You & Me On A Sunny Day.

San Francisco-based Rocky McCorkle is a photographer and the creator of the world's first large-format film. It's also what he calls a "walk-through movie" and a "non-motion picture," meant to be viewed through a series of ordered stills that have been mounted, museum-style, on over 1000 feet of wall.

The images for You & Me On A Sunny Day, which tells the story of a widow haunted by flashbacks of her late husband, were shot every Sunday over the course of five years. The film stars Rocky's 85-year-old downstairs neighbor, Gilda, who now plans to be an actress in her next life.

View the entire sequence on Rocky McCorkle's website, here.

Read more at Medium.

Recommended Reading / 01.

Every Monday, words to start the week.

This week, via Slate: notes on the "loneliest whale in the world," who communicates at an exceptional frequency and is always, it seems, companionless. Since his calls were first detected in the early nineties, 52 Hertz, as the whale's known, has inspired songs, sculptures, tattoos, a Twitter feed.  Evidently, many relate to his solitary journey — after news of his existence went public, "letters came from the heartbroken and the deaf, from the lovelorn and the single; the once bitten, twice shy and the twice bitten, forever shy — people who identified with the whale or hurt for him, hurt for whatever set of feelings they'd projected onto him." Read more at Slate, and find the full story by Leslie Jamison at Atavist, here. 

Three more links, just because:
-Haiku, by chance.
-Michel Gondry's favorite films. (Groundhog Day makes the cut.)
-From The New Yorker's Adam Gopnik: "Walking for pleasure in cities is an occupation of the young. Only a very few older people of great vitality walk long in cities. What changes over time is not the city alone — some twenty something is even now walking ample and hilly Brooklyn, and writing it down. What changes is us. We start walking outdoors to randomize our experience of the city, and then life comes in to randomize us."

Photos by Max Wanger.

POV: Shifts.

POV ("point of view") is a series that addresses many of the same themes covered in my Equals Record column: growing up, saying yes to adventure, learning to embrace a quarter-life crisis. Each POV entry will include a photograph and a short reflection based on what’s pictured. While my previous column focused largely on ideas, POV focuses on moments - glimpses, glances, tiny stories.  

On an early July afternoon, I sat with friends on the roof of my apartment building, waiting for rain. We’d heard there was a storm coming and we’d made margaritas - neon green, from a store-bought mix - to usher in its arrival. We took seats on rickety chairs that shook on the uneven tar beneath us. We faced the coming clouds.

For a long time, nothing happened. 

The sky, the color of smoke, sprinkled and spit. Wind, exhaling, scattered bottle caps and cigarette butts across the roof. 

We looked around. We discussed — very unscientifically— the possibility that the storm had shifted its course. Some of us went downstairs.

But then, moments later and seemingly out of nowhere, it came. In ferocious, furious gusts, it came. We stayed outside for as long as we could stand it; then, with wet shoes and dripping hair, we clattered down the stairs and watched from my window, our feet in puddles on the floor.

Home Again.

So much has happened since I left this space the last week of July. I celebrated five years in New York. I traveled upstate, where I swam in a lake under a full moon, and to Vermont, where I drank cider that tasted like champagne and slept in a vegetable patch, and to Montreal, where I ate bagels all day long and sometimes in the middle of the night, too. I also got full-sleeve Tattly-ed, wrote on my rooftop, and turned twenty-nine (thank you for all of your birthday well wishes).

As was probably made clear by my longer-than-planned absence, I've been swept away by what's been a dream of a summer.

I've also done a lot of thinking over the past few weeks about where I'd like to go with this site, and have decided that I'll be moving forward in stages — I figure all leaps start with small steps. I'll still post art, design, and photography as usual, but plan to incorporate more personal and original content, as well: a guide to my favorite places in Brooklyn, for instance. Reading recommendations. Interviews with fellow creatives about living nontraditional lives. Ideas for finding adventure in the everyday. And POVs, too, of course.

I'm looking forward to what's ahead, and I'm so happy to be back — it feels like coming home. Thank you so much for your patience, and for reading, as always.

See you tomorrow.

PS: A few recent appearances elsewhere:
-Sharing Williamsburg travel tips on Hither & Thither.
-Talking freelance, golden eggs, and imaginary dinner parties at Freja Daily.
-Listing top ten songs for road trips with Morgan West at Panda Head. Happy listening.

Hands Up + A Hello.

As mentioned here, I'm on a short hiatus as I rethink the direction I'd like to take this site. I'll be back soon, but for now, I'm wishing you a wonderful couple of weeks ahead from afar.

In the meantime, a few favorite posts from the past:

-On having open eyes.

-On walking on train tracks.

-On falling in love with trees.

-On talking to strangers.

-On living in a city of children.

Happy Friday. Be back soon.

Photos via Max's Instagram.