A Tall Ship, Photograph

I must down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by,
And the wheel’s kick and the wind’s song and the white sail’s shaking,
And a grey mist on the sea’s face, and a grey dawn breaking.

I must down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;
And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.

I must down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,
To the gull’s way and the whale’s way where the wind’s like a whetted knife;
And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover
And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick’s over”
– John Masefield


Relative, A Photograph of Age

“We do not grow absolutely, chronologically. We grow sometimes in one dimension, and not in another; unevenly. We grow partially. We are relative. We are mature in one realm, childish in another. The past, present, and future mingle and pull us backward, forward, or fix us in the present. We are made up of layers, cells, constellations.”
– Anaïs Nin


The American In Italia: I know you. Or do I?

Below you will find the link to my column Lost in Translation and my most recent article, “I know you. Or do I?” – A closer look into expectations, perfection, and cracks.


Restless Urge, A Photograph

“…as the slow sea sucked at the shore and then withdrew, leaving the strip of seaweed bare and the shingle churned, the sea birds raced and ran upon the beaches. Then that same impulse to flight seized upon them too. Crying, whistling, calling, they skimmed the placid sea and left the shore. Make haste, make speed, hurry and begone; yet where, and to what purpose? The restless urge of autumn, unsatisfying, sad, had put a spell upon them and they must flock, and wheel, and cry; they must spill themselves of motion before winter came.”
– Daphne du Maurier


Very Married, Photographs of Marriage

This past weekend I spent the day shooting my first ever wedding on the little island of Vashon. I’m not a wedding photographer by any means, although the couple wasn’t looking for a “wedding photographer.” They wanted a street photographer (like me) to do an alternative to the traditional “posed” wedding as they’re a contemporary metropolitan couple. Pretty much every shot I took, including the ones of the bride and groom, were candid. Who knows…maybe I’ll do it again.

“If I get married, I want to be very married.”
– Audrey Hepburn



Old & Young, A Photograph

“I am of old and young, of the foolish as much as the wise,
Regardless of others, ever regardful of others,
Maternal as well as paternal, a child as well as a man,
Stuffed with the stuff that is coarse, and stuffed with the stuff that is fine, one of the nation, of many nations, the smallest the same and the largest”
― Walt Whitman



Essence, A Poem


She kept with her a spoon
locked behind her brain
with a string that led to her heart.
And while her lover slept
or held her close,
she delicately, carefully
scooped out his core.
Holding it in her hands
as if she were a scientist, 
she examined every perfection
and imperfection.
Until proudly, like a child
presenting a 
gift to a secret crush,
she held it out for him to examine with her.
Angrily, he grabbed his core back from her
and swallowed his essence
before anyone noticed his nakedness.
It’s sweetness turned bitter, sour
and tasted of fear and doubt.
Gagging, he forced it back down
as it threatened to reveal itself once again.
Rejected, she retreated to the oasis
inside of her head

where she waited for her same
who owned a spoon attached to a string
to his heart.

by Jennifer Allison

Dream Jennifer Allison

Children, A Photograph of Love

Your children are not your children.
They are the sons and daughters of Life’s longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you,
And though they are with you yet they belong not to you.

You may give them your love but not your thoughts,
For they have their own thoughts.
You may house their bodies but not their souls,
For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow,
which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.
You may strive to be like them,
but seek not to make them like you.
For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.

You are the bows from which your children
as living arrows are sent forth.
The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite,
and He bends you with His might
that His arrows may go swift and far.
Let your bending in the archer’s hand be for gladness;
For even as He loves the arrow that flies,
so He loves also the bow that is stable.
– Kahil Gibran