Writer
Naomi Falk
https://celardolor.com/
Publications, @themuseumofmodernart
Editorial Director, @kismithgallery
Founder, @nausikaenyc
Represented by @minahamedi of @janklownesbitcelardolor.com
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.]

