growing a home like a garden
dear stranger-friend,
I'm sorry it's been an entire season since my last letter from that snowy day in istanbul. spring has felt sudden, loud, and heavy. I think seasonal transitions always feel hard in new places. you walk outside in the wrong clothes, and routines you became accustomed to no longer seem to fit.
today, I'm writing you from new york city, my old home of 9 years. I paused my istanbul life to return here for a few weeks. I landed yesterday. by the time I got out of the airport, rode the airtrain, and entered the subway -- I felt the internal click that told me I was back inside the clockwork machinery of this city, pressing "resume" on my parallel life.
I think once you give a decade of your life to a place, it will always feel like home - those years were like a blood payment.
here's the clouds above the atlantic, from the blue-tinted windows. I love the solitude of being on a crowded airplane, flying over the ocean, in total darkness (and with music, and noise cancelling headphones). long flights like that feel like an immersive theatre for a nocturnal feeling.
today, I wanted to show you some of my work from this haphazard spring -- much of which I spent dazed and confused -- while slowly building-growing my home in Istanbul.
I was there for 164 continuous days -- but somehow, it felt like years. maybe, this is because, after two years of nomadic living, now I own things, like furniture. I look at my fridge, washing machine, table, mattress, bedsheets -- and feel a sense of disbelief. did I buy this? is this mine?? when did I settle down, and when am I leaving?
here is my balcony, which also wants to be a kitchen. birds get confused and come in sometimes.
my favorite thing about my home - is the light. here is my eucalyptus plant, half an hour before sunset.
when spring started, I began looking for breathing green things to fill the home with. it occurs to me that even though, sometimes, I feel most comfortable on a plane, I want my home to be alive; composed of rooted things that need care. they outgrow their vessels fast. here is my monstera, whose roots look strong enough to be its own container.
now, for the non-tangible things: art & work:
1 | a rebirth of my digital home
I started an iterative redesign of my website. I imagined a place that feels like an interactive, immersive art experience. like a game, or a choose-your-own adventure book. like falling down the hole in alice in wonderland; or traveling through portals into multiverses. here is a very minimalist, version 1.0.
2 | resources & philosophy for growing your digital home
I also continue to teach creatives on building their own worlds on the internet -- beginning with a website that can feel like a home. I created this resource ecosystem house on the webs school of ongoing guides and creations that outline my philosophy -- growing websites like gardens (rather than resumes); wild and spacious enough to hold all of your complexities and multi-faceted expressions. I made this in a week -- then felt so exhausted I wanted to nap for 3 weeks.
3 | a 10 day sprint to build your website - starting next monday, june 6
I'm continuing to teach the house on the webs course -- a 10 day guided sprint to build a website -- not in the usual way, and certainly not your normal website -- but an evolving, organic creative space. I was SO proud of my recent students' houses! guiding the last round gave me such energy and feelings of hope for a more beautiful, thoughtful, magical internet. containers for the messiness of the self. the june challenge starts this coming monday, june 6th. more info and sign-ups here.
4 | I was seized with the urge to draw flowers.
sometimes I draw flowers as an act of meditation - just to practice looking at something beautiful. looking, without holding. istanbul spring was/is fragrant and heady. the birds were so loud. everything was blooming.
5 | fruits I've never eaten before from this part of the world
have you ever eaten a green almond? the outside is fuzzy and crunchy, like an unripe peach, and the inside (what will become the almond) is jelly-like, and a little sweet. it's good with salt. refreshing and fleeting, with a grassy aftertaste.
6 | one day I'll make a book about the animals of Istanbul
one morning, I went outside at 7am to buy bread from the bakery. afterwards, I walked through a park, and a black cat followed me home (like a dog). I was so tempted to take him home, but I didn't. instead, I spent the next three days outside, looking for him. I encountered nine black cats (nine!) until I found him. this black cat is not him, but one of the nine. I will abduct him when I return.
istanbul is full of tiny jellyfish, floating along the docks of the bosphorous. it made me want to animate a digital jellyfish, and then draw a digital aquarium to put him in.
this spring, I cat-sat for a friend, and observed, wrote observations and musings on the rhythms and rituals of a cat.
7 | restarting an old habit: illustrated maps of places
I worked on a map of istanbul for a visiting friend, and realized how this is only a very tiny drop; less than 1% of a city of 16 million, which feels like a thousand villages. 
I'm also slowly beginning a map of seoul -- a city I've never been to. doing research for this map feels like traveling in my mind. there is so much on the internet - how did we get use to the abundance of information, and advertising?
8 | keeping a visual diary-postcard of long walks
maybe all that art, ultimately, really is -- is the collection of thoughts and images that come from a very long, slow walk: a walk that spans a lifetime? the body and soul in motion always arises new feelings, sensations, dreams, ideas. I want to find some way of capturing those walks on the page, like a postcard.
here is taksim square on one of the last winter days, on my way to a tango practica, with the snow melting.
but istanbul, unlike new york, is not really a city easy to walk in. my favorite way to travel through it is most definitely by ferry. the waterway system is rich and old. sitting here feels like a gust of wind for my soul.
9 | an inspiration log of things
quotes I read in books
- *"the meaning of art is not authenticity, but the expression of authenticity" -- brassai, photographer*
- “what a man in the golden age of tango was searching for was a woman who waited — a woman whose presence he could feel, and who did not move unless he moved her” -- the meaning of tango
- *"i’ve been wandering so long, constantly changing places as one would change clothes. i’m leaving now, but i remember my past as closely as tightly sewn stitches" -- a chinese folksong*
books I deep-browsed and loved the look of
- the ultimate art museum by ferren gipson | this is a museum in book form, about all the art of the entire world.
- the word is art by - michael petry | about art made from words; totally arresting
- pain and pen - elena ferrante | four essays, on writing as a convulsive act I I read the entirety of the first essay standing up.
books I haven't read but want to
10 | portal hours - come connect with me in synchronous time
I'm organizing portal hours, an experimental office hours x communal space as a part of house on the webs school -- where you can come and share in our creative / digital world-building work together. I'm also sending out a resources-specific newsletter, with updates on new resources I post, creative courses, and portal hours. you can sign up here.
~~~ goodbye until next time
here's a moment, with trees, on a tiny island close to istanbul -- where no cars are allowed. maybe I'll live there one day. I'm holding this picture in my current apartment, against the bosphorous blue, after sunset.
I hope to write you again soon, in less than three weeks, when I'll tell you all about how it felt to be in this city I once fell so hard for, as a teenager. new york is the kind of drug that you feel immediately. it hits the bloodstream and it feels -- invigorating. last night, it was thunderstorming. lightening against glass skyscrapers.
~
I'm wishing you gentle soothing nights,
and summer days like soft electric
kening