portrait of a home (and other short stories)

Photo Essay by Parizad D

When i began exploring analogue mediums, I soon realized that what I gravitated towards the most was shooting simple yet meaningful moments from my everyday life. often seemingly mundane, yet poignantly beautiful – capturing these little snippets, felt like the perfect way to immortalise the transitory nature of our human existence.

Portrait of a Home was shot in Goa earlier this year, documenting an old friend’s beautiful childhood home. Goan spaces have always fascinated me, but I have mostly experienced them as an outsider – often feeling like I was unwittingly contributing to the gentrification of a place steeped in its own culture and history. At the same time, probably owing to my Parsi heritage and our affinity towards a similar aesthetic, there has always been a strange sense of familiarity. The high tiled roof, the ornate wooden carvings, the same mosaic flowers that line the floors of my own parental home – all of it and so much more, brought to the surface a sense of immense nostalgia and yearning. I believe that the walls of people’s homes are teeming with stories, and if only for a brief moment, it was wonderful to hear what this enchanting beauty had to say.

(and other short stories) is a collection of visual fragments from the year that has been. my work on film is quite personal in nature. Not only does it serve as a way to hone my craft but it also allows me to navigate my mind by immersing myself into creative play. Part meditation; part catharsis – the process allows me to circumvent the cognitive part of my thoughts and access the feelings and instincts buried below them.

Oftentimes, these feelings give rise to a heightened state of melancholia, but it only serves to fuel the desire to create. to create, in order to let go; let go in order to move on; to move on in order to grow. To grow, in order to create.

Lather, rinse, repeat; the circle is complete.


This piece is a collection of photographs shot over the past year. It is an excerpt from journal – a long-form photography project, documenting my daily life on film.

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editor's note

Volume 09

clay | chlorophyll | crimson

Grass is green where you water it. LC’s words float along over Misch’s guitar. It’s a phrase that feels so obvious, and I’m sure those who tend to gardens know this more than most, but it seems to land more than before. The impact noticeable, memorable, echoing through my being. Perhaps we’re ingrained to think it’s greener elsewhere. This patch is the problem and not whether we’re watering it. The key is in the watering. How we go about this practice is what defines our patch of grass. No matter where we go, our patch is, perhaps, the same. Some attributes and characteristics have been changed but the essence is the same: Us.

Stepping into Volume 09 of imprint, marks our third year. I am learning that this patch of green that we have been tending to for the last several years will mould, shift, and sculpt. This depends on how we water it and allow it to take its own shape. It has already happened in wonderfully unexpected ways. There is only so much structure or shape we can predetermine. Beyond that, it will absorb what it needs and reject all that is unnecessary. And perhaps, in this practice, we are changed. Our grass is watered as we water that of our writing, our image making, our practice, our magazine.

From light to dark, rigid to supple, new to old, there is so much in between that is bright and vibrant and unexpected. The practice of our magazine has focused on being open to what we receive; being open to deeply listening to what is shared; being open to work taking us to new journeys. This volume, and this year, will be no different. We will continue tending to it as we have done, learning along the way, from past seasons and present ones.

And yet, I know it will be entirely different.
But still.
It will be watered.