JUNE 2024 —
This Substack was born in the immediate wreckage of grief, helping me navigate those raw aftershocks that reverberated through the following weeks and months, and still hit when I least expect it. In the middle of the night, during drinks with friends, and in every conscious moment. This is inevitable, and I imagine it will continue for the rest of my life.
That said, I never intended for this Substack to become solely about grief or focus exclusively on that experience. My original idea was to use this platform as a portfolio, to test out various projects, to write about all experiences, and to explore all parts of myself through a creative and direct forum.
So, I took some time away from building it up to refocus and develop my intent. I've been editing various papers and essays that I am excited to share here, and as a result, posts will become more frequent through the summer. These pieces cover a wide range of topics, including but not limited to: art, literature, personal essays, excerpts from larger projects I am working on, politics, philosophy, sexuality, the human condition, mental health, and everything (I mean everything) in between. I am also looking forward to sharing more visual art and multimedia posts as soon as I figure out the best way to do that.
So, let’s move forward, shall we?
This summer, I have undertaken the immense task of digitizing my grandfather’s notebooks and photographs, and working my way through his personal library. It's an extensive project that requires painstaking translations (he wrote entirely in Italian, and his handwriting challenges even the best transcribers). It’s a labor of pure love and gratitude, and another way to deepen my connection with my mom’s history and ancestry. I inherited most of my grandfather’s belongings: his paintings, boxes of photographs, copious sketches and letters, notes on what he was reading, and his observations of the world around him. A true time capsule.
For those of you who do not know, my grandfather was a successful designer and a wildly talented artist. To me, he was the most brilliant man I have ever known. With my mom passing away in February (writing that still feels surreal, as if it hasn’t actually happened), that side of my family is gone. Her brother and both of her parents preceded her. While my grandfather’s family remains in Italy, and I love them dearly, here in the United States, these paintings, books, photographs, and trinkets collected through decades of global travel are all I have left of them and the life I knew as a child. I was never particularly close with my dad’s side of the family. I do not even resemble them much, and they never miss an opportunity to remind me. They are white, conservative Anglo-Saxons who were quite miffed that my father married an Italian, the daughter of an immigrant, no less! I am a Hamilton by name, and I am proud of the history of that name, but my ancestry and identity are firmly rooted in my mom’s family, the Porciellos of the world
.Currently, I am reading an Italian translation of The Age of Civilization collection by Will and Ariel Durant. It will probably take me all summer to translate and finish, but it is a task I am more than happy to undertake. One thing my grandfather taught me, which I have done ever since, is to date books when I start them. All of his books have dates scribbled on the title page, signifying when he started the book and how many times he reread it. It’s comforting and illuminating.
The poetry of history.
Thank you for being here.
Thank you for continuing to read.
Love you.
Traveling alone, always.
Tyler