My Covid-20: My_Covid-20_008

To cope with a city suddenly bereft of all that makes it New York, I've leaned, as usual, on the magical symbiosis between letters and images -- on words that make me want to bring pictures into existence, and on the words pictures themselves write for me. As the threat of Covid-19 reaches omnipotence, I've felt most drawn to certain emotions that rhyme in books: currently, Elena Ferrante's The Days of Abandonment (for its numbing description of {quote}absence of sense,{quote} maddened within four walls, or by a city already emptied of feeling,) and Albert Camus' The Plague (beyond eponymy, for the portents humanity is forever cursed to ignore, and then, what follows: how to manage the absurd.) This is because I find my therapy in confronting and understanding (and then, releasing) the unpleasant. (April 2020, Brooklyn, NY.)

To cope with a city suddenly bereft of all that makes it New York, I've leaned, as usual, on the magical symbiosis between letters and images -- on words that make me want to bring pictures into existence, and on the words pictures themselves write for me. As the threat of Covid-19 reaches omnipotence, I've felt most drawn to certain emotions that rhyme in books: currently, Elena Ferrante's The Days of Abandonment (for its numbing description of "absence of sense," maddened within four walls, or by a city already emptied of feeling,) and Albert Camus' The Plague (beyond eponymy, for the portents humanity is forever cursed to ignore, and then, what follows: how to manage the absurd.) This is because I find my therapy in confronting and understanding (and then, releasing) the unpleasant. (April 2020, Brooklyn, NY.)