I love these images that I shot with my very wonderful and talented friend, Frank Mentesana. He did the food styling and I did the photographing...and we both were on props. We were feeling the need to flex our more artistic muscles. I think, at the end of the day, we were both blown away at how much beauty came out of us! And, we never stopped talking...all day...managing, additionally, to solve all our problems....
We plan to make this a regular happening...so stay tuned!
Had it not begun to pour, I would never have seen it.
Strangely, it's only visible at certain angles. Just a red brick wall then one thick black letter at a time appears and spells out a sentence of beautiful, wrenching lament.
It's been there a long time.
It stole my breath a bit. Touched me immediately, deeply.
Who is this person who wrote this?
What brand of heartache compelled him (her?) to write his sadness in such a way?
Was it a release, of sorts, to let it out to the world....to tell the story of just how much he was bleeding?
Or was it a solitary act, in the shadows, under a bridge, to quietly dispel his very last thought of her? And then walk away.
I wish i knew who wrote this. I want the story so much.
A heroic romantic, if nothing else.
Stirring, perhaps, for those who see it, something held tightly, sadly, regretfully, lovingly.
