emilie miller

I am incredibly proud to have my essay--a meditation on grief, baseball, and healing--published in the historic San Francisco Chronicle. These types of conversations are more important than ever before and as science tells us, crucial to our healing.

You can read the full piece on sfchronicle.com HERE.

“What will our memorials be? How and when shall we grieve?

To all the brokenhearted — your grief is yours alone to carry, but you are not walking alone. I think about the people who showed me kindness during the disorienting months following my mom’s death, some complete strangers, like the woman who seemed gruff until she helped me fill out a form while I was crying at a FedEx and told me my mother would be proud of me. I believe these gestures of humanity, generosity and care are the threads helping all of us hold our broken pieces together. Even while the virus continues to spread, even while unconscionable war is waged, may we continue to weave these threads of care for one another.

I am incredibly honored to have my work included in the beautiful and powerful international exhibition, “Points of Return,” which contemplates climate crisis, environmental issues, along with ideas for the possibility of change.

Curated after an international open call, Points of Return presets works by 25 artists that highlight some of the impacts that human actions have had on our planet and foster critical thinking about positive change. The title of the exhibition references the fact that we haven’t reached the dreaded “point of no return” – there are still opportunities for our civilisation to curb climate change and move toward a balanced and more sustainable and harmonious way of inhabiting Earth.

Points of Return brings to the surface the problematic relationship the human species has toward planet Earth and highlights how human activity, particularly since the beginning of the Industrial Revolution, has induced climate breakdown. Yet, we  firmly believe there are reasons for optimism. The projects exhibited show that there are multiple paths and approaches that can be taken, in order to restore the environmental balance that we have destabilised.

The online exhibition opened on the 28th of February of 2022 and can be visited at pointsofreturn.org.

“Do visionaries – artists, writers, musicians – have a responsibility to give us new languages and tools to actually do something about our deteriorating world?” — BARRY LOPEZ

“Points of Return” unfolds across six themed Viewing Rooms – best viewed full-screen on desktop, laptop or tablet – presenting engaging, climate-focussed artworks in a range of voices, spanning several disciplines:

https://www.pointsofreturn.org/

Explore BREATHE CONGO: A Reflection On The Growing Deforestation Of Central Africa’s Rainforest:

https://www.pointsofreturn.org/root

                                         CONVERGING I:

                                           Stellenbosch

 CONVERGING I is a land art piece intended to serve as a living symbol of coming together created along the path of green that comprises the inaugural Garden Week Stellenbosch. 4,000 Eragrostis capensis plants, an evergreen perennial grass indigenous to the Western Cape, ­­­­­­­­­­­­­have been placed upon a literal point of convergence—Meulplein—the location where Bird, Mill, and Church Streets all physically meet within the city of Stellenbosch and which now houses De Nieuwe Molen.

These grasses are sculpted around and by the elemental:

Metal

River Rock

Sun

Wind

Time

These grasses are framed by our history, sometimes falling within its shadow, depending on the time of day and the location of the sun. This living land art piece will be watered from the rectangular reflecting pool that is fed by the Meulsloot, which is a part of the Eerste River Hydrological system.

CONVERGING I explores nature as art, as symbol, as witness: indigenous natural and living material, consciously grown, placed, and woven together by a diverse collection of humans. Placed with intention and care, onto this land we call home—a fertile earth filled with history and memory—both beauty and pain—to serve as a living talisman for the future that remains unwritten. With time, this living piece will evolve, the inevitability of nature. A reminder of how we, too, grow and grow well: as individuals and as a nation.

                  We are growing. We are merging. We are converging.

May we do so with care and consciousness. May we all have the opportunity to blossom. With grace. With tolerance. With intelligence. With the understanding that Stellenbosch is a university town and is itself a vibrant and crucial place of convergence: with a beautiful diversity of culture, of language, and of people, coming together to learn, to grow, and to flourish.

CONVERGING I is a place to gather. To pause.

A moment in time.

A reminder that we can and must create beautiful things.

And a reminder that we gather—we converge—to grow.

 con·verg

/kənˈvərj/

 (of lines) tend to meet at a point.

(of several people or things) come together from different directions so as eventually to meet.

come from different directions and meet at (a place).

(of a number of things) gradually change so as to become similar or develop something in common.

Converge traces back to the Latin word vergere, meaning “to bend or to turn." The prefix con- means "with," a good way to remember that things that converge come together.

          “I want to speak the language of the grasses, rooted yet soft

                  and supple in the presence of wind before a storm.”

                                    ~Terry Tempest Williams

  Pieter G. Colyn

CONVERGING I: Stellenbosch, 2021

Eragrostis capensis, woodchip created from alien vegetation removal in the Banhoek Valley along the Dwarsriver, 6mm steel sheeting plates

Materials: Langverwacht Nursery, OSW Cape (Ornamental Steel Warehouse Cape)

Construction: Langverwacht Landscaping 

Text: Emilie Miller and Pieter G. Colyn

  Photos: https://shiftmedia.co.za/

A Letter to the Citizens of Neoneli

Dear Neoneli,

It is I, Emilie Miller, your American writer from New York City. I am in Italy and once again hoping to find my way back to you. Hoping to once again find my way back to the center. To Sardegna’s and perhaps also to my own. To return to the heart of the heart. To climb the mountains and to get a renewed sense of perspective after this most difficult period of pandemic, lockdown, and perpetual uncertainty. The time we were all kept apart.

I came to Italy to perhaps heal some of the broken pieces, after a year and a half, spent mostly alone, in NYC.

After the beginning of COVID19’s devastation in Italy, it arrived without mercy in NYC. We were hit hard and fast. The sirens were loud and constant. Each one contained within its call, the understanding that someone was suffering.

People emptied out of New York City, the streets became empty and silent. It is estimated that over 200,000 people left NYC at the beginning of the pandemic. I only had one neighbor left in my apartment building.

We lost and we lost. The physical evidence of our loss grew. There was no time to honor our city’s grief. Mobile morgues lined the streets in my neighborhood. My city was under siege. By August 2020, more than 33,000 of my fellow New Yorkers had died.

This was a disorienting combination: our simultaneous inertia and rapid loss of precious life.

I walked one afternoon in Central Park in a light rain for 45 minutes and saw only two other people. It wasn’t relaxing, the way being alone in nature often is. The special electricity of NYC, comes from all of its people forced together—filling this city with our dreams and impatience. We are the restless heart of the city that never sleeps.

In New York, like Sardinia, we too are resilient and independent, but in my opinion, it will take more than reopening stores and museums to heal from our enormous loss. How do you repair after such collective grief?

Sometimes you can only see things clearly when you look from afar.

When I climb your mountains for perspective and return to Neoneli, there are a few reassuring constants that I know I will encounter:

Neoneli will be planning and planting, literally and metaphorically, for the future.  Seeds will be placed into the earth. There will be the patient expectation of growth. The prosciutto, coppa, and salami will be hanging, taking its time, becoming flavorful.  The grapes for the wine will be ripening—the alchemy of sun and water and earth and time. One day in the future they will become something that will fill glasses at the tables of family and friends and provide long nights of laughter and memories. Since my first trip to Neoneli in 2015, Cantine di Neoneli was born and their wines can now be found all over the world. As I was told in Neoneli, “Nothing is impossible.  With time and patience, truly anything can be done.”

Now you prepare for Licanias 2021. You are gathering many powerful elements: words and stories. Those who write the words and stories. Those who make the music. Those who, through art and culture, will let us IMAGINE a new future. And help us to reflect on our present. To make a record of who we are, who we were. Even while the fires burned and the virus continued to spread.  What else can we do, but tell the story? And plant for the future with patient expectation of growth.

A friend of mine told me that during Rome’s lockdown, without the presence of traffic and pedestrians, tiny green plants began to appear between the ancient cobblestones, in once busy intersections.

I recently saw another Roman friend of mine who lost her father to COVID19 this past April. He died two weeks before he was scheduled for his first vaccine appointment. My friend is still so young. Finishing her PhD in Art Restoration, she spends her days restoring and preserving significant Italian works of art so that they can be enjoyed for generations and centuries to come. I think of her walking the streets of Rome, a city where, on your way to get a coffee, you can casually pass by an ancient wall that is almost 2,000 years old. How can it be that in the same city, where some things still remain after thousands of years, your father--the very foundation of your heart, and family, and life—who you loved and needed to live a thousand years, can one day suddenly disappear. 

I have no answers. What else can we do, but also tell the stories of those who did not have time to tell their own? Stories matter because people matter. What else can we do, but care for one another and the places we call home? Hospitality.

For the people of Sardinia, gestures of hospitality are natural, normal, easy. In Neoneli, hospitality and making people feel like they matter, is as automatic and fundamental as breathing. More and more, I believe, especially during this most difficult time of pandemic, that these gestures of generosity and hospitality are the threads that hold all the broken pieces of the world together.

In my book about Neoneli, I recounted the following: "Often the young people leave… At first they want to leave, to experience something new. But once they are gone, all they want to do is come back.  It is as if they remain always connected to Neoneli with a spiritual umbilical cord."

And so it is. I want to come back. And I hope I will see you soon, when it is safe for us to reunite. Until then I will Imagine:

Licanias Festival! Auguri! The power and magic of people coming together to dream.

Your stories told over glasses of excellent wine late into the night.

You planting for the future so that the next generations may have the chance to do the same.

Una Lettera ai Cittadini di Neoneli

Cara Neoneli,

Sono io, Emilie Miller, la vostra scrittrice americana di New York City. Sono in Italia e ancora una volta sono alla ricerca della strada per tornare da voi. Spero di trovare ancora una volta la strada verso il centro. Verso il centro della Sardegna, e forse anche verso il mio.  Per ritornare al cuore del cuore. Per scalare le montagne e per ritrovare un senso di prospettiva dopo questo periodo così difficile di pandemia, lockdown e incertezza continua. Il tempo in cui siamo stati tutti tenuti separati.

Sono venuta in Italia forse per riparare alcuni dei pezzi rotti, dopo un anno e mezzo passato quasi sempre da sola a New York.

Dopo essere partita dall’Italia, la devastazione del Covid19 è arrivata, senza pietà, a New York. Siamo stati colpiti duramente e velocemente. Le sirene erano forti e continue. Ognuna portava con sé la consapevolezza che qualcuno stava soffrendo.

La gente ha abbandonato New York, le strade sono diventate vuote e silenziose. Si stima che più di 200 mila persone abbiano lasciato New York all’inizio della pandemia. Nell’edificio dove vivo era rimasto soltanto un vicino di casa.

L’evidenza fisica delle nostre perdite divenne sempre più grande. Abbiamo perso e abbiamo perso. Non c’è stato il tempo per onorare il dolore della nostra città. Per le strade del mio quartiere c’erano camion dell’obitorio. La mia città era sotto assedio. Alle fine di agosto del 2020 erano morti più di 33 mila miei concittadini newyorkesi.

È stata una combinazione sconcertante da sperimentare: la nostra inerzia e la contemporanea rapida perdita di vite preziose.

Un pomeriggio ho camminato per Central Park sotto una pioggia leggera per 45 minuti; ho visto solo altre due persone. Non è stato rilassante, come spesso può esserlo passare un po’ di tempo da soli nella natura. La speciale elettricità di New York proviene da tutte queste persone che stanno insieme per forza, e riempiono questa città con i loro sogni e la loro impazienza. Siamo il cuore inquieto nella città che non dorme mai.

Anche a New York, come in Sardegna, siamo resilienti e indipendenti, ma credo che non basteranno la riapertura dei negozi e dei musei per guarire la nostra enorme perdita. Come si guarisce da questo profondo dolore collettivo?

A volte si vedono le cose chiaramente solo guardando da lontano.

Quando scalerò le vostre montagne in cerca di una prospettiva e tornerò a Neoneli, ci sono alcune costanti che sono sicura di ritrovare:

Neoneli pianificherà e pianterà, letteralmente e metaforicamente, per il futuro. I semi saranno piantati nella terra. Ci sarà un’attesa paziente di crescita. Il prosciutto, la coppa e il salame saranno lasciati appesi, ad acquistare lentamente sapore. L’uva maturerà dalle viti. L’alchimia del sole e dell’acqua, della terra e del tempo. Un giorno diventeranno qualcosa che riempirà i bicchieri sulle tavole delle famiglie e degli amici, per regalare lunghe notti di risate e ricordi. Dopo la mia prima visita a Neoneli, nel 2015, sono state create le Cantine di Neoneli, e i loro vini ora si trovano in tutto il mondo. Come mi avete detto a Neoneli, “niente è impossibile. Con il tempo e la pazienza, si può fare davvero tutto.”

Ora vi state preparando per Festival Licanìas 2021. State raccogliendo tanti elementi potentissimi: parole e storie. Chi scrive le parole e le storie. Chi fa musica. Chi, attraverso l’arte e la cultura, ci permette di IMAGINE un nuovo futuro. E ci aiuta a riflettere sul presente. Per lasciare una traccia di chi siamo, e di chi siamo stati. Anche se intanto gli incendi divampano e il virus continua a diffondersi. Che cos’altro possiamo fare, se non raccontare la storia? E seminare per il futuro, con un’attesa paziente di crescita.

Un’amica mi ha raccontato che a Roma, durante il lockdown, senza più il traffico e il passaggio della gente, piccole piante sono spuntate tra gli antichi sampietrini, in quei passaggi prima occupati.

Di recente ho incontrato un’altra amica romana che ha perso il padre per il Covid19 lo scorso aprile. È mancato due settimane prima della data fissata per la sua prima dose di vaccino. Lei è ancora così giovane. Mentre termina il suo dottorato in restauro di opere d’arte, restaura e conserva importanti opere dell’arte italiana, affinché le generazioni e i secoli a venire possano goderne. Penso a lei che cammina per le strade di Roma, una città dove puoi casualmente passare davanti a mura antiche di quasi 2000 anni, mentre vai a prendere un caffè. Com’è possibile che nella stessa città dove le cose sopravvivono per migliaia di anni, tuo padre –il fondamento del tuo cuore, della tua famiglia e della tua vita – che hai amato e che avresti avuto bisogno di avere accanto per migliaia di anni, possa un giorno improvvisamente scomparire.

Non ho una risposta. Ma che cos’altro possiamo fare, se non raccontare le storie di chi non ha avuto il tempo per raccontare la propria? Le storie sono importanti perché le persone sono importanti. Che cos’altro possiamo fare, se non prenderci cura gli uni degli altri, e prenderci cura del posto che chiamiamo casa? Ospitalità.

Per la gente di Sardegna i gesti di ospitalità sono naturali, normali, semplici. A Neoneli, l’ospitalità, il far sentire le persone importanti, è automatico e fondamentale, come respirare. Penso sempre di più, specialmente in questi tempi così difficili di pandemia, che questi gesti di generosità e ospitalità siano i fili che tengono insieme tutti i pezzi rotti del mondo.

Nel mio libro su Neoneli ho raccontato che “I giovani lasciano spesso Neoneli… Sentono il bisogno di confrontarsi col resto del mondo: ma dopo un po’ desiderano fortemente di tornare. È come se a Neoneli fossero legati da un misterioso cordone ombelicale dell’anima.”

E posso confermare che è la verità. Voglio tornare. E spero di rivedervi presto, quando potremo riunirci tutti insieme in sicurezza. Fino ad allora, io farò Imagine:

Festival Licanìas! Auguri! La potenza e la magia della gente che si riunisce per sognare.

Le vostre storie raccontate fino a notte fonda davanti a un calice di ottimo vino.

E il vostro seminare per il futuro, perché anche le prossime generazioni possano fare lo stesso.

Traduzione dall’inglese all’italiano Alessandro Notarpietro

I was honored to help write and create the accompanying text for the Environmental Land Art Installation, BREATHE CONGO: A Reflection On The Growing Deforestation of Central Africa’s Rainforest, which was presented outside the Curatorial Exhibition of the inaugural Stellenbosch Triennale in South Africa from February 11th through April 30th 2020. 

BREATHE CONGO is a living interactive land art piece. A spiraling path of trees. An opportunity to go inward and to reflect. Into the green. Into the breath. Honoring the Green Heart of Africa. The world’s Second Lung. Our African Lung. A meditative path and an elemental gesture contemplating the beauty and fragility of our relationship and interdependence with one another and with our natural world.

Every tree a silent majestic witness, and an urgent reminder,

That we exist now and our collective future is in our own hands.

A spiral, like breath, is both radiating out and drawing inward. Infinite.

Without beginning and without end.

The root of the word ‘spiral’ comes from the Latin spirare: to breath, to inspire, to expire.

This is our earthly contract with the trees and the forests.

We only exist in togetherness.

They are breathing us.

And we are breathing them.

The choices we make now are creating the future.

TOMORROW THERE WILL BE MORE OF US.

May we be wise. May the trees and forests still remain.

May the breath be without end. May it not spiral out of control.

May we be the path for the footsteps of our children and their children and the children of their children’s children. The breath of the future. May we be the miracle memory.

May we become the wise ancestors who left a natural world worthy of its future dreamers.

Pieter Colyn, BREATHE CONGO: A Reflection On The Growing Deforestation Of Central Africa’s Rainforest, 2020

Syzyguim guineense trees, hessian fabric, wood chips, red earth, mirror Materials and Construction: Langverwacht Nursery and Langverwacht Landscaping 

Text: Emilie Miller and Pieter Colyn

I had the extreme honor and pleasure of being invited to the Italian Consulate General in NYC to discuss my book "Neoneli : A Big Little Town!" At its core, my book is an artistic collaboration between NYC and Italy. At The Consulate General of Italy, every moment of every day is a collaboration between NYC and Italy! Bella! Grazie Consul General Genuardi e Vice Consul Saulle!

I stumbled upon this lovely mention in La Nuova Sardegna very late, so I will be late in my thank you too. But thank you La Nuova Sardegna! And as always, thank you Neoneli.

A love letter to Neoneli

NEONELI. Not a thank you letter: not quite a love letter. Addressed to the inhabitants of Neoneli and signed by Emilie Miller, actress and writer, who lives in New York and spent the last summer in Neoneli, participating recently in the "Licanias de Barigadu.”  In her blog, Miller had sweet words for the community that hosts her: “I am back in New York City, my loud chaotic electric home, but I think of Neoneli all the time. Amidst my city’s shouting and sirens and buildings that scrape the sky and people rushing, always rushing—I will think of the sweet stillness of Neoneli.”

A summer that will remain in the memory: “How do I explain the heart to the heart? Do I write of the magic and sun and stone? I have lived where you live. I have seen who you love and how you love them. We have danced. We have walked down the streets in the hot sun, behind Saints, singing. I have eaten from your gardens at your tables in your homes. You have welcomed me; you have let me in.”

A love letter: “This is a record of my time in a place--your place. Words may not be enough. Yours is a tiny town, but the impact, the imprint you have made is huge.”

NEONELI. Non una lettera di ringraziamento: piuttosto una lettera d’amore. Rivolta agli abitanti di Neoneli e firmata da Emilie Miller, attrice e scrittrice che vive a New York e che ha trascorso la scorsa estate proprio a Neoneli, partecipando recentemente alla “Licanias de Barigadu.” Nel suo blog la Miller ha avuto parole dolcissime per la comunità che l’ha ospitata: «Sono rientrata a New York, la mia casa caotica e elettrica, ma penso sempre a Neoneli. Tra il rumore e le sirene della mia città, i palazzi che grattano i cieli e la gente di corsa, penserò alla dolce tranquillità di Neoneli».

Un’estate che rimarrà nella memoria: «Come spiego il cuore al cuore? Scrivo della magia e del sole e della pietra? Ho vissuto dove voi vivete. Ho visto chi amate e come amate, abbiamo ballato, abbiamo passeggiato per le strade nel sole rovente, dietro i santi a cantare. Ho mangiato nei vostri giardini a tavola in casa vostra. Mi avete accolta, mi avete fatta entrare nel vostro mondo».

Una lettera d’amore: «È un ricordo del mio tempo in un posto, il vostro posto. Le parole non possono bastare. Il vostro è un paese piccolissimo, ma l’impatto, l’impronta che avete lasciato è enorme».

On October 1st, my book “Neoneli: A Big Little Town,”made its debut at the “Licanias De Barigadu:” A Festival of Literature, Music, Food and Wine in Sardinia. This is a little ad I shot for the festival with the wildly talented (and wildly flirty!) Italian/Sardinian author Gesuino Nemus. 

If you want to go there, you must go inside, towards the mountains, away from the sea. 

The soft rolling hills will greet you as you follow the curve of the road, as the elevation climbs and you drive the winding path--up up up--through everything green.

The higher you go, the further you will see.

Distance. Perspective. Panorama. And then suddenly you will be there.

You will hear the bells.

This week the book I wrote about Neoneli in Sardinia will be officially presented at the LICANIAS DE BARIGADU: A festival of literature, music, wine, and food in the heart of Sardinia--Neoneli.

A festival of all my favorite things... in one of my favorite places... !

I am nervous and excited and honored.

Neoneli,

I’ll see you soon!

A Presto,

It is hard to imagine a world without my Grandma GiGi. She was a true force--of nature, of spirit, of intellect, of creativity, of opinion. In her 92 years of life, she was an artist, a nurse, a devoted wife of 66 years, a mother of nine, a proud bilingual Polack, a lover of chocolate, statement jewelry, leopard print, and God. 

We will miss you Gracie. Please give mom a hug for me. With you two reunited, heaven is no doubt, beautifully riotous.

xo