The boulder’s time is not my own

The boulder’s time is not my own

The boulder’s time is not my own,and yet we meet, just in time.In a brief instant, the rhythmsbrush, embrace, and intertwine.Then they release, and each onefollows its own course. The stone has traveled farther than I ever could.It seems to have come from...
Waiting Ghosts

Waiting Ghosts

There was the memory, the reflection, and the absorption. All in one. The rocks looked at me, and I saw my own breath feeding the life that lived in their small niches.A disruption in time, a discrepancy between two worlds touching for an undefined period.I thought I...
A gentle thought

A gentle thought

When the gentle thought touches you,Be quick to respond—welcome her in.Feel the warm tingling in your hands,And hope she will stay for a while. Her first visit may be brief,But as you grow to know her better,She will linger longer Don’t be afraid of her...
The reminiscence of a bullet.

The reminiscence of a bullet.

A lot of things wait and ripen for years in my studio before I have the courage to use them in a setting for a photo shoot. Some objects are difficult. They look, at first glance, obvious. Too obvious. Like a Coca-Cola can, a doll, or a bullet. They are just that, and...
Time’s story

Time’s story

Scanning through my photos I suddenly have to think about Antoni Tapies. The canvas enduring gestures and left with traces of actions. The stones near where I live have endured and are shaped by time. Like the biggest artist of all, Time shapes and creates with...