On Continuity: Larmes de Man Ray
Or: What the surrealist has to do with crying on a public bench.
Starting in September 2022, I began a year-long floral self-portrait series to document my first year in New York. This is the November entry, “On Continuity.”
Six years ago I learned about Man Ray, and for some reason, his photograph, Larmes de Verre (Glass Tears), has stayed tucked in the back of my mind. Ray was a surrealist artist, and usually not my taste, but the melancholic, quiet, desperate beauty of this image has always tugged at me. Apparently, he made the image shortly after breaking up with his lover, Lee Miller.
Soon after I arrived in NYC, I knew I wanted to recreate Larmes de Verre. Like Ray, I was also grieving a loss. Mainly, loss of familiarity. New city, state, roommates, friends, community, and even a new job. I felt crushed, like October’s portrait. Buried in change, trying to fumble my way to the surface. But rather than resignation, this series remembers the tears I have shed. Someone told me I wouldn’t be a real New Yorker until I cried on a public bench. Well, I did. At the North 5th Pier in Williamsburg, to be exact.
The photos are mourning loss—but they are also aching for the familiar, as symbolized by the florals of choice. We cradle that which is precious and known to us when we swim in a sea of unknowns. I have no idea what they are, but I bought them (no foraging this month!) from Trader Joe’s. As a kid, my family never shopped there, the portions not economically suitable to a family of seven. As a young adult, though, I found it to be the most practical. In college, I would walk to the Trader Joe’s in Coolidge Corner, admiring the brownstones on cold winter afternoons, lugging a bag of groceries (and snacks) back to my apartment near Fenway. In Birmingham, where I moved for my first “real” magazine job, it was a lifeline of familiarity as I experienced cultural whiplash.
Even now, in New York, Trader Joe’s is not the most convenient nor practical grocery store of choice. Going entails walking at least a total of a mile, plus a train ride and countless subway steps. Sometimes, I have red marks seared into my shoulders, cut by the straps of my reusable canvas bags. It’s all worth it, though. I have moved often, but the one constant in my life has always been this grocery store. No matter the city, walking into one is comforting, a small reassurance that through the changes, I’ll find my footing.