Mocha Mocha, seen easy reading

Caucasian woman, early to mid thirties, wearing loose faded jeans and a worn orange t-shirt. She checks the time on her cell phone and pushes it to the end of the table along with her plate, reaching out in afterthought for the sliced tomato drizzled in oil and rice vinegar. Sunny, sunny day on an early morning patio.

The New Yorker, Aug. 6, 2007 (Condé Nast Publications)

Page 13:

"Critic's Notebook: Domestic Import"

True, [JoAnn] Verburg has never made a big splash, and she doesn't attempt to create one here. Her work is quiet, thoughtful, and deliberate yet full of warmth; the bright summer sun that falls on so many her subjects vies with the intense glow of her regard.

Was it this time last year, the year before? Walking through Central Park, looking for pressed sandwiches and water, jeans clinging, sopping. A slow stroll through the zoo, a smell something fierce around the monkeys, envy for the seals slipping through scummy water. Relief in a Strawberry Shortcake ice cream bar and sudden down pour, ducking into a restaurant, low-hanging ceiling fans, two women popping champagne, wedding weekend. Wading ankle deep through pothole puddles to Strand Bookstore, nowhere to begin. Oh, for more time in New York. New York.