I was thrilled with my Thanksgiving centerpiece, but, within a day or two of my making it, the hydrangea (back right) abruptly wilted, leaving an unfillable gap. Why would a fresh-cut hydrangea die so fast?
Geoffrey Todd Smith
Geoffrey Todd Smith’s paintings seem off-hand, amusing. They look tossed off, formulaic, as if mass-production techniques (or an absolutely obsessive crafter) lay behind them.
Our thoughts turn to pie
Thanksgiving is a week off, menus are firming up, bringing thoughts of pies past and present to mind.
My neighborhood: an aerial view
My husband and I went to Washington DC over the weekend to celebrate my sister-in-law’s sixtieth birthday.
The Latin School soccer field
The Latin School of Chicago approached the Park District several years ago and negotiated a controversial deal.
November’s fishermen
The banks of the Lincoln Park Lagoon are for fishermen, particularly the east side of the lagoon, along Lake Shore Drive, nearly inaccessible to the casual pedestrian. Which is just as well, because the grass is littered with the occasional dead fish. Step carefully.
By Lincoln Park Lagoon
An extensive ‘inland’ view of Chicago can be had by the side of the Lincoln Park Lagoon. This is more or less an imaginary lagoon: a photo-composite in which a familiar vista has been fantastically altered. Here, the straight-sided lagoon has been transformed into something like one of the canals that thread through Fort Lauderdale.…
Time is in all things
At ten to four, a father raises his camera to make a portrait of his family: his wife and four children, his father, a brother, maybe.
Wayfarers
The Magnificent Mile is thronged with wayfarers who spill into the lobby of Water Tower Place. Modern pilgrims, their paths combine and recombine, creating the essence of this Saturday.
November dawns
November dawned, though it was not as glorious as this picture.
Restless spirits
A night when mysteries are illuminated, do you believe? On this night, when summer reaches its end, its bounties spent, the veil between the spirit world and ours grows thin. Summer breathes its last, its children perish,
Allegro
The streets flash past, quick as the wind that will eventually whip the flags to shreds. The city we wish we could love grinds along, outwardly innocuous and pleasing, inwardly languishing from a historical disease. The doctors are in, perpetually.
