Nyctophilia

There is a strange and tender beauty that lives in the dark. Not the kind of darkness that hides danger, but the kind that invites slowness, intimacy, and deep listening. Nyctophilia was a ceremonial exploration of that quiet richness, held on the eve of a new moon inside a private home in Eugene, Oregon.

The idea first took root when I awoke after a nap in the mossy woods of Oregon to find myself utterly alone in pitch blackness. At first, panic surged as I stumbled through the brambles. But when I stopped resisting and allowed my hands to guide me gently forward, the forest transformed. Every branch became a conversation. Every shift of air was a story. I found my way out not by sight, but by trust.

That same spirit shaped the gathering. Guests were invited through an unusual gesture: by asking permission to touch a particularly soft sweater worn by a co-conspirator. Those who did demonstrated sensitivity, curiosity, and respect—essential traits for the night to come.

We began with blindfolded movement, led by a wonderful dance instructor. Then, in darkness, we shared a meal—each dish served in one of the tactile bowls I had created just for the event, inspired by Oregon’s textures: mussel shells, veined leaves, sandy wave patterns. The guests explored their food by touch, scent, and intuition alone, sharing their observations with one another. They also were each given a completely unique bowl for each of 3 courses and had the opportunity to try to guess what they were holding. 

When the lights were gently raised, the guests were brought into another space lit only by black candles and the room was filled with chuckles as they finally saw what had nourished them. Dessert came as one last hidden gift: chocolate truffles tucked under each textured bowl, waiting to be found. Could the guests guess which ones they had held? 

Nyctophilia was a quiet rebellion against our constant need to see and label. It was a space where slowness became sacred, and the unknown was not feared—but embraced.