pressing pause

Photo Essay by Wesley Verhoeve

We left Rome behind, watching the city fade as we drove north, looking for a chance to hit pause and just be.

This was my first real vacation in over 15 years. I’d traveled plenty—Japan, Argentina, Berlin—but always with a purpose, mostly work, sometimes family. This time, there was no agenda except to rest, recharge, and spend time with my better half. Maybe even finish a book. It was time to listen to that voice inside that had been begging for a break.

Tuscany welcomed us with dusty roads, rolling hills, and vineyards that seemed to stretch forever. We arrived at a friend’s family vineyard, where life followed the seasons, not the clock. Our days were simple: barefoot in the grass, clinking glasses, and laughing late into the night.

At a countryside B&B, time felt like it had stopped. We read by the pool, the sun relentless until it drove us into the water. In those quiet moments, I reconnected with myself, and enjoyed long, peaceful hours with N. Swimming, a midday nap, finding delight in old buildings and new flavors—just soaking up the beauty around us.

Wading into warm water felt magical, the sea holding us gently. We dug our toes into the sand, ate local tomatoes bursting with flavor, and watched sunsets over the Mediterranean that were almost too vivid to be real. Sustenance isn’t just about food; it’s about rest. To keep going, we need to pause and enjoy these simple pleasures.

The more I relaxed, the more I wanted to pick up my camera—not out of duty, but from a renewed desire to capture what I was feeling. I took photos just for me, small reminders of this special time when I let myself pause and enjoy the stillness.

This trip wasn’t just good for my work—it was good for me. I came back grateful for the chance to pause, collect, and sustain.

As we drove back to Rome, the car was filled with memories and a lightness I hadn’t felt in years. Oh and I did finish that novel.

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.