Rosemarie Albanese Looks for the Humanity in New York City Trash

Posted inSVA Branding: 100 Days

The 100 Day Project is an annual project at New York City’s School of Visual Arts that was founded by Michael Bierut. Each year, the students of the school’s Master’s in Branding Program spend 100 days documenting their process with a chosen creative endeavor. This year, we’re showcasing each student in the program by providing a peek into ten days of their project. You can keep an eye on everyone’s work on our SVA 100 Days page.

A single person throws out approximately 1,642 lbs of trash every year. That’s 1,642 lbs of impact— relics of memory— discarded.

As a Brooklyn native, Rosemarie Albanese has gotten used to seeing her immediate surroundings decorated with trash: the littering of used bottles, cans, tissue paper, and sometimes furniture. She began to recognize trash as an aspect of the world that would never leave her— a partner, if you will.

There is a dichotomy between one’s perception of sought-after objects and discarded objects. Rosemarie uses hand-drawn doodles and poems to explore this tension.

Join Rosemarie as she commemorates the trash of New York City.

Follow her project in full at @100daysoftrashpoems.

Gratitude comes in
street food boxes,
ravaged by hungry
wishing you a good day.

Blessed be.
I will always reach
for you.
Captured in this
suspended bliss
is my
resting place.
A 2-D abyss.

Dropped before I was
able to protect,
a bird left it’s
wing, a feather
for my nest.

Childhood in a
Memory discarded.
Oh, why doth thou
escape me?

Hunger at the
helm of mind.
Scarfing down the
crunch as grease
oils the way—

I’m lovin’ it.

My solace can be
found in the
tiniest syringe.
The whole is greater
than the sum of my

The bubbles I feel
when with your
are many.
When I breathe—
the bubbles
leave me.

Some Brooklyn
stories are
written over
dinner talks,
oily mouths—
over slices of

the smell of
heat on ground
(for to smell, see, hear, be.)

This, sweet friend,
made its way into
a stomach and
is now

Slippery slippery
Is there hope
around the corner—