Special Issue s


Naomi Falk
Publications, @themuseumofmodernart
Editorial Director, @kismithgallery
Founder, @nausikaenyc
Represented by @minahamedi of

As is the way we often come across new artists or just people in general these days, on Instragram, I instantly knew that if I lived in Brooklyn I would want to be friends with Falk.  Some people have a way of translating their immense presence across digitally and I think she is one of them.  Falk was concerned this piece might be too much, or too manic for Special Issue s and this is when I knew it was going to be perfect.

She is the Editorial Director of Ki Smith Gallery,  Rights Coordinator of MoMA’s Publications Department, and co-founder of a new  magazine called NAUSIKÂE NYC.

“I’m a writer, and tend to fixate on art, intimacy, pain, and the ways in which we engage and disconnect our sensory perceptions.” 

Pink Stone

[And I also wanted to add that you are under no obligation to respond to this but… yeah. Either way, thought I should tell you what I’m feeling. I’ve never been good at hiding it.] Beyond the window, clusters of lemon balm shudder under the City’s August sun and I’d like to put them in my tea and even more I think about pressing them to the swollen unslept veins under my eyes. [Hey do you mind if I FT u back later I’m just… I’m sorry I’m really not feeling well] [Yeah I think I’m going to take a bath…] Loneliness isn’t a result of being alone as much as it’s a result of… Sometimes I think about an actor on the stage under the spotlight. In delivering lines to be intercepted by the ears of so many, she sees no one. [Ily too. And thanks. It’s always the same thing of giving but receiving nothing in return.] Why do I dream about the person next to whom I lay? I never read Freud because I didn’t want to speculate the unbound, uncontrollable nature of my brain. And we think we know ourselves! [I loved the sonnet Evan G. posted on his finsta. Did you see it? I screenshotted it but I could have just archived it in my saved photos lmao. And I keep saying I’m having memory lag on my phone, too. Dumb] We understand other people so well. That’s why we miss them. That’s why I am conjuring your memory in violet and encasing it in gold in piles and mountains of gold in gold that reflects light so ardently it burns me to stand aside it. And still I gaze at you. [Nah, I’m staying in tonight. Thanks tho. This weekend for sure.] Loneliness is not the product of being unloved it’s just… Bananas ripen more quickly if bunched. Once at a party we separated them and spread them around the kitchen, for, they looked cadaverous. This somehow made it worse. The pitiful fruit appeared abandoned! I felt sorry for this. [This is going to get lost in my messages. Can you just email it to me?] [For sure, I just told him to email it to me!] I light all these candles at the brim of my evening and spray my cheeks with rosewater. I tell a story to my Bun. I read an artist’s monographic publication. There’s this sculpture of his to which I’ve always been devoted, and the artist says it replicates a dollhouse he used to make with the woman he loved. It would collapse each night because it was made of lean matchsticks, but each morning, the lovers would rebuild it and reimagine it as something new. I always imagined their home to have rooms laden in breeze and liquid silk. Not moving toward anything but swimming without direction in the haloed sea. [I’m really sorry I sent that text. I just wanted to see you.]