Sunday, November 27, 2011


November 12, 2011.  I was walking.  The wind was moving the remaining leaves northward, and the sun was shining from its new southern slant.  It was a crisp morning.  And then I saw these Sumac leaves - red, orange, yellow, green and brown - they were being whipped by the wind.  So slight and crinkled, hanging on by a thread, pliable in the wind.  The sun highlighted their color, dappled by shadow in the early morning.  I stopped, others stopped too, curious as to what I was looking at.  And then they saw it.


October 30, 2011.  I love the milky white of subway tiles.  They are meant to just be background, to lull us, to not initiate any conflict, any struggle, any awareness.  Yet, they do the opposite.  On to them is projected a multitude of statements.  Maybe it is graffiti, or maybe it is a poster.  Just as often there are cracks that bleed through a multitude of glazes, glues and tar.  And then there is mold or some fungus.  In this case a wonderful green is growing and spreading, a Rorschach of sorts - small, isolated and exquisite.