Above, Edwidge Danticat’s writer’s room
Sometimes when I’m stuck and can’t write, I just sit there and stare at Basquiat. Or I sit under my desk and stare into space. Either way, I know that when I’m ready to get back to work, there will be all these faces there to greet me, silent witnesses to my days of both agony and joy.
I just love the thought of her having witnesses to her days of writing agony and joy.