Where Time Stands Still – a Photo Essay
There is a farm, a small family farm, in the rural South where time seems to be standing still. Time moves on, of course, but here, like small farms everywhere,…
There is a farm, a small family farm, in the rural South where time seems to be standing still. Time moves on, of course, but here, like small farms everywhere,…
There is nothing more lovely than a flower. Colorful, sensual, maybe a little erotic. Only we humans see flowers for their beauty. Nature's gift. Temporary perfection. In order to perpetuate their beauty, we buy millions of replicas made of plastic and silk. A poor substitute in my mind.
Three young men sit on the seawall along Havana's Malecon watching the approaching thunderstorm.
The Nautilus was piercing the water with its sharp spur, after having accomplished nearly ten thousand leagues in three months and a half, a distance greater than the great circle…
These are heady times for the people of Cuba. Exciting times for sure, but fraught with uncertainty. The re-opening of diplomatic relations (embassies in Havana and Washington are set to open July 20) and the inevitable lowering of the decades-long embargo will bring unknowable change to our island neighbor to the south. Cuba, a country of incredible natural beauty, remains much as it was sixty years ago. Her people are warm, friendly and welcoming. Havana was surely one of the most beautiful cities in the world in the mid 20th Century. She is still beautiful, but sadly, a beauty of decay. But there is a rhythm of life there, a sensuality like no place else. A photographer’s dream.
In Zanzibar, an ancient island in the Indian Ocean, off the coast of Tanzania doors have a more significant than most places. Zanzibar has long been a crossroads along the ancient trading routes between Africa, India, and Persia. Doors became status symbols of wealth and social status. Construction of a new house traditionally started with the elaborately carved front door, which, essentially, became a calling card advertising the occupation and status of the own
The miracle of light pours over the green and brown expanse of saw grass and of water, shining and slowly moving, the grass and water that is the meaning and…
We must be free not because we claim freedom, but because we practice it. — William Faulkner
At least, in theory, it seems to me, we go to art museums to escape for a brief while to another world. A place of beauty, of creativity, A place…