The fiery orb is a vision. Perched high above the heads of passing silhouettes it stares back into a black landscape sketched out by the fresh snow. The ornament on the grey tree unnoticed. It sits lonely on a branch illuminated by the adjacent streetlight. Snow falls gracefully unaffected by its presence, just as it has seemed unaffected by the weather for all these months.Read more "The Last Persimmon of Winter"
Less than three minutes on this bus and the world around me instantly transforms. From the quaint rural city peppered with tall apartments to flat farmlands lining the kempt Korean valleys. And in a few minutes we will reach a small village’s single bus stop at the bottom of a highway exit ramp. And every day, expectantly, I see him.Read more "Flamboyant Shirt Man"
Every time I drop food on my shirt, I make the same joke. “After 28 years of practice, I still don’t know how to eat.” And as I stare at this persimmon in my hand, I am at a loss of what to do.Read more "How To Eat A Persimmon Someone Gave You – A Guide"
Mongolia does not lend itself to the 4×6 frame. It does not fold itself down to fit in the constrained rectangle of the flat image. It’s stubborn in that way. With Mongolia, like with everywhere else, I used my lens to interrogate the landscape, figuring out Mongolia by finding a way to fit it into a 4×6.Read more "From Mongolia – Form and Air"
The watch itself is a noticeably large rock of a watch attached to my wrist. If I was ever attacked it would be a deterrent with its sheer size alone. It never comes off except the once a month it needs to be charged. I shower with it.Read more "Watch’s Digging"
This is what I’ve come to know Korea as and on these mornings this yellow pours out across the landscape coloring my world. It’s like a time-worn photograph that I’m trapped in; This is Korea to me. My hands escape inside my coat pockets so they don’t turn a deep purple in this cold bus. I press my nose down into my scarves and close my eyes.Read more "Yecheon Blues"
Time continues to slow to a crawl. I’m stuck in my head. I can’t see a way out. I realize at this point I have no escape. I can only think of one option. Honesty is my Hail Mary. Honesty isn’t an exploitable weakness here, it’s the perfect retaliation. It’s the antithesis of their game, it allows me to run in the opposite direction of where they want me to go. But I need to be stubborn.Read more "From Nepal – The Artist (Part Two)"
“I need to go to an ATM,” I say to the Nepalese man whose name I’ve long forgotten. “Yes, we will go,” assuring me as we start walking from what he told me was his art school. This is probably not the conversation I should be having with someone I just met an hour before.Read more "From Nepal – The Artist (Part One)"
This is where I see a man in my periphery, as my eyes darting back and forth trying to get a hold of the situation, look behind him across the street then he looks at me and says “Stephan?” But I don’t notice where he was looking at or why he did it; the mob he is a part of is distracting and it gets lost in the static of the situation.Read more "From Nepal – On Arrival"