As a writer/photographer I have noticed how AI is after my job. And how some people assume I also automate work. This calls for an affidavit.
Books are a great thing to write about when I’m not ready to share what’s new in my life. Here’s an excellent one I consider required reading.
In celebration of why I loved W Myśl Praw Geometrii by Dawid Kujawa, I submit this short essay, which I am deliberately not calling a review.
Not long ago I brought home fresh stalks of so-called lucky bamboo. Next, I discovered some of the ways I do and don’t know what I’m doing.
A favorite photo from last year was an effort of attention rewarded by a flash of luck. May it inspire how I say yes to life in twenty-twenty-five.
In this one, the Fujifilm X-T5 body and the Fujinon 56mm f/1.2 lens attend the Warsaw Winter Jam CI festival—and I am their tour guide.
Here’s my entry for a recent photo contest I didn’t win. It consists of twelve archival photos, along with some all-new writing they inspired.
Reflecting on all I did in addition to studying Klein Technique with Hanna Hegenscheidt leaves me feeling lucky and connected. Seventeen photos tell an adjacent story.
I took these photos in Copenhagen’s Vestre Cemetery and I love they way they reveal grief’s private, affectionate side.
Figuring out how to make my own sourdough hard pretzel sticks has been a lesson in advanced baking and a master class in taking a bite out of life.
I bake to feed an elusive hunger in me that can only be sated by a diligent labor of love. The cakes, tarts, and cookies are a happy coincidence.
Tiny Ukrainian flags made out of toothpick halves and strips cut out of stickers. They’re what I have to say on the matter of politics.
A post on self-love in three parts, inspired by my adventures with paper folding and informed by my misadventures in love.
Drinking tea is a daily habit of mine and a constant source of pleasure. In this essay I take a part-poetic, part-analytical line of inquiry.
Observations and practical tips about making jam using seasonal fruit, presented not as recipes but as a personal essay on the topic.
Some projects wind up much more satisfying than expected. And some clients deserve the same praise they lavish on their writers.
Come over and let me introduce you to some playful, blues-inflected German rock. Be ready for a surprising amount of softness and sophistication.
I may be less than one percent into those famous ten thousand hours of practice, but I am still well on my way to something extraordinary.
As pandemic polemics drown out all other noise, everything becomes part of that chorus. Here are a few of my quiet observations.
Discover modular origami, the precision craft that combines abstract paper folding with multi-unit assembly into stunning polyhedra.
Last week I had the honor of attending a UCONN Human Rights Institute conference in memory of my father. Here is what I had to say.
Zenlike and modern but more bizarre than I expected, Japan left an impression that is as surprising today as it was ten years ago.
A frivolous experiment becomes a daily practice, gaining meaning and helping guide the way toward more enlightened living.
Click to view paintings by Warsaw-based artist Agnieszka Zawisza and read about their impact on the one taking the photographs.
In this essay I turn my analytical tools toward the phrases I sometimes record upon waking from my language-driven dreams.
Contrary to what I imagined, and definitely against most that I’ve been told, turning forty is not so monumental at all.
Longer than anything I’ve written since college, this essay is about a summer cabin and a daughter’s memories of her father.
On ways that working has eased my recent suffering, or rather the completion of work, the proof of my capacity for it.
Reflections on my father’s funeral and one remarkable photo taken 11 years, 11 months, and 11 days before the day he would die.
Reflections on a tradition we adopted in 2015, which lights up the dark winter mornings with a steady uptake of jolly cheer.
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In this essay I turn my analytical tools toward the phrases I sometimes record upon waking from my language-driven dreams.