communal seams

I miss seeing my neighbours washing hanging in the sun. You see, laundry is a love language back home in Lisbon. Hanging clothes outside of our windows, facing the street, reaching towards the sidewalk, creates a shared moment, a point of connection that equalizes us, all, regardless of money, status. We lay our robes, our underwear, our garments of special occasions out under the same sun that we all share. A simple universal routine that removes barriers of class and culture fostering intimacy between us all. The city has a choreography with the elements. A collective show and tell towards the sun. After longs periods of rain, there’s a collective draw towards the window, openness and warmth, shedding the layers of days past to prepare for the next. Lean and hang. Show and tell. The white linen contrasts against coloured socks, the sheets carefully placed to not block the neighbours window, to not graze the heads of passersby, or get caught on a traffic sign. How many are you, how much you earn, physical nuances of the body, where you’ve been, type of work, hygiene habits, visitors, trips to different climates, new and old garments, it’s all there, for the city to read. A collective effort that keeps what’s bound by walls open, sharing signs of life, this exact one in this exact moment. Living archeology laundry list: