Snow Day

Blurred by ice-then-snow-now, grass and tree and house and bay are rendered in the softest greys. Meteoric, a crow as black as space lands on a tailwind. Then another; black feathers plump and shudder off the snow. They strut like they own the place. Which today, they do. Neighbors' grand homestead, built out over decades…

You Never Know

It happens every day. Every second, actually. Someone is breathing one moment, then not the next. It's nature's way: we're born, we die.  But my mind refuses this. No, she can't be gone, not that kind of gone. Not dead. The word landed with a leaden thud, flat black, that sucked all the air out of…


Finding the beauty in the everyday is on-mission for me. This show, featuring the works of Adam Broomberg & Oliver Chanarin, Harun Farocki, Rabih Mroué, Hrair Sarkissian, and Rudolf Steiner,  reveals artists  whose work put them in the line of fire.

The power of art, photography, video, to tell the truth puts creators in mortal danger. This show focuses on a photographer in Syria. But dont forget the chilling video uncovered by Chelsea (ne Bradley) Manning, available here.


Death of a Cameraman

organized by Martin Waldmeier


291 Church Street

New York


Opening reception:

Thursday, September 12: 6-8 pm


On view:

September 13 – October 26, 2013


Featuring work by:

Adam Broomberg & Oliver Chanarin, Harun Farocki, Rabih Mroué

Hrair Sarkissian, Rudolf Steiner. An Unsolicited Proposal Program winning exhibition.


On July 1, 2011, in the neighborhood of Karam Shami in Homs, Syria, a young man stands on the rooftop of a building. He uses his cell phone to document gunfire in the streets below as his camera suddenly catches sight of a gunman on an adjacent balcony. For a brief instant, the cameraman and the gunman directly face each other. A single shot is fired. The camera falls, and with the cameraman’s death, image and reality collapse into one.

In the course of recent political events, anonymous cameramen and women have emerged as powerful…

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One Pebble, Then An Avalanche

The day after was perfect day: palmettos rustling in the light breeze, ducks chattering on the ‘lake’, rippling patterns on the stucko wall. He would have gone down to feed them.  My brother stumbles into the kitchen, rumpled, stubbly, and rubbing his eyes. “Coffee?” “Uh-huh.” He grunts. I never see him like this. We sip…

I Have Your Heart

I spent last night curled around Seneca, my ancient and bony dog. I have not been sleeping with her the past few weeks because her incontinence has become so severe. But on this short night, her last, I did not care. Today I will take her to the vet for the last time. I've been putting this off…