02/15/2026
On the eve of Valentine’s Day, I said to my husband, “Let’s spend tomorrow at Green-Wood Cemetery.”
We both love cemeteries, and I had wanted to introduce Cristian to this glorious place for quite some time. Established in 1838, Green-Wood was one of the first of its kind great park-like cemeteries in the US, a Victorian landscape of winding paths, monumental and at times perplexing architecture housing, nearly 600,000 residents at rest.
We were on a mission.
Our goal was to visit the grave of Jean-Michel Basquiat,
Not being familiar with Basquiat when I moved to New York over 20 years ago, he became the first local and beyond artist I discovered here and forged something permanent between me and the city’s past.
It’s mid-February so the cemetery has retained a thick plane of snow, a liminal space between the worlds below and above. We trotted carefully through it, breaking the silence; our footsteps were swallowed by the snow, announcing our presence with a crunch both outside and inside our shoes.
On the way to Basquiat’s grave, we stopped by the Vann Ness Parsons Pyramid. Inside this unusual mausoleum lies Albert Ross Parsons, a composer and amateur Egyptologist.
As I was taking pictures of its unorthodox blend of Egyptian symbolism, Christian iconography, and esoteric motifs, a muffled, metallic sound of the heavy steel door shut somewhere in the depths of the pyramid interrupting my flow.
I strangely welcomed the sensation — equal parts spookiness, joy, and delight. The kind of subtle tremor in my heart that assured me this would be a Valentine’s Day well spent
And for the gates from beneath.
I was the wind. It must have been the wind.
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📸 🪦kasiakruk
📸 of me