Thursday, January 27, 2011
going home
When they learned that bus service would be canceled at Sunrise Elementary in Smithfield, parents banded together to run their own bus service. Sunrise student Julia Chambers gets out at the bus stop in Smithfield.
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
Monday, January 24, 2011
Micha
I saw the ring at last but had long ago made up my mind. It's not a decision that comes about in a whim, nothing changed when I said yes. It's more that every day creates a stronger bond like fingers that clasp tightly around each warm memory. You know it's right when to reciprocate means more than to receive and forging plans together means not giving up who you thought you were. It's a growing certainty made from little moments that stick and burn themselves into becoming us. The ring, the canyon, the embrace was a celebration of what has been and all that is still to come.
AZ
Sunday, January 23, 2011
snakes for nyt
Usually we don't ever get asked if we're comfortable with the assignments we're about to photograph. And then, I would have answered the question "Are you afraid of snakes?" with a "Nah," even if I had been terrified of them.
I never knew snakes could stare at you, follow you with their eyes from their bed of dry saw dust. When they don't slither about or flick their tongues but just tense their long bodies and lay with a motionless stare there is a little rabbit within that would prefer using a very very long lens and then get the hell out. "It's your red jacket," said Jeremy Stone and laughed as his hand rested on his favorite albino boa constrictor. A few feet back another one had snapped at the clear plastic wall of its box as I walked by --"tock tock," after which I decided not to press my nose against any of these cages to watch their habitants from up close. It was feeding day and the snakes were hella hungry. Hundreds of them, in small boxes filled with dry saw dust, their bodies tense, with flickering tongues. It's the photo you want to see through your lens that draws you closer and makes you forget about yourself. You compose and preconceive and become entangled in the movie that's playing just so close to you. It's intimate and the reason why I would never say "No" even if I had been terrified of them. Which I'm still not. Story about Jeremy Stone and his snakes here.
I never knew snakes could stare at you, follow you with their eyes from their bed of dry saw dust. When they don't slither about or flick their tongues but just tense their long bodies and lay with a motionless stare there is a little rabbit within that would prefer using a very very long lens and then get the hell out. "It's your red jacket," said Jeremy Stone and laughed as his hand rested on his favorite albino boa constrictor. A few feet back another one had snapped at the clear plastic wall of its box as I walked by --"tock tock," after which I decided not to press my nose against any of these cages to watch their habitants from up close. It was feeding day and the snakes were hella hungry. Hundreds of them, in small boxes filled with dry saw dust, their bodies tense, with flickering tongues. It's the photo you want to see through your lens that draws you closer and makes you forget about yourself. You compose and preconceive and become entangled in the movie that's playing just so close to you. It's intimate and the reason why I would never say "No" even if I had been terrified of them. Which I'm still not. Story about Jeremy Stone and his snakes here.
Friday, January 14, 2011
Lee in DC
Thursday, January 13, 2011
Tuesday, January 4, 2011
more features
Sunday, January 2, 2011
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