from the archives: an October night at my dad’s house in Tennessee almost ten years ago.
Bonfires, home, October are all synonymous to me. Last summer I went to a light exhibition in Berlin which I definitely wasn’t in the headspace for but I went anyway. One of the last installations was a bonfire with flickering simulations of red, yellow and white, accompanied by crackling noises, it was meant to simulate a bonfire. When I took a seat at this section, I almost had a panic attack immediately. The visceral reminder of my homesickness was too overwhelming to be enjoyed as “art” for me.
I talked to my dad for an hour yesterday and it’s one of the better conversations we’ve had in a long time. He told me what it was like back home weather wise and all the things he needed to do. My dad is funny because every time we talk he’s drinking his second cup of coffee. He always takes a cartoonishly large pull of the coffee followed by an “ahhhhhh” to express the joy he has for his little ritual. For as long as I can remember, my dad has enjoyed his morning coffee with the same level of enthusiasm.
I think I inherited that from him.