Dove l’Italia comincia. Slovenian border, August 2011.

Un fumeur en hiver. Paris, February 2012.

Disagio. Rome, April 2012.

Une française. Paris, May 2012.

“Let us go then, you and I,
When the evening is spread out against the sky
Like a patient etherized upon a table…”

(T.S. Eliot, The Lovesong of J. Alfred Prufrock)

My mother began to hang crystal balls in the windows after someone sent her this ornament, delicately painted with dabs of watercolors for Christmas one year when I was very young. It was decided that it would look pretty hanging over the window-seat, where it could catch the afternoon sunshine. Over the years other crystal globes were hung next to it, and at just the right angle, the light catches the glass and casts a prism effect on the cushion below.

That is what home is- the sweet reflection of colored-glass on the wooden slats of the shutters that fall on my face and hands because only I know where to hold them to catch the light.

“You can’t ever tell what’s going to hurt people.”

(Evelyn Waugh, A Handful of Dust)

Le petit et ses roues. Paris, February 2012.

L’entr’acte. Paris, February 2012.

La passeggiata sul lungofiume. Roma, April 2012.