I believe, assertively and profoundly, in play. So much I’m thinking about taglining my business with it.
Last Friday I undertook the holy walk to Chimayó, New Mexico.
In early December, my mother called. Her foot surgery would be far more intense than we expected.
I got very excited when I heard about the Women’s March in Washington. I wanted to be part of something historic. I needed community.
I’m not exactly sure what seeing intentionally feels like, but I think I’m starting to.
I first attended the Individual World Poetry Slam (shortened to iWPS) in 2005. This is my 11th Poetry Slam Incorporated event. My fourth with camera.
Growing up, I longed for summer. For the ways summer transformed and freed me to do whatever, wherever. This summer I took that license as far as I ever have.
I knew about the National Poetry Slam within a few weeks of learning about the poetry slam. Now I cover it annually.
The Corner Thieves play what they call “trashgrass,” a saltier, dirtier, bluer-than-bluegrass mountain music. But when you see them, that’s obvious.
I’ve always been interested in dream travel: dreams as travel; travel as dreaming; particular travels across particular dreams.
Unlike the poem, which requires you add everything before you can think about removing things, the photograph achieves through reduction.
A year ago, when Don and I pulled out of Rich’s mountain driveway, and began the sleep-haggered drive back to Albuquerque, I knew.