a strange and beautiful contradiction
a strange and beautiful contradiction
Discovering quiet, easy places that offer a gentle backdrop for my thoughts. Traveling by foot, wandering through ordinary neighborhoods, photographing rocks and trees, listening to the flow of water, and meeting furry and feathered friends. The latest:
There’s a kind of clarity Iceland forces on you. Its landscapes erase distraction not by offering peace, but by stripping away the options.
If you’re lucky enough to live near a collection like the Met Museum, you go often. Again and again. It’s a place to train one’s act of seeing, to refocus attention like a muscle.
At the southeastern edge of Hong Kong Island, the land ends in a scatter of rock and spray. Just a research facility, an old lighthouse and granite breaking into the South China Sea.
“Sitting still [is] a way of falling in love with the world and everything in it” — Pico Iyer reflects that the hum of life reveals itself when we surrender to the richness of the present, to listen deeply, to see clearly, and to rediscover the world as it is.
Words fall short in capturing scent’s complexity, so I tried to create images—possibly a more intuitive way to express what perfume evokes.
It starts with wrapping threadIt starts with wrapping thread. In the act of doing, the deliberate, repetitive work. temari reflects a kind of physical thinking, where the repetitive movement creates a quiet backdrop for the mind to drift.
These are photos from the past, when I was documenting everyday life with my trusty Cyber Shot. Through images of unremarkable landscapes, subtle textures, and everyday moments, each frame tells a quiet story. Or not.
Mit admires the Hakone mountains as he soaks in an onsen. 20110204
Silence isn’t empty, it’s 42°C and smells of hinoki.
To see a world in a grain of sand, so William Blake’s poem begins. Here are many worlds. The desert changes the scale of perception, at once vast and then detailed. Taken 25 years ago, this was the first time I had seen a desert. Breathtaking. Hours stretch thin under the sun, then collapse suddenly at dusk, shadows leaping miles in minutes. The desert holds all its times at once—prehistoric, now, and some version of after.
