Untitled Thoughts.

relief

If his lips are silent, he chatters with his fingertips...
Though the Bronx and Manhattan were within eyesight, Payne found wandering the island alone was a uniquely isolating experience. “Even though visually you have that connection to the city and you can still hear things—I could hear the Mister Softee truck sometimes—there’s still this sense that you’re disconnected,” he said. “Living in New York, everyone craves their own space and isolation once in a while. When you’re on the island you definitely have that. It’s a rare feeling.”
- Christopher Payne

Yasur Volcano on the island of Tanna in Vanuatu.

The voyage of discovery is not in seeking new landscapes but in having new eyes. 

Marcel Proust

image

sonder - n. the realization that each random passerby is living a life as vivid and complex as your own.


Street side wisdom

 I walk by this quite often, and when I do I always pause.  I know what it says. My eyes have scanned it a million times and I’ve memorized its place on my meander home. Yet I still find the need to stop and award it a moment of respect. 

In a city of bloody dreamers and zealous achievers, it’s important to always remember this…


Lisbon, Portugal. 2012. 
Lisbon, Portugal. 2012. 
Lisbon, Portugal. 2012. 

Lisbon, Portugal. 2012. 

Lisboa, Portugal.  June 2012. 

Fado. Translated into destiny and fate.

A music historically bound to Portuguese culture, Fado roots itself in the art of acoustic storytelling. I somehow found myself in a small neighborhood of Alfama located in the city of Lisbon.  Searching through dimly lit streets dressed in cobblestone, we finally approached the doors of Senhor Vinho.  A friend recommended this gem - a place where her family would trek to for an evening affair. We entered the Fado house and took our seats at a small table in the corner.  Walking inside was like stepping into a grandmother’s memoir.  The walls were lined with tile, adorned with a semblance of street lamps.  A mix of old frames and decorative plates seemed to place me in the far ago decade of 1975- almost as if I had stumbled into the set of film. The lights quickly dimmed so that only three people were illuminated in the center of the room - two gentlemen sat perched with guitars, setting the backdrop for the tale to come.  And a woman, dressed in black, with shawl draping tassels stood solitary. 

The strings stroked a melody inviting her voice - and moments later the room was echoing with a crescendo. There is something quite beautiful about the power of the song - not understanding the language and letting the tones of the vocals and strings carry you through the story.   Beams of hopefulness were juxtaposed with sorrow. A weight entrenched the artist as she clutched her body. The reverberations fought in dramatic conflict as the tempo shifted spontaneously. The vocalist harnessed empathy for her song.  The room, still but simultaneously shaking with sound - seemed to capture the soul of the city. 

I will go to back to Portugal one day.  And sit in a Fado house. And disappear into Vielas de Alfama. 

Food for the soul. 

Photographed in Buzios, Brazil. 2011. 
Photographed in Buzios, Brazil. 2011. 

Photographed in Buzios, Brazil. 2011. 

There’s something quite perfect about rainy days.  The couch is intimately inviting.  The splashing sound of water from car wheels echoes through the windows, balancing out the waves of steady rain. Green tea in the largest cup possible is just the right amount. And listening to Alabama Shakes makes me want evaporate into the verses.  

From Queens to Brooklyn. 
From Queens to Brooklyn. 

From Queens to Brooklyn. 

Gour·mand.

Noun: 

    1. A person who enjoys eating, and often eats too much.
    2. A connoisseur of good food.

Top Left: Sushi Tacos at Samurai Mama, Brooklyn, NY.

Top Right: Alexis Deboschnek’s home-cooked beets, Brooklyn, NY.

Bottom Left: Mushroom Udon at Samurai Mama, Brooklyn, NY.

Bottom Right: Arroz con Mariscos, Peruvian Grill, Sarasota, FL.