighbor alike. An excellent judge of character. Never met a male dog or firework she would remotely tolerate. Her yawns echoed throughout the house. She hated car rides and would bay with displeasure any time you made her take one. Her tail was a whip and her head was a boulder, but she wielded her obvious power with grace and gentleness. She captained our ship steadily, patiently, taking no credit for often being the only adult in the room. (Cont. in comments)
Bette. The grandest dame. She came to us wonderfully vintage, at the age of 7 or maybe 8. She was found wandering in the Bronx, a mama dog, with mastitis so severe her teats drug along the sidewalk. A senior dog with little chance at a second life. The second I saw her, I fell in love and told Bryan the reason she had yet to be adopted was because she was meant to be ours. Those Bette Davis eyes sure got us good. Canon called her Barfley Doofus, Bartsey Davoss, Betsy Darwin. A lot of folks thought us a few lettuce leaves short of a salad. What were we thinking, bringing a senior dog we knew nothing about, let alone a pittie, into a house with a baby and a 5 year-old and two unsuspecting cats? But Bryan and I are Aries, and some of our best decisions have been our most impulsive ones, and we didn’t listen. We knew she was ours. First order of business once she was settled? A neat nip/tuck so she could face her future, full-speed ahead. Which, we learned pretty quickly, was the only way she ate. We still don’t think she knew how to chew, just inhale and then bore a hole in your soul waiting for more, confident she would succeed. (Have I mentioned those Bette Davis eyes?) In those first few years, we discovered she had a passion for digging holes and destroying lawns. Fence footers were installed. A fancy dog run was built. Later, artificial turf arrived, and let me tell you – not all heroes wear capes. She was a contralto tessitura, whose operatic bark greeted mailperson, sanitation worker, and neighbor alike. An excellent judge of character. Never met a male dog or firework she would remotely tolerate. Her yawns echoed throughout the house. She hated car rides and would bay with displeasure any time you made her take one. Her tail was a whip and her head was a boulder, but she wielded her obvious power with grace and gentleness. She captained our ship steadily, patiently, taking no credit for often being the only adult in the room. (Cont. in comments)
Bette. The grandest dame. She came to us wonderfully vintage, at the age of 7 or maybe 8. She was found wandering in the Bronx, a mama dog, with mastitis so severe her teats drug along the sidewalk. A senior dog with little chance at a second life. The second I saw her, I fell in love and told Bryan the reason she had yet to be adopted was because she was meant to be ours. Those Bette Davis eyes sure got us good. Canon called her Barfley Doofus, Bartsey Davoss, Betsy Darwin. A lot of folks thought us a few lettuce leaves short of a salad. What were we thinking, bringing a senior dog we knew nothing about, let alone a pittie, into a house with a baby and a 5 year-old and two unsuspecting cats? But Bryan and I are Aries, and some of our best decisions have been our most impulsive ones, and we didn’t listen. We knew she was ours. First order of business once she was settled? A neat nip/tuck so she could face her future, full-speed ahead. Which, we learned pretty quickly, was the only way she ate. We still don’t think she knew how to chew, just inhale and then bore a hole in your soul waiting for more, confident she would succeed. (Have I mentioned those Bette Davis eyes?) In those first few years, we discovered she had a passion for digging holes and destroying lawns. Fence footers were installed. A fancy dog run was built. Later, artificial turf arrived, and let me tell you – not all heroes wear capes. She was a contralto tessitura, whose operatic bark greeted mailperson, sanitation worker, and neighbor alike. An excellent judge of character. Never met a male dog or firework she would remotely tolerate. Her yawns echoed throughout the house. She hated car rides and would bay with displeasure any time you made her take one. Her tail was a whip and her head was a boulder, but she wielded her obvious power with grace and gentleness. She captained our ship steadily, patiently, taking no credit for often being the only adult in the room. (Cont. in comments)
Bette. The grandest dame. She came to us wonderfully vintage, at the age of 7 or maybe 8. She was found wandering in the Bronx, a mama dog, with mastitis so severe her teats drug along the sidewalk. A senior dog with little chance at a second life. The second I saw her, I fell in love and told Bryan the reason she had yet to be adopted was because she was meant to be ours. Those Bette Davis eyes sure got us good. Canon called her Barfley Doofus, Bartsey Davoss, Betsy Darwin. A lot of folks thought us a few lettuce leaves short of a salad. What were we thinking, bringing a senior dog we knew nothing about, let alone a pittie, into a house with a baby and a 5 year-old and two unsuspecting cats? But Bryan and I are Aries, and some of our best decisions have been our most impulsive ones, and we didn’t listen. We knew she was ours. First order of business once she was settled? A neat nip/tuck so she could face her future, full-speed ahead. Which, we learned pretty quickly, was the only way she ate. We still don’t think she knew how to chew, just inhale and then bore a hole in your soul waiting for more, confident she would succeed. (Have I mentioned those Bette Davis eyes?) In those first few years, we discovered she had a passion for digging holes and destroying lawns. Fence footers were installed. A fancy dog run was built. Later, artificial turf arrived, and let me tell you – not all heroes wear capes. She was a contralto tessitura, whose operatic bark greeted mailperson, sanitation worker, and neighbor alike. An excellent judge of character. Never met a male dog or firework she would remotely tolerate. Her yawns echoed throughout the house. She hated car rides and would bay with displeasure any time you made her take one. Her tail was a whip and her head was a boulder, but she wielded her obvious power with grace and gentleness. She captained our ship steadily, patiently, taking no credit for often being the only adult in the room. (Cont. in comments)
Bette. The grandest dame. She came to us wonderfully vintage, at the age of 7 or maybe 8. She was found wandering in the Bronx, a mama dog, with mastitis so severe her teats drug along the sidewalk. A senior dog with little chance at a second life. The second I saw her, I fell in love and told Bryan the reason she had yet to be adopted was because she was meant to be ours. Those Bette Davis eyes sure got us good. Canon called her Barfley Doofus, Bartsey Davoss, Betsy Darwin. A lot of folks thought us a few lettuce leaves short of a salad. What were we thinking, bringing a senior dog we knew nothing about, let alone a pittie, into a house with a baby and a 5 year-old and two unsuspecting cats? But Bryan and I are Aries, and some of our best decisions have been our most impulsive ones, and we didn’t listen. We knew she was ours. First order of business once she was settled? A neat nip/tuck so she could face her future, full-speed ahead. Which, we learned pretty quickly, was the only way she ate. We still don’t think she knew how to chew, just inhale and then bore a hole in your soul waiting for more, confident she would succeed. (Have I mentioned those Bette Davis eyes?) In those first few years, we discovered she had a passion for digging holes and destroying lawns. Fence footers were installed. A fancy dog run was built. Later, artificial turf arrived, and let me tell you – not all heroes wear capes. She was a contralto tessitura, whose operatic bark greeted mailperson, sanitation worker, and neighbor alike. An excellent judge of character. Never met a male dog or firework she would remotely tolerate. Her yawns echoed throughout the house. She hated car rides and would bay with displeasure any time you made her take one. Her tail was a whip and her head was a boulder, but she wielded her obvious power with grace and gentleness. She captained our ship steadily, patiently, taking no credit for often being the only adult in the room. (Cont. in comments)
Bette. The grandest dame. She came to us wonderfully vintage, at the age of 7 or maybe 8. She was found wandering in the Bronx, a mama dog, with mastitis so severe her teats drug along the sidewalk. A senior dog with little chance at a second life. The second I saw her, I fell in love and told Bryan the reason she had yet to be adopted was because she was meant to be ours. Those Bette Davis eyes sure got us good. Canon called her Barfley Doofus, Bartsey Davoss, Betsy Darwin. A lot of folks thought us a few lettuce leaves short of a salad. What were we thinking, bringing a senior dog we knew nothing about, let alone a pittie, into a house with a baby and a 5 year-old and two unsuspecting cats? But Bryan and I are Aries, and some of our best decisions have been our most impulsive ones, and we didn’t listen. We knew she was ours. First order of business once she was settled? A neat nip/tuck so she could face her future, full-speed ahead. Which, we learned pretty quickly, was the only way she ate. We still don’t think she knew how to chew, just inhale and then bore a hole in your soul waiting for more, confident she would succeed. (Have I mentioned those Bette Davis eyes?) In those first few years, we discovered she had a passion for digging holes and destroying lawns. Fence footers were installed. A fancy dog run was built. Later, artificial turf arrived, and let me tell you – not all heroes wear capes. She was a contralto tessitura, whose operatic bark greeted mailperson, sanitation worker, and neighbor alike. An excellent judge of character. Never met a male dog or firework she would remotely tolerate. Her yawns echoed throughout the house. She hated car rides and would bay with displeasure any time you made her take one. Her tail was a whip and her head was a boulder, but she wielded her obvious power with grace and gentleness. She captained our ship steadily, patiently, taking no credit for often being the only adult in the room. (Cont. in comments)
Bette. The grandest dame. She came to us wonderfully vintage, at the age of 7 or maybe 8. She was found wandering in the Bronx, a mama dog, with mastitis so severe her teats drug along the sidewalk. A senior dog with little chance at a second life. The second I saw her, I fell in love and told Bryan the reason she had yet to be adopted was because she was meant to be ours. Those Bette Davis eyes sure got us good. Canon called her Barfley Doofus, Bartsey Davoss, Betsy Darwin. A lot of folks thought us a few lettuce leaves short of a salad. What were we thinking, bringing a senior dog we knew nothing about, let alone a pittie, into a house with a baby and a 5 year-old and two unsuspecting cats? But Bryan and I are Aries, and some of our best decisions have been our most impulsive ones, and we didn’t listen. We knew she was ours. First order of business once she was settled? A neat nip/tuck so she could face her future, full-speed ahead. Which, we learned pretty quickly, was the only way she ate. We still don’t think she knew how to chew, just inhale and then bore a hole in your soul waiting for more, confident she would succeed. (Have I mentioned those Bette Davis eyes?) In those first few years, we discovered she had a passion for digging holes and destroying lawns. Fence footers were installed. A fancy dog run was built. Later, artificial turf arrived, and let me tell you – not all heroes wear capes. She was a contralto tessitura, whose operatic bark greeted mailperson, sanitation worker, and neighbor alike. An excellent judge of character. Never met a male dog or firework she would remotely tolerate. Her yawns echoed throughout the house. She hated car rides and would bay with displeasure any time you made her take one. Her tail was a whip and her head was a boulder, but she wielded her obvious power with grace and gentleness. She captained our ship steadily, patiently, taking no credit for often being the only adult in the room. (Cont. in comments)
August in Dublin. Arrived on the 3rd and leaving today. Had a wonderful experience directing Niall Austin’s new mixed reality play “Bada Boom” a story about a remorseful hit man who unravels during an interview intersected by the audience reliving his memories in a live AR game. Abigail Hawk and Peter Smith were a great team, working with them was a gift. Some forays beyond rehearsal to Kilkenny to see the work of my friend Jo Mangan, and to the Monto neighborhood to explore an AR exhibition with Jennifer Shortall and dear friend Camille Donegan. A packed August and with one day to spare we’re headed off to Venice for the biennale immersive.
August in Dublin. Arrived on the 3rd and leaving today. Had a wonderful experience directing Niall Austin’s new mixed reality play “Bada Boom” a story about a remorseful hit man who unravels during an interview intersected by the audience reliving his memories in a live AR game. Abigail Hawk and Peter Smith were a great team, working with them was a gift. Some forays beyond rehearsal to Kilkenny to see the work of my friend Jo Mangan, and to the Monto neighborhood to explore an AR exhibition with Jennifer Shortall and dear friend Camille Donegan. A packed August and with one day to spare we’re headed off to Venice for the biennale immersive.
August in Dublin. Arrived on the 3rd and leaving today. Had a wonderful experience directing Niall Austin’s new mixed reality play “Bada Boom” a story about a remorseful hit man who unravels during an interview intersected by the audience reliving his memories in a live AR game. Abigail Hawk and Peter Smith were a great team, working with them was a gift. Some forays beyond rehearsal to Kilkenny to see the work of my friend Jo Mangan, and to the Monto neighborhood to explore an AR exhibition with Jennifer Shortall and dear friend Camille Donegan. A packed August and with one day to spare we’re headed off to Venice for the biennale immersive.
August in Dublin. Arrived on the 3rd and leaving today. Had a wonderful experience directing Niall Austin’s new mixed reality play “Bada Boom” a story about a remorseful hit man who unravels during an interview intersected by the audience reliving his memories in a live AR game. Abigail Hawk and Peter Smith were a great team, working with them was a gift. Some forays beyond rehearsal to Kilkenny to see the work of my friend Jo Mangan, and to the Monto neighborhood to explore an AR exhibition with Jennifer Shortall and dear friend Camille Donegan. A packed August and with one day to spare we’re headed off to Venice for the biennale immersive.
August in Dublin. Arrived on the 3rd and leaving today. Had a wonderful experience directing Niall Austin’s new mixed reality play “Bada Boom” a story about a remorseful hit man who unravels during an interview intersected by the audience reliving his memories in a live AR game. Abigail Hawk and Peter Smith were a great team, working with them was a gift. Some forays beyond rehearsal to Kilkenny to see the work of my friend Jo Mangan, and to the Monto neighborhood to explore an AR exhibition with Jennifer Shortall and dear friend Camille Donegan. A packed August and with one day to spare we’re headed off to Venice for the biennale immersive.
