Don't call it news
One night after work you squeeze into crowded Rizzoli to hear two illustrators talk about their favorite page turns in children's books. They talk about how children shout out things as you're reading to them. How, as a writer you're chasing that, you want the reader to feel: "Hey, I want to say something, too, now."
You're between things now, you're not writing, you're just looking and listening, collecting colors and shapes, jotting down ideas that materialize while you're walking, while the train trundles between suburb and city and back again. You have a new job, in an office filled with light and energy, with roof access. You're practicing opening doors slowly, walking slowly with coffee in your hand, measuring twice to cut once, going slow to go fast.
On the way to the train in the morning, you count chipmunks, which is the opposite of counting sheep. The hill wakes you up. In the evening, you talk to the deer in a soft voice so they will not bolt into traffic as you pass them. They stand still, turning their heads nearly 360 degrees, following you with their soft eyes.
In the city, a woman stops behind you as you're taking a photo, she's trying to see what you see. "The columns are pretty," she says, and you say, "It's not the columns I'm after, it's where they've left space for an air-conditioner."
You are maybe beginning to call yourself a photographer, too, now.
Left to right: Montclair, Manhattan, Manhattan Photos by Kasia Nikhamina
Left to right: DUMBO, Montclair, Madison Square Park Photos: Kasia Nikhamina
NEWSY STUFF
My story, "Junco and Wolf," has been published in A Public Space No. 33. A Public Space's mission to seek out overlooked and unclassifiable work, and to publish writing from beyond established confines. Please give my heart a rush, read my story, and tell me what you think! You can reach me by replying to this email.
Divinity School • a letter every Sunday at sunset • if you’re always looking, after some time you’ll have seen
