He wanted to meet in the real world the unsubstantial image which his soul so constantly beheld. […] They would meet quietly as if they had known each other and had made their tryst, perhaps at one of the gates or in some more secret place. They would be alone, surrounded by darkness and silence: and in that moment of supreme tenderness he would be transfigured. He would fade into something impalpable under her eyes and then in a moment he would be transfigured. Weakness and timidity and inexperience would fall from him in that magic moment
From A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man
James Joyce, 1916.
I grew up in Rhode Island, went to school In Savannah, Georgia, And have been living in Brooklyn long enough now to officially call myself a New Yorker.
I have worked at a number of places over the years, but have been singularly focussed on photography since I was very young.