Anne Pellicciotto

I went, protest sign in hand, because it was my duty. I went because they dismantled Blue. Because I graduated on that Concert Hall stage in 1982, cap tossed into the audience. Because I was a member for decades, a subcriber, an avid symphony lover. Because I danced many an evening on the red carpet at the foot of the Millennium Stage and practiced yoga out on the terrace by the tinkling fountains on quiet, patronless mornings. Now the entire place is a ghost town. The theatres are dark,...

Greetings and fair warning, dear friends: I started writing this piece over Labor Day weekend, and the story keeps changing under my pen — a sculpture dismantled, then sold, a closure threatened, a demolition floated. That's not an accident: it's a known tactic called "flooding the zone" — keeping us a little off-balance so we can't quite catch our footing to fight back. So here you go, read it quick — before it changes again. Or, never mind, read it at your leisure, feet up – enjoy the...

On Chronic Pain, Self-care, and Finding Flow Again Fiery Sunset Over Chincoteague Bay, Echos of a Pain Flare. Photo by AMP. On July 4th, The Sun emitted a most powerful X-class solar flare, causing minor radio blackouts and generating vivid auroral displays visible across the northern U.S. Even the outlandish pyrotechnic display on The Mall – a record 850 thousand rounds shot off – could not begin to compete with Ra's fire power. On that same auspicious day, my body went into its own X-class...