This dance is a tell of tales. One of the firsts and afters of improbable encounters and scandalous entanglements. I won’t tell you why I am sad.

I remember the first cigarettes I ever purchased right after my first. They were from the train station in Antibes. It was a pack of lucky strike vert, menthol. I remember tasting absinthe for the first time, getting fucked for the first time, and fucking back for the first time.

When I got to Antibes, it was a crash course in how the world works. Everyone I would meet had a unique set of cultural norms to learn about. I felt not special for the first time. I devoured the loss of innocence and realization that girls can get whatever they want from weak- willed men.

Let this work be a celebration, not an apology. It certainly isn’t a nostalgic remanent of the glory days that slipped by. I know the glory days because I am inside of them. This is a love letter, one woman’s account of all the delectably fun debauchery and trips around the sun.

“The Nights Before the Mourning After”, has come from a process of layering: Layers of my choreography. Layers of dancers. Layers of music I love. Layers of stories. Layers of friends. Layers of long rehearsals. Layers of so many versions of this work have become “The Nights Before the Mourning After”. Layers for you to figure out why I am sad.”

2022