An essay on an obsession with a heron.
On putting on an Elliott Smith tribute gig on the worst night possible.
On Aoife Nessa Frances’s excellent debut album, looking back at early 2020, and Christmas difficulties.
What I see when I look at a photograph from long ago.
When you reach your 30s something annoying can start to happen: in the rush to get your life together (read: career, family, relationships, paying rent, etc) you can find that you don’t have enough time for the hobbies you once did. That’s not the case for everyone, and is something that can wax and wane….
There’s a moment in the first episode of the Netflix series Salt Fat Acid Heat when an Italian baker in the Liguria region gently smooths olive oil over a rectangular lump of dough, his palms slowly sweeping up and down the future loaf of focaccia. Then, he takes three fingers and lightly presses them into…
Paris is grey. Aged stone of different shades of grey. It’s buildings that have seen history happen around them and which wear their ages well. It’s skinny rues and wide avenues, and puddles on uneven streets. Cafés with wicker chairs gathered around small tables with ashtrays on them, sweating under plastic canopies. The cafés always seem…
Thoughts on a trip to Vietnam with my sisters.
June 2014 Museu Frederic Mares Afternoon light
Chicago buildings, a photo by Aoife B on Flickr.