manya rubinstein

On and off for the past 12 years, I have been living in an intentional artist community in a converted former mill space in Providence, Rhode Island. As anyone who has ever been to visit us here will attest, it’s a special place, mostly because of the organic sense of community that has arisen here over time. We’re in the middle of the city, but located in a primarily industrial neighborhood—with a strip club or two thrown in for good measure. Some of our neighborly self-sufficiency is by necessity—there just aren’t a ton of other folks walking the streets (at the hours I’m awake anyways) to strike up a conversation with. Since the only corner store is a dinky 7-11, if you need something, it’s probably a lot easier to knock on the door next to yours then to hop in your car or on your bike to go get it (herein I put forth the laziness-breeds-community theory.)

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