The Hikarui Interview series; 8 questions with Jess Ione Henshall
A professional writer, Jess Ione Henshall is multi-disciplinary creative and an editor of hikarui.
In private and public spheres, her work is an exploration into the intimate space of small moments, drawing on experiences of the body, quiet narratives, and states of limbo. She launched her Substack, This Still Life, this Autumn.
Jess is one of the many wonderful humans I’ve found through being in alignment and surrounded by a creative community. I can’t remember exactly where and when we connected but I am so grateful we did. She is the wonder woman behind a lot of my copy, and editor of Hikarui, helping me to bring life to what I couldn’t because I was too close to it. Like a missing piece found in my ever-shapeshifting puzzle, her ability to allow for that evolution and bring form to it is beyond something I could have ever wished for.
01. How would you most like to spend a day by yourself? What is your favourite spot for a solo date?
I fantasise deeply, daily, about a day to myself on a mediterranean island (Ischia ideally). But perhaps there is a middle ground that exists somewhere nearer current realities. To wake slowly in the morning, but still early with the day ahead; make a coffee, read a book still in bed. Then, a gentle walk and a swim off the rocks in the sun, heading after to a nearby cafe to write for a while. Pick up an armful of groceries — fresh bread, cheese, golden yolk eggs, something green and leafy — to cook for lunch (something just for me, no one else’s cravings in consideration). An afternoon that is open to me: no plans. The evening depends deeply on the time of year — a swim at sunset and a small picnic on the beach, or watching a film at my local indie cinema; either way walking home under stars through empty streets. Home, in bed at a reasonable time. Thoughts jotted in a notebook, then an easy sleep that arrives quickly, without notice, drawing me into another day.
02. Has a book or film made you fall in love with a place you’ve never been?
As a kid, The Lord of the Rings films (extended editions only, always) made me fall in love with the vast landscapes of New Zealand. Maybe part of it was a false promise that Aragorn would be there too (first love, lasting love). As an adult, the My Brilliant Friend quartet of books has made me fall in love with Ischia, a little island off Naples that summer dreams are made of. Honourable mentions: Tiny Moons for the Shanghai food scene, The Summer Book for tiny Finnish islands, and My Neighbour Totoro for rural Japan.
03. What is a food-centred memory that has stayed with you?
Cooking with my grandma as a child. I grew up with her — in many ways she was my second home, my second caregiver; so many of my childhood memories span the time spent with her.
Rolling lentil rissoles in egg and breadcrumbs to cook in an oiled pan / adding frozen slices of oranges, lemons, then strawberries and mint to an insulated cup of lemonade and orange juice to take to the park / stirring cream cheese with lemon curd to top the carrot cake she decorated with nasturtiums from her allotment; the way she she made this for my mum and dad’s wedding day and again for my birthday each year until she couldn’t / sweating earthy carrots with onions and thyme / ladling yellow dhal spiced with turmeric, cumin, cloves / cutting through herby layers of nut roast at Christmas / sprinkling huge flakes of sea salt over her home cooked chips (my heartbreak when she got a new cooker and swore she would never cook chips again for the greasy mess it made of the old one) / sitting at the table every Tuesday lunchtime after nursery, eating warm eggs and buttery soldiers with my uncle when he lived at home between living in Japan (our love of ‘Eggy Tuesday’, accompanied with a song we made up that I’ve since forgotten).
The way she lives on through the food I make now that mirrors the food she once made for me.
04. What is a word, concept or quote you love?
‘The personal is political’. A slogan of second-wave feminism (used again in civil rights movements and student activism, and now in disability advocacy), this is one that still holds so much weight against ideas that the political only exists in public spaces, or that the personal is separate from structures of society. As someone living with an oftentimes invisible disability, I know the ways the political can be intimate, private, yet foundational in shaping everyday experiences of life.
05. Where is your favourite place to spend an evening with friends?
I love evenings at friend’s houses and apartments — candles, good food (undefined ‘good’: sometimes a bowl of crisps and hummus, other times a four course home cooked meal), intimate spaces without the pressure of being in public. We often move between the deepest and silliest of conversations in the span of seconds. Sometimes, with friends who live just around the corner, I visit in pyjamas for end of evening cups of tea.
But sometimes evenings call for venturing out — I love the little wine bar down the road from me, or the bigger one in town, or the tiny one a few towns over. Places that make choosing to drink one of meaning and not excess, that invite intimacy and remind us of who we are when we are in public spaces.
06. What is one small step that created the momentum for something bigger?
The step I’m currently taking, and that I hope will create the momentum for something much bigger. Small steps are the only footholds in reach for me in this moment — I cannot make big steps so I must make small ones. Right now, I am self studying, returning to research and writing that I began in my degree and expanding from this, taking short courses that add backing to it, and reigniting my curiosity and desire to learn. I am opening books I’ve housed for months or years and finding them to hold conversations that are so deeply resonant of where I am now. I’ve had other moments in the past that at the time didn’t feel like it, but with the kindness of hindsight I am able to see that it was the catalyst for more though not always in ways that make linear sense — I can intuitively feel this at the moment, that although I’m not sure what direction I’m heading in next, I think this is the most important step towards it.
07. What are some of your small joys?
Hot baths / removing the sticky pit of a date / walks to the sea in the starry dark / soft sunlight on closed eyes / reading after slow waking / a still-warm flaky croissant / listening to a new favourite song on repeat [currently, this one] / strings of warm fairy lights / cups of hojicha / wearing jumpers knitted by my mum / wearing jewellery made by me / short painted nails / the first pages of a notebook / the middle pages of a book / solo trips to the cinema / mood-boards / quiet bookshops in busy cities / outfits I feel both beautiful and comfortable in / playing card games with friends (forgetting and relearning the rules every time) / using postcards as bookmarks / eating ripe stone fruits / self portraits / noticing the shift in seasons and all the small rituals that change with it / sharing smiles with strangers / walking past flower stalls / singing in the house when I am alone.
08. If you could be a kid again, how would you spend your days?
In many ways I tried to become an adult too quickly and stepped into that role readily, always feeling more at home with adults than my own age group. In other ways, circumstances meant I had to take on adult roles that maybe I wasn’t at all ready for, and that mean in many ways I am still learning how to be young, even though I am now an adult. If I was a kid again, I would move freely in a less pained body, running around, attempting handstands on grassy fields, rolling down hills, hanging from monkey bars, skipping hand it hand with a friend. I would draw and paint and make up stories without worrying if they made sense to anyone else. I would play dress up and put on that sequin strappy dress of my childhood that was once my mum’s and that my tall body rapidly grew out of. I would swing from my dad’s arms and feel like I was flying over the sand dunes. I would be read to by my mum who always got the voices right when no one else could. I would enjoy being small. I would worry less.