“The nicest place I ever got to write in was in MacDowell. My studio there was surrounded by a beautiful snowy forest and looking out of the windows, I could often see deer. During my residency there a friend came to visit. After having a beer together he said, ‘There is so much beauty around you, yet I can see from the angle at which your computer is placed that when you write all you can see is the toilet. Why is that?’
“The answer was simple. When I write, what I see around me is the landscape of my story. I only get to enjoy the real one when I’m done. In the Keret family tradition my writing space is always one of the least desirable spots in our apartment, a place which only a person who is busy writing can bear. Currently it is a small metal table placed between the living room and the kitchen. The moment I stop writing I can notice on the other side of the road a beautiful grand tree allegedly planted sixty years ago by one of Israel’s finest children poets as well as the happy mess my son and I left on the balcony the day before, but this is just for a moment, most of the time I just see my stories which are usually much messier than the balcony floor.”
—Windows on the World: Etgar Keret, Tel Aviv, Israel
Illustration Credit Matteo Pericoli

“The nicest place I ever got to write in was in MacDowell. My studio there was surrounded by a beautiful snowy forest and looking out of the windows, I could often see deer. During my residency there a friend came to visit. After having a beer together he said, ‘There is so much beauty around you, yet I can see from the angle at which your computer is placed that when you write all you can see is the toilet. Why is that?’

The answer was simple. When I write, what I see around me is the landscape of my story. I only get to enjoy the real one when I’m done. In the Keret family tradition my writing space is always one of the least desirable spots in our apartment, a place which only a person who is busy writing can bear. Currently it is a small metal table placed between the living room and the kitchen. The moment I stop writing I can notice on the other side of the road a beautiful grand tree allegedly planted sixty years ago by one of Israel’s finest children poets as well as the happy mess my son and I left on the balcony the day before, but this is just for a moment, most of the time I just see my stories which are usually much messier than the balcony floor.

Windows on the World: Etgar Keret, Tel Aviv, Israel

Illustration Credit Matteo Pericoli

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