Bill Brandt, Stonehenge, 1947

Once fall hits, all musicians bow before maxine.

Dorothea Lange, Walking to Los Angeles During the Great Depression, 1937

Bennington, NH, September 2021

Birdman, Alejandro G. Iñárritu, 2014

John McPhee, "Brigade de Cuisine"

“You may have grasped this, but I don’t know him very well. If you’re close to the screen you can’t see through it. He doesn’t know me, either. We’re just together. People are unknowable. They show you what they want you to see. He is a very honest person. Basically. In his bones. And that is what the food is all about. He is so good with flavor because he looks for arrows to point to the essence of the material. His tastes are very fresh and bouncy. He has honor, idealism, a lack of guile. I don’t know how he puts them together. I don’t know his likes and dislikes. I can’t even buy him a birthday present. He has intelligence. He has education. He has character. He has integrity. He applies all these to this manual task. His hands follow what he is.”

Santa Fe, August 2021

New Orleans, August 2021

New Orleans, August 2021

Debbie Harry & Chris Stein, Subway Kiss, Roberta Bayley, 1976

Steve McCurry, Fisherman, Dal Lake, Kashmir, 1999

Walt Frazier, 1974

The soundtrack to a summer evening where nothing more than dinner at home is planned. But the conversation, the light, a simple, fresh, and comforting meal, a bottle or two of Picpoul, and the sight of the trees in the wind lifts it to the most memorable evening of the season.

Gustave Doré, The World Destroyed by Water

Henri Cartier-Bresson, Children on a Spiral Staircase, 1932

Biddeford, Maine

Sometimes, you find an album that drops you in the midst of an intimate gathering of strangers. All look up with broad smiles, thrilled to see that you've arrived at last, and then continue the celebration.

Jack Gilbert, “Married”

I came back from the funeral and crawled

around the apartment, crying hard,

searching for my wife’s hair.

For two months got them from the drain,

from the vacuum cleaner, under the refrigerator,

and off the clothes in the closet.

But after other Japanese women came,

there was no way to be sure which were

hers, and I stopped. A year later,

repotting Michiko’s avocado, I find

a long black hair tangled in the dirt.

Salvador Dali, Two Dancers

Aftermath of Canelés