This painting is a response to andrea a. gluckman’s poem ‘wadi.’ It shows a ruptured, wounded valley, a palimpsest of barbed wires. It also shows an open window with blue sky, which is nothing but an illusion of freedom, inside a prison with no exit.
Category Archives: The Warp & Weft
The idea for THE WARP & WEFT was born in September 2020. It’s a multilingual archive of stories that hopes to capture the zeitgeist of that year. Learn more about the vision for this project by visiting ABOUT > THE WARP & WEFT STORY. This is an organic, ongoing project, where responses to the archive can renew and expand it. Please have a listen.
J’ai plusieurs animaux ; des chiens, des chats… Mais Babou est un chien exceptionnel ! C’est un vieux chien et j’appréhende vraiment l’heure de son départ parce qu’elle a une empathie au-dessus de la normale, tant pour les chiens, les humains, mais aussi les animaux des autres espèces.
[Babou by Sabine Lebrun: I have several animals, dogs and cats, but Babou is an exceptional dog! She is an old dog and I truly dread the time of her departure, because she has incredible empathy for dogs, humans, and also members of other species.]
Although I’ve always revolted against linearity, I think I began to engage seriously with the concept of time during the fall of 2019, when I introduced my students to Afrofuturisms.
I went in for a routine ultrasound in March, a couple of weeks before the baby was expected. Covid panic was just setting in, in Austin, and toilet paper was disappearing off the shelves. The doctor chatted with us about which grocery stores were better stocked and soon we were good to leave.
During this pandemic, I have been thinking about connection and isolation. The new normal of quarantines and lockdowns has impacted my connections with people, and heightened my awareness of connecting with myself.
A spark bird is the bird that triggers an interest in birding or bird watching. For me it was the northern cardinal.
I was immediately drawn to Kalsoom Saleem’s story, “My Spark Bird,” and connected with the pleasure of spying the cardinal’s red against the white snow in the “deserted grey, white and black landscape” of winter. This brought to mind the many simple pleasures I’ve found during these dark times.
It is on those particularly still and heavy days that I sit and remember the birth of the universe. The memory contained in my every cell. My mind’s eye catches the moment when life burst forth and set us on this divine course.
दो हज़ार बीस। ये साल ख़त्म होने को आया है लेकिन ऐसा लगता है जैसे इस साल कुछ हुआ ही नहीं। सच तो यह है कि जो इस साल हुआ है उसका असर बहुत सालों तक रहने वाला है। मुझे अभी भी यकीन नहीं होता कि कैसे मार्च के महीनों में पूरी दुनिया रुक गयी थी। पूरी दुनिया। एक साथ, रुक गई। हम सब अपने घरों में बंद हो गए।
[Just Some Thoughts by Surbhi Dewan: Two thousand and twenty. As the year comes to an end, it feels like not much was accomplished. And yet, this year will stay with us for many years to come…]
I will remember this moment in history by the smell of hard liquor on my hands from the hand sanitizer that’s been available since there was a shortage.
ھم سب اج کل ا يک عجیب دور سے گزر سے رھۓ ھيں ۔ہز اروں لا کھوں ا نسان ایک و با کی با عث اس د نیا سے رخصت ھو چکے ھیں ، ان لوگوں کی زندگی بھی اتنی ہی قیمتی تھی جتنی کہ ميری اور آپ کی
[The Purpose of Life by Ayesha Javed: We are living in strange times. Hundreds of thousands of people have left this world on account of the pandemic. Their lives were just as valuable as yours or mine…]
My oldest book is a small red hardcover of David Copperfield. I was maybe twelve years old when my father reached to a shelf in his study, pulled down that book and said to me a little shyly, “I see that you like to read. Maybe you will like this. I read it when I was just a little older than you.”