“I suppose that my work is always mourning something, the loss of a paradise—not the thing that comes after you die, but the thing that you had before.”

What I have been doing lately: I was lying in bed and the doorbell rang. I ran downstairs. Quick. I opened the door. There was no one there. I stepped outside.

It’s as if we are dead and somehow have been given the unheard of opportunity to see the life we lived, the way we lived it.

For the past four years, starting sometime in early November 2016, I have been living in a snow dome that resembles the United States of America.

It’s as if we are dead and somehow have been given the unheard of opportunity to see the life we lived, the way we lived it.