From My Window in Staten Island
by Friederike Windel
and sit with the pains and joys of 2020. Lockdown in NYC happened in the beginning of spring and I remember the mornings waking up to see the sunlight on the plants of my window. In one of my afternoon walks, I was feeling this deeply:
“Can you see my smiling eyes?
The golden hour shine?
You’re here with me, friend.”
Reflecting on how I am doing and inviting others to process became important. Eyes behind masks became an identifier I could use to read people, read myself. I started thinking about this question
“can you see my smiling eyes” and noting that often others and I have not been smiling, had no reason to smile. “Eyes don’t always smile” became a reminder of the impact of the pandemic. I put these two self-portraits next to each other because it holds both the sorrows and joys of this year.
From my window, I have lost loved ones, three too many this year; I have accompanied others whose loved ones became ancestors.
“You are here with us Luisli Götti, Ron, and Mohammad Ali.”
From my window, I witnessed the ongoing police brutality and murders of Black people.
“You are here with us Breanna Taylor, George Floyd, Tony McDade, and many others.”