Recently, a few friends headed for a weekend getaway up to Hudson. Two hours north of NYC, Hudson is named for the bordering Hudson River and explorer Henry Hudson. Settled by whalers and merchants in the 1600s, nothing and much has changed. A bevy of beautiful antique shops, the ever-cool John Doe Records and Books, and swan song Five & Diamond Vintage carry on the merchant tradition. More recently, MAI Hudson, the 33,000-square-foot, multidisciplinary museum created by the artist Marina Abramovic, is a successor to the explorers’ spirit in which Hudson was founded.
We ended up on a remarkable piece of land just outside the town of Hudson, for the first iteration of Manifest. It was a perfect evening, like the best party you’ve ever been to in a close friend’s beautiful backyard. The site itself could not have been more flawless. The organizers—Hillary Foxweldon, Wyndham Boylan-Garnett, and former OC gal, Thalia Forbes—worked to create a sylvan wonderland and a new kind of music and food festival. And, no, not the floral crown-weary festival—this one was an intimate, invite-only party for 300 friends. Ingenious structures crafted from found objects; flowers from surrounding fields; lit at dusk by fairy lights and lanterns. It was incredible to witness the, well, manifestation of the built environment itself. Whether it was the employment of wildflower garlands or discarded car hoods, a level of unparalleled imagination was on display.
Music began just before evening, headlined by Elvis Perkins of Dearland. The soft slope of the field—spangled by blue-green ponds and back-dropped by mountain-spine—made for a natural amphitheater, so that the voices of the performers were strong, echoing back over the celebration. The soundscape itself moved about the site, as artists traveled from the stage, into the audience, and around the fire, allowing for a sense of real participation on the part of the observer. It wasn’t just a bunch of humans in an empty space silently watching other humans make noise. It felt more primal, a collective experience of playing and listening, and a celebration of all the possibilities when a crowd gathers around a common good.
And when the morning did come, it brought with it mist rolling in from the Catskills, fog to blanket the campsite. The fields ridged in red sumac brushed by fall, with still-summered purple and yellow wildflowers pale in the grey dew of dawn.
Does all this sound a little too ideal? Arcadian? Passage from some unknown bard’s pastoral? Well, it was. Ideal, we mean. But Hudson offered proof that the ideal is possible. The second round of Manifest will happen next year, but a visit to Hudson is just an Amtrak ride away. ‘Cause mostly, all rhetoric aside, it's a blast.![]()
During Manifest, the soft slope of the field made for a natural amphitheater, so that the voices of the performers were amplified and echoed back over the celebration. Quotes by Danielle Aykroyd and Hollis Sloane, photos by Devin Yalkin and Wyndham Boylan ![]()
Manifest goers around the bonfire—an idyllic setting to say the least... ![]()
The organizers
We ended up on a remarkable piece of land just outside the town of Hudson, for the first iteration of Manifest. It was a perfect evening, like the best party you’ve ever been to in a close friend’s beautiful backyard. The site itself could not have been more flawless. The organizers—Hillary Foxweldon, Wyndham Boylan-Garnett, and former OC gal, Thalia Forbes—worked to create a sylvan wonderland and a new kind of music and food festival. And, no, not the floral crown-weary festival—this one was an intimate, invite-only party for 300 friends. Ingenious structures crafted from found objects; flowers from surrounding fields; lit at dusk by fairy lights and lanterns. It was incredible to witness the, well, manifestation of the built environment itself. Whether it was the employment of wildflower garlands or discarded car hoods, a level of unparalleled imagination was on display.
Music began just before evening, headlined by Elvis Perkins of Dearland. The soft slope of the field—spangled by blue-green ponds and back-dropped by mountain-spine—made for a natural amphitheater, so that the voices of the performers were strong, echoing back over the celebration. The soundscape itself moved about the site, as artists traveled from the stage, into the audience, and around the fire, allowing for a sense of real participation on the part of the observer. It wasn’t just a bunch of humans in an empty space silently watching other humans make noise. It felt more primal, a collective experience of playing and listening, and a celebration of all the possibilities when a crowd gathers around a common good.
And when the morning did come, it brought with it mist rolling in from the Catskills, fog to blanket the campsite. The fields ridged in red sumac brushed by fall, with still-summered purple and yellow wildflowers pale in the grey dew of dawn.
Does all this sound a little too ideal? Arcadian? Passage from some unknown bard’s pastoral? Well, it was. Ideal, we mean. But Hudson offered proof that the ideal is possible. The second round of Manifest will happen next year, but a visit to Hudson is just an Amtrak ride away. ‘Cause mostly, all rhetoric aside, it's a blast.
During Manifest, the soft slope of the field made for a natural amphitheater, so that the voices of the performers were amplified and echoed back over the celebration. Quotes by Danielle Aykroyd and Hollis Sloane, photos by Devin Yalkin and Wyndham Boylan 
Manifest goers around the bonfire—an idyllic setting to say the least... 
The organizers