The Geometry of Sustenance
I have always been suspicious of the way we try to dress up the mundane. We take the things that keep us alive—the simple, messy, necessary things—and we try to turn them into something decorative, something that belongs in a gallery rather…
The Weight of Unspoken Histories
It is 3:15 am. The house is holding its breath, and I am finally listening to the things I spent the day drowning out. We spend so much time performing for the light, curating the versions of ourselves that are palatable to the world. But in…
The Weight of a Pause
I met a man in a small café in Szeged who seemed to exist entirely in the spaces between his words. He didn't rush his coffee, and he didn't rush his thoughts. He told me that in a world that demands we always be moving, the most radical thing…