The swishing of cars and in the distance, church bells

And then there are parts of town that don't quite feel like New York at all. I'm always looking for what elements are the disparate ones; what are the real culprits that make it feel different. Sometimes it's scale; of buildings, of the street or space around the buildings. But sometimes it's something more invisible.… Continue reading The swishing of cars and in the distance, church bells

An austerity of angles sprouting from wild grasses

wild grasses in Fire Island

Along windswept edges of town amid stern midcentury angles, a bright unsunny light filters and glances; limns the geometric emptinesses between things on a weekend in shoulder season on a slip of land off the coast of Long Island. The color of the wood sea-silvered— salt boxes beheaded, re-envisioned by exacting minds, rise out of… Continue reading An austerity of angles sprouting from wild grasses