Travel is a privilege. It is made possible by the circumstances of our births: that Sam and I exist at this exact moment in time. It is made possible by our secondary education, by the consistent financial and emotional support we have received from family and community, by remote freelance work, by airplane travel.

It bears remembering, again and again, how remarkable it is that we can do this. We can buy a one-way ticket. We can step into most places and travel safely and anonymously – as a straight couple, with young and able bodies, with white skin.

The line between experiencing the world and consuming it is very thin. We have no interest in collecting cities; doing places; packaging them into five-day whirlwind tours where we see the three churches and eat the two local delicacies and take pictures in front of the famous street art and then leave, writing a ‘five things not to miss’ article and washing our hands of a whole place. At the same time, it seems forced and naive to proclaim that we will become part of the places to which we travel; that we will pass as locals; that we will never take pictures in front of the famous church.

It seems that traveling makes something new of us. Nothing makes me feel more American than being in a foreign place; but then, hardly anything makes me feel more connected to humanity as a borderless whole than crossing country lines. It is complicated, and it is so simple: to treat people and places with respect and reverence; to challenge our own expectations and comfort zones; to balance trusting our instincts and complicating our prejudices. Travel is exhausting, a life unto itself. It is also immeasurably invigorating. It is a place of heightened awareness, of instability, of sharpened priorities.

And as artists – as people who want to make things that connect to something intrinsic in the human spirit – travel is also something essential. And so besides being a privilege, this change feels like a responsibility. How dare we want to make art and not take every opportunity to experience more humans, landscapes, cities? How dare we not see the midnight sun, the Taj Mahal; at this point in our lives, how could we consider staying put to be a valid alternative to figuring out how to communicate with a taxi driver in a foreign tongue?

We have few plans; many goals. Infinite questions. We are, to the best of our ability, prepared to be surprised.

And we want to hear from you. Community is one of the main sources of strength that has given us the foundation we need to explore this way. We will be updating here along the way; we are also on Instagram: @naomikrupitsky and @studiogalison, and you can reach us by email.

We love you. Thank you. See you soon.