I’m walking in Père Lachaise Cemetery. Fortunately, it is freezing. The road’s abrasiveness is unsettling. I stumble while trying to concentrate on the thing that we know the most and the least about: death. One's life is revealed through their tombstone. An unnamed person’s tomb is in pieces, another tomb looks like a miniature White House. I'm heading toward the quiet, remote side of the cemetery. The earth paves a way between me and Balzac's decomposed body. I stumble as I make my way to desolate roads. I pick up a fallen leaf, put it in my pocket, and move on.
Nisâ Sevsay revolves around exile, borders, and cultural mosaics. She is either directing attention to conflict over language, or putting cream in her coffee. Find Nisâ at nisasevsay.com.