All the World’s a Stage and we merely players, We have our entrances and our exits, And one man in his time plays many parts…. This particular man, at this particular time, plays the contemplative, photo journalist.  He sits in his windowless yet creative space, an old 1950’s bank vault, which smells of nostalgia and incense, searching for the perfect image to compliment the pages of the  magazine.  Editing and narrowing down the photograph that sells the homegrown-local stories ofRead more

“That damn claw foot tub,”… she thought.  How could so much of her joy rest in that tub…. Pristine porcelain white with the feet of a gargoyle but the elegance of an anonomous French madame’s bathing place, circa 1922.  The prized possession of her bourgeois lifestyle.  Could that tub be enough to uphold a marriage?  Possibly.  Yes, why not?  Their love had been demonstrated there… they had washed each other like children and lovers do, but something had gone missingRead more