Abstract mountainscapes in the snow, back when it was still winter.
Some shots for a friend, he roasts coffee.
Missing the city and the summer something fierce.
3 more months until I move back.
What weekends should always look like, in my opinion.
Katherine's flat was immaculately furnished, full of uncontrived art and warmth; the best temporary home one could ask for.
Fernandez & Wells in Soho, London.
A good friend of mine worked here; a breakfast of croissant sandwiches and cortados.
Madrid in shadows.
The light in this city was nothing short of amazing.
Lights and shadows at Chalait.
My friend recently opened a beautiful, light-filled shop in the West Village. It's got one of the strongest tea programs in New York City, as well as delicious food and coffee. Go check it out.
Black and white, blurred lines.
If comedy is tragedy plus time, I need more fucking time…
I think what is so utterly depressing is that none of the ambiguities that existed in the Ferguson case exist in the Staten Island case. And yet the outcome is exactly the same: no crime, no trial; all harm, no foul.
At least in the Ferguson case you had conflicting witness testimony; you had conflicting forensics. You had the spectre, at least, of police self-defense. But, there is none of that. The coroner called it a homicide.
The guy’s not acting threatening and we know that not through witness testimony [of] unreliable bystanders, but because we are fucking watching it. Someone taped it. …
We are definitely not living in a post-racial society, and I can imagine there are a lot of people imagining what kind of society we’re living in at all.