Zaha Hadid: 520 West 28th street
Hemingway’s descriptions are maps of lives and entreaties: Please see what my words convey he begs:
My camera was born many years following: My eyes became aware of his eyes before I became…:
Now I dream to make visual captures in and about his words:
The human condition maintains a superabundant collection of pleasures: I spar daily with each and every one: I am not fighting them off: I am enjoying the full spectrum of what I am privileged to see: The sparring is like dancing in the ring with Muhammad Ali: Each day I anticipate a moment to be down: Each day I rise to see more than the day before: I am dreaming with my eyes wide open.
Grand Central Station
Moments past seem so warped in a mind wrapped in digital celluloid: The simple life of a poem spreads its words across my visual memories: My entire life of captures had been immortalized centuries before:
A.E.Housman
“Blue Remembered Hills”
“Into my heart an air that kills
From yon far country blows:
What are those blue remembered hills,
What spires, what farms are those?
That is the land of lost content,
I see it shining plain,
The happy highways where I went
And cannot come again.”
Every day I share the cities I have visited: I don’t share my map: Rest assured I am not a wandering Odysseus, conquering Alexander or Genghis: I share to bare witness to the worlds I have seen and not yet seen: Those worlds are the places where magic lives: From my front porch to real time constellations: The nature of this photographer is not to explore the built environment of nations: It is to explore what magic may be captured in those nations:
River Park New York City
My image of me stands alone in a Shenzhen reflection: My image of me is reflected alongside the East Rivers’ United Nations: My image about me is witnessed by thousands inside Grand Central Station: My image of me stands alongside a Zaha Hadid design: Her ghost in this glimpse is mine:
The magic in my captures rests somewhere between piano’s ebony sharps and flats: There is a silence between every key as there is between every multitude of shutter clicks:
Mozart played a key: Yo Yo Ma played a chord: A billion musicians have played a chord followed by the languid lingering anticipation of a next note: It is what I feel every day: Every day there is a quiet snap that is not a photograph until…:the magic of captures is the silence between chords and keys: The gasping exhale between Houdini’s death and breath: The silence of magic appears only when there is something that wasn’t there becomes: Magic in moments of capture remind me of chasing shadows that have never been: Magic in its entirety is a lovelorn adherence to the Beatles’ Magical Mystery Tour: The dreams of living in magical times is a mere moment: My dreams may be my reality:
The nature of my light is often unseen: Gamma rays come to mind: So small: So potent: I stand alone: Chaos abounds in surround sound: The camera is calm: An entire second passes: “The Effect of Gamma Rays on Man-in-the-Moon Marigolds” comes to mind: My reflection, is captured: Chaos and dreams live between musician’s keys; between magician’s miracles: silent magic captures my moment:
United Nations