As dusk falls on Veterans Place, a hush ripples through the crowd. A dancer kneels on the asphalt, her hands tracing arcs of flame that flicker against the faces of children, elders, and artists leaning forward in shared wonder. The scent of smoke mingles with street food and autumn air. For a moment, Beacon feels like a village built around one communal fire—the spark at the center of Beacon Bonfire, the citywide festival of art, music, and imagination returning November 5–9 after a one-year hiatus.
When Kelly Ellenwood describes the event she co-founded as “a celebration of Beacon, by Beacon,” it’s not a slogan but a statement of purpose. The five-day festival of music, art, performance, and community grew out of a Covid-era impulse to reconnect neighbors and artists. “There were a lot of people moving up to Beacon during Covid who didn’t know what to do, where to go, who to meet,” Ellenwood recalls. “We came up with a scheme to make that happen—and it just sort of became even bigger.”
Bigger, indeed. What began in 2021 as a handful of outdoor gatherings has become one of the region’s most exuberant creative convergences: a Main Street takeover of venues, pop-ups, and street installations where music, visual art, film, dance, and conversation spill into every available corner. The festival now sprawls across more than a dozen venues, from Industrial Arts Brewing to Prophecy Hall to the Beahive, with over 400 artists participating this year.
“It’s not a linear festival,” Ellenwood says with a laugh. “We don’t really say no. If you fill out the intake form and we can find a space for you, you’ll probably get in.” That open-door ethos—call it radical inclusivity—has become the festival’s signature. “It’s a yestival,” she says. “At the heart of it, we just say yes.”
That spirit extends to the festival’s Buy One/Give One ticket model—what Ellenwood cheerfully calls the “Pink Unicorn add-on.” Festivalgoers can purchase an extra pass for someone who might not otherwise afford to attend, keeping the Bonfire’s flame open to all. The program, along with the festival’s abundance of free events and reliance on volunteer labor, reinforces the idea that creativity should be accessible to everyone. “People have told us they’ve moved to Beacon because of the festival,” Ellenwood says. “They tried something at Bonfire in 2022, and it took on a life of its own.”
This year’s edition kicks off Wednesday night at 7pm at Prophecy Hall with the Syncretic Liturgy, a gleeful mash-up of comedy, music, and ritual. “It’s structured like a religious service,” Ellenwood says, “but it’s heartfelt and hilarious at the same time.” The ceremony’s fire motif begins at Hudson Beach Glass’s glory hole furnace and symbolically travels through the weekend—from the opening’s “illumination” to the climactic Sunday afternoon Bonfire Finale at Veterans Place, complete with drummers, fire dancers, and music.
The 2025 schedule reads like a map of Beacon’s creative topography: Vinny DePonto brings his acclaimed mind-bending performance Mindreader to the St. Rita’s; Hudson Severn—a supergroup of Beacon-based and transatlantic musicians—plays Dennings Point Distillery; and Nerd Nite Hudson Valley returns with a film-themed edition of its science-meets-stand-up salon. Meanwhile, the Film Festival at Industrial Arts Brewing curates a “Beacon Triple Feature” of music-driven and locally made films, including Jeremy Schonfeld’s The Father Who Stayed, shot largely in Beacon.
Saturday, the festival’s main day, features the closure of Eliza Street for A Seat at the Table, a day-long installation and conversation space conceived by artist Donna Mikkelsen: a 50-foot grass-covered table that doubles as stage, catwalk, and communal hub. “There’ll be conversations, fashion, food, and fire,” Ellenwood says. “Maybe even the mayor will drop by.”
Running parallel to all of this: a 10K race, art installations across town, and impromptu performances that pop up wherever the mood—and the music—strikes.
Despite its growing size, the Bonfire remains refreshingly anti-corporate. “It’s a risk every year, but it always seems to work out.” What matters most, she insists, is the collective act of creation: “We provide the space and the resources. The art is on the artists.”
If Beacon Bonfire has a theology, it’s that community is a creative force. In Ellenwood’s words, “People come to Beacon, they discover, they experience, they feel welcomed. And this festival is just an extension of that.”
This article appears in November 2025.
