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A Thousand Words

A Thousand Words features photography so rich with narrative that it tells a story all on its own.

Bad Lunch

I’d come to think of being a chef on a yacht as a kind of psycho-spiritual quest, like Homer’s Odyssey, only instead of tumultuous seas and six-headed monsters, our challenges were wealthy clients who arrived by private jet with Louis Vuitton purses on their arms.

A Thousand Words

A Thousand Words features photography so rich with narrative that it tells a story all on its own.

Celebrating

A fiftieth anniversary in Paris, a COVID Christmas in April, a first birthday in America

Sunbeams

America is such an incredibly dynamic place because of immigration. We fundamentally have been a culture that’s been put together from the explosions of other cultures. But it’s hard for us to see. We have blinded ourselves to the reality of what our country is.

Junot Díaz

A Thousand Words

A Thousand Words features photography so rich with narrative that it tells a story all on its own.

Getting Dressed

Sleeping in uniform, layering against the cold, wearing your spouse’s jeans

The Seafood Stand

Once, my father drove from New Jersey to California by siphoning gas from strangers’ cars, then sent his van off the Pacific Coast Highway by laying a brick on the accelerator. His mother almost died when she heard.

The Healer

He was riding the train to his teaching job when he heard about Skimmer’s bike accident in a post from another college friend. It was noon in Tokyo, where he was an English instructor; his conversation school opened in thirty minutes. Skimmer had been one of his closest friends in college. They’d lived on the same floor for two years and had shared an off-campus house with others for three years after that. Skimmer had started mountain biking their first semester in the house. Sometimes he would have accidents, and his blood would smear the bathtub while he dressed his wounds. But then he would clean, and when Skimmer cleaned, he scrubbed and wiped and penetrated each corner, calling upon a small orchestra of sprays and rags, brushes and solutions. It was like watching Leonard Bernstein scour a tub.

Conversations With A Banana Spider

The smell of wild honeysuckle was everywhere, and the mango trees sagged with the weight of their fruit. I’d often hear the ripe ones fall to the street with a heavy, wet thud, or else bang off the metal roofs of outbuildings where homeless wanderers sometimes slept. This abundance of fruit made Loreto seem like an impossible place to starve, yet I saw a few souls who looked like they were trying their best to do just that. Was it legal, I wondered, to simply reach up and pull a ripe mango from someone else’s tree? Being a foreigner with money, I didn’t need to find out.