I used to live in midcoast Maine year round. Maine is a pretty unique place. If you weren’t born there, the locals will always consider you “from away” no matter how long you you’ve lived in the state.
The face above belongs to a man who, for years, was in charge of our local recycling facility. Like Maine he was always friendly but at the same time, distant.
The Isabella Stuart Gardner Museum is a must-see for all art lovers visiting Boston. Its history and the dashing woman who founded it is worthy of serious study. This low light photograph of one of its great rooms is my attempt to convey a 19th century feeling which would correspond with the century in which Mrs. Gardner’s building was started.
This was taken in Grand Central Station a few years ago. It’s a different kind of photograph than I usually take. It is minimalist to the extreme and not in sharp focus to boot. The mood and the story are primary. I like it as much for what isn’t in the frame as for what is.
It was blowing like hell today in Boston. In fact the wind blew a tree down on the overhead wires that power some of our subway trains. That stopped all cars on the Riverside Line going back into Boston. I was on one of those cars. This lady was too. I like to think I took the delay a little better than she did.
I really like riding the subway with my camera in my lap because occasionally one can take a fine photograph of the person or persons sitting opposite you. This lady was totally glued to whatever she was seeing on her phone while her young son just couldn’t care less.
It’s dawn now and we’re about an hour and a half from London’s Heathrow Airport and we haven’t really slept at all. By leaning back in my seat a twisting around as far as I can, I take a picture of the first light of morning reflecting off our right wing’s engine. The air is smooth and the background rumble of our giant plane as it hurtles east is somehow soothing. Maybe it’s just because I’m so damn tired but right now, this very moment, I’m at peace.