Drawn out of the house by the allied currents of my roommate Liv Solomon and the promise of a free drink, I found myself at the launch of Slow Collapse: One Ocean, All Lands by pure chance, battling the opposing tides of a Thursday night out and the desire (desperate need) for an early night in.
Our local wine shop was hosting a tasting, hence the free drink and some wine knowledge. But as so often happens in the treacherous waters of downtown Manhattan, a riptide comes along to tear me away from my perfectly laid plan of a single glass of wine, minimal conversation, and a restful sleep. A photographic obligation for Liv but one that she says I “might actually be interested in,” something that is not always the case with the events that she finds herself frequenting. Afraid of finding myself beneath the waves of the night, unable to break to the surface for a breath until I am nearly out of it, I can’t argue with the allure of a colliding of worlds or, at the very least, the logistical reasoning that nanamica NEW YORK, both a partner in the project and where the event was taking place, was en route to the wine.
Following the flow of intersecting interests is precisely what brought this project to fruition in the first place, a collaboration between artists Theophilos Constantinou and Anthony Jamari Thomas, whose individual endeavors may not be thought of as being entirely from the same worlds but who found themselves caught together on a tide of exploration regarding the expansive and expressive forces of nature. Founded by Eiichiro Homma and functioning under the resonant philosophy of “ONE OCEAN, ALL LANDS,” nanamica NEW YORK became swept along for the ride as well. The end result of which is Slow Collapse, a book consisting of imagery illustrating both the complicated and deeply connected relationship between humans and nature, along with words few in number but plentiful in power.
Though there is an obvious power in the images and words of Slow Collapse, in the midst of the scenes of sociality swirling around the tables on which the book sits, lit by stark bright lights despite evidence of the fading day occurring outside, there is something that feels insufficient. In a storefront in Soho, so far removed from the force that is supposed to be the focus of the night, it can be easy to wonder where we fit into all of this.