Autumn is when many things historically die, but to me, it has always seemed like a time when things bloom again. Perhaps this is because summer is so frenetic—people weaving in and out of these swampy, derelict badlands for greener pastures while those stuck behind prop up the fort with sticks and multiply their bodies threefold to fill the ever-expanding gaps.
I blame nobody for needing to take a break. Summer in New Orleans is hard, and everyone is just trying to make it out in one piece. We need space from the things we love so we can keep loving them. But it becomes difficult to ignore the community-sized hole that appears in the city from June through August, and the parade of shuttering businesses is only one example of the toll. There is simply a lack of manpower, funds, and friendly faces. We are all ships passing in the night, both physically and emotionally, and it’s difficult to settle in.
I’ve spent the last few weeks of summer buying a lot of picture frames second hand. They’re cheap at estate sales and thrift stores, but they’re usually custom-made to whatever is currently in the frame. This means it’s nearly impossible to find exactly the size you’re looking for to fit the print you already have. Something always seems to be a tiny bit off (even after measuring twice!), and it’s been frustrating to stockpile mismatched frames and prints and have nothing on my walls to show for it.
But recently, things have been coming together. I finally have prints in frames that fit. This is due to a slow and steady accumulation but also to creative solutions for matching frames to prints. Instead of writing the frames off as imperfect, I’ve been cutting things up and taping them back together. I think the imperfections add character. Patience and persistence—the usual suspects—pay off.
It’s getting to be that time of year when I can remember that the future exists. I remember that I don’t live in a fort propped up by sticks. I live in a home full of walls that I can hang pictures of my friends and the life I’m building on. The day of writing this, it was 86 degrees and breezy near sunset, which felt miraculous by past weeks’ standards. Hope and possibility are once again tangible. Fall is a season of home-building, of settling in, of putting in work and yielding results.
When I’m struggling, home is a difficult place to be because it takes so much work to hold it all together. But as I put more pictures on my walls, I feel more protective of my space and making sure it’s respected; I want it to look good and feel good. This investment is often difficult, and one I struggle with, but it provides a sense of safety that not much else can. As we usher in this new season, I encourage us all to reinvest in making our homes feel like our own again. Hang some art, settle in, and build in tandem. —Marisa Clogher
September 2024 cover illustration (and illustration this page) by Laura Frizzell
