When I was in my twenties I used to ride the metro there with a good friend who was French, and she always was annoyed (“Why do you care?”) with my habit of choosing which car of the train to board so I’d be lined up with where I was going.
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When I was in my twenties I used to ride the metro there with a good friend who was French, and she always was annoyed (“Why do you care?”) with my habit of choosing which car of the train to board so I’d be lined up with where I was going.
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I feel it’s my compassionate duty to beam back warmth and color to my northern friends enduring the gnarly part of winter. As we took off from the Montreal airport the landscape was a frozen monochrome white. Beautiful, in a graphic way, once you got off the ground but still hard ice.
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The only surviving photograph of my grandfather, with my grandmother and mother as an infant (about 1917).
My mother experienced the Armenian genocide as a young child. It never really left her. She was born in 1915, the oldest of three children. To us, her children, she was not open about her early life as an Armenian growing up in the Anatolian highlands.
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A Neopolitan pizza, just out of the oven, and ready to serve. What could be better? Normally it’s brought to the table unsliced, still inflated and soft from the intense heat.
One of the reasons, maybe even the main reason – I wanted to go to Naples, was to eat Neopolitan pizza on its home turf.
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Evangelical Christian gathering in Central Park, 1967
From the time I started using a camera I’ve photographed people. Most of the time I’m completely open about what I’m doing, but I also like swinging the other direction and taking pictures where I’m more surreptitious and people are unaware of the camera.
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