More than 40 people have died in the recent protests in Venezuela. The Government has jailed many more. Tensions are high. Inflation is rampant. Food shortages are common. Yet, just a few months ago, it would have been hard to recognize the growing seeds of discontent.
I spent an hour at a park in Caracas last August. I met a some wonderful people and made some great friends. When I pulled out my camera, a Venezuelan Military Policeman made my acquaintance immediately. I wasn’t sure what to expect. I’d heard rumors and had been warned about taking pictures or shooting video. However, when I told him what I was doing, he warmed right up and asked me to take his picture. As we talked, I could feel an underlying tension. Yet, I would not have guessed that just a few months later, the clash of discontent would echo so loudly or so painfully.
I can only hope that the warmth of an August morning may return to dispel the awful strife of violent disagreement and return a measure of peace to a beautiful and interesting land.
Politics are pervasive in this Caracas town square.
The military perform police duties. When he saw my camera, he wanted to know what I was doing. When I asked to take his picture he we became friends.
He’s in big trouble…
I know how he feels.
This pint size photographer takes some pretty good pics.
Waiting for the bus is a good place to meet friends on ladies day.
These four boys represent the light, life and diversity of Venezuela.
You can feel the sincerity. Just so you know, they were trying to scam me 🙂
The sincere approach wasn’t working, so they tried another.
These boys were definitely cooking up something.
Bright and stylish colors help this boy to stand out.
Crossword puzzles, sudoku and cell phones, just another afternoon in the park.
Watching at the park.
The park in Caracas is a good place to begin any journey.
Mother and daughter enjoy a moment in the park.
For a little birdseed, these pigeons will be your friend forever.
The newspaper’s a lot more exciting when you’re older.
We had just come out of the Pantheon. People were everywhere. As we rounded a corner, the music that was blending with the noisy ambiance suddenly became clear. Two guys, street performers, had set up their gear and drawn a crowd. We had places to go, so much to see. No time to stop. But the music. It was Incredible. We could see it in their faces, the guitarist and the cellist. We could see it in the faces of the crowd, trance-like. Time stopped with us. We listened, a blend of new-age classical with a hint of Italian oregano.  The spell broke when the music stopped. A breeze rustled our clothes. Time to go. More to see. As we wandered away, the music resumed. Even now, the siren’s song remains in our ears, calling us back to Rome.
As the sun was setting on the Pantheon, this talented duo drew a crowd to their street concert.
For this couple, an evening street concert near the Pantheon was deeply personal.
On the street near the Pantheon, this talented guitarist entertains with a mix of new-age music and classical covers.
With the sun setting, shades were accessories more than necessities, but the cello was way cool.
The music was good from both angles and the moment was worth listening too, eyes open or closed.
If you want to maximize your time in Rome, a guidebook, good shoes and a place to rest are essential.
There are stories written in her flesh.
Life is Beautiful for a young boy learning to ride a bicycle on the side streets of Rome.
The water tastes sweeter when the drinking fountain is 500 years old.
Ethnic patterns find their way into the cloth of this master weaver.
Nothing better than shooting the breeze on a warm afternoon in the piazza.
A mother and daughter pause before entering a clothing shop with a very old door.
I couldn’t stop at them all, but the ones I did stop at were delicious, and, you can find one on nearly every corner.
In the heart of Catholicism, Nuns typically live under vows of poverty, chastity and obedience.
Tasked with keeping the steps of the cathedral clean after weddings, this woman has her work cut out for her.
This Roman carries the weight of the world under his argyle sweater.
With a whistle and glove, this motor cycle cop directs traffic from the seat of his sweet Italian ride.
High blood pressure and cholesterol meds inform her religious icons of the specific boon she hopes God will grant, along with a few coins in her dish.
On the street in Rome, in the same position for hours, this woman petitions the Eternal Judge through prostrate perseverance.
It has been a few months now since I was in Rome. Yet, the feeling of Rome has stayed with me. It’s hard to describe. Every city has a personality. There are some cities that are welcoming and inviting. Other cities are dirty, and scary. Still others have an energy that is exciting and invigorating.
For me, Rome was all of these and more. On one hand, it was steeped in ancient tradition. The Ghosts of ancient Rome were still present. The evolution of the ancient was overlaid with an oppressive Catholic air. Yet, on the other hand, that very air was vibrating with life. I could see it in the faces of people–some locals–most tourists, I presume. I would have liked to explore and research the Eternal City through the lens of my camera in greater detail, but alas, I had but one day.
This gallery is the first part of a two part essay on the people of Rome from last September, when the sun was warm, the leaves were turning and the city was very much alive. I’ll post the second part in a day or so. Your questions, comments and/or profound thoughts on the purpose of life through the lens are most welcome.
Catholicism is omnipresent in Rome as are the special souls who have made a life of service in the church their career.
With its own ancient cultural and religious heritage, contemporary Rome has become a melting pot of world culture.
For the Romani diasporo throughout Europe known to some as Gypsies, Rome offers a cultural inviting adoptive place to live.
95% of Italy’s Muslim population are not citizen’s of the country.
1.5 million Muslim’s call Italy home, making Islam the second largest, yet unrecognized religious group in Italy.
Kneeling in the attitude of penitent prayer, this woman remains still for hours, hoping her prayers will be answered with coins in her cup.
Policing both the military and civilian populations, the Carabinieri are a special branch of the Italian military with Gendarm like duties.
Soldiers in the Italian military, men and women alike, share police duties near the Castel Sant´Angelo in Rome.
In spite of the sporadic service, cell phones in Rome are ubiquitous.
Near the Roman Colosseum, street vendors sell jewelry and trinkets for prices discounted especially for tourists.
Whether marble or stone, ancient or modern, steps are the preferred resting place for tourists and locals alike.
They may have seen better days, but these roses are still romantic when you’re in Rome.
For a Euro, this talented soul will play a song that would be romantic in any city.
I’m not sure if it’s a good living, but he made us smile with his music.
Delightfully iconic, sounds of the squeeze box on the streets of Rome enhance the feeling of love in the air.
On the steps of Santa Maria sopra Minerva in the Piazza della Minerva near the Roman Pantheon, tourists find plenty to see.
With steps of stone and marble, why not sit down and take your shoes off?
Not sure what she was looking at, her wrinkled brow suggested she had her doubts about it.
A woman in an Italian green dress strolls past wall of Castel Sant´Angelo, as the Italian flag flutters above.
On a beautiful morning in Rome, the Tiber River is a great place for a bit of exercise.
They say Africa changes you. If you’ve been to Africa, spent time there, visited the people, you will understand.  I’ve been to Africa four times. This was my first time in Lubumbashi. I was surprised. My own stereotypes were both reinforced and shattered. In Lubumbashi, a fragile peace hung over the city as oppressive as the heat and humidity, infusing a cultural angst almost as heavy . I was the outsider. I was different. The children called me “Muzungu”, white face, not a compliment. They smiled and laughed, not with me. My camera lens brought them running, surrounding me, dancing, playing and posing. In their eyes I saw joy, and innocence. The adults looked on, skeptical, questioning, challenging. Their eyes were reserved, hooded, holding back, keeping their stories from me. Many turned away. Some shouted insults. Those that did not were watching to see what I would do with their likeness. I took their pictures. I took them with me. I took them in, a part of me. I will not forget. In their African eyes I will never be the same.
These boys could not resist posing for the camera as we left their homes on the Lubumbashi River.
Shouldering many of the parenting responsibilities, a young girl carries her baby brother on her back.
Stylishly dressed in a green leopard print, this young girl has just one dress.
Her dress didn’t fit. The buttons were missing, but, she was still beautiful.
He’d just come out of the river, the mud still on his face. My camera drew him to me, with all his friends. The children called me Muzungu–white face.
When I showed him this picture, he laughed and laughed. So did his buddies.
When I tried to take her picture, she would hide her face and then laugh. When I showed her pictures of her friends, she opened up enough to let take this photo.
They were inseparable. She was delightful. He was protective.
Joyful–I couldn’t help but smile in her presence.
Who was I? Why was I there? I could feel the quiet challenge in his stare.
He wanted me to see his basketball jersey–the LA Lakers. I don’t think he knew anything about basketball, or the Lakers. The Jersey was purple, and it came from America. We had something in common. He was proud of that.
Some NGO dropped used clothing on the banks of the river. The children chose the brightest. Washing in the Lubumbashi river keeps those colors clean and vibrant.
Hurrying to see what the commotion surrounding us was all about, he came out of the river, still dripping.
The secret to such smooth, smooth skin could be found in the mud of Lubumbashi River.
After interviewing his nephew, I held up my camera and pointed toward him. He nodded and I took his picture. His eyes tell stories I’ll never hear.
A popular gathering place for Congolese, the town square has both political and artistic significance for residents of Lubumbashi.
Inconspicuously holding up the wall of his home, a shy young boy waits with his cat.
In one of the nicer homes in Lubumbashi, this kitchen features a few pots and a charcoal barbecue for cooking.
A tangible symbol of the province’s mining industry, Lubumbashi Mountain rises above the farms and villages surrounding the city.
Lubumbashi Mountain is made from the left over materials from the mines surrounding Lubumbashi.
With much practice and good posture, you too can learn to carry your worldly possessions on the top of your head.
It was hot in Lubumbashi, and humid. When the storm finally broke and the rain poured down, it turned the roads to mud.
Thatched roofs and termite mound bricks make up the main ingredients of huts in Bande Village.
The Village Elder gave us permission to take a picture, but, the women of the village, the mothers wouldn’t come out of their huts to be in the shot.
Women and children gather on the banks of the Lubumbashi river to do their laundry.
The Lubumbashi River is the local bathing, swimming and washing place, as well as the source of drinking water and sanitation removal.
Older sister and two brothers walk through their neighborhood.
Boys watch and wonder what we are doing with our really big cameras.
This boy was full of life and laughter, posing for our cameras.
This boy watched us carefully and curiously, not approaching, yet, not withdrawing.
Unemployment is high in Lubumbashi. Many young men simply can not find work.
Paris is a city in motion. Cars, motorcycles, scooters, bicycles, the Metro and people. People everywhere, constantly moving. It was easy, shooting motion pictures. Not so easy to capture stills. And the stories–in every face–I want to know them all. I have my own stories, but I want to know theirs. They won’t tell–easily. All I can do is stare–at their faces–and wonder.  I will just have to imagine their stories.
Peace and warmth on a cold stone bench.
Right before she waved–they watched me take their picture.
On the Paris Metro, a woman leaves the world behind for deeper meaning
So much to see, so much to do, let’s eat.
A couple plot their course on the Paris Metro.
Russian spy or shy Parisian?
In Paris, the best camera is the one you have with you.
Subway–in Paris–really?
It’s not really about the food, it’s about the location.
Respite for a senior couple at the cafe.
Name brands are the style for parents and kids, in Paris.
The city of lights is the city of love.
A woman struts with high fashion down the center of a Paris street.
One day in Paris is not enough, but that’s all I had. The city is beautiful and overwhelming.  French architecture stands as a witness to the genius minds of grand tradition meant to last through the ages. However, it was the people of Paris that fascinated me, fun, friendly, aggressive and rude. I could see stories in their eyes, in their faces. I took pictures of the places, but, the people in the places were just as interesting–perhaps more so. They all have stories. I tried to capture them, in the moment, as many as I could, as fast as I could. The places will last, the people in motion, their stories changing, these photographs holding them for just a moment.
Amidst the plenty of Paris, an old woman begs for alms.
Playing in the sand outside the Palace of Versailles
A wandering child returns as his mother waits patiently just outside Paris.
A woman rests from her burdens.
This man has a special relationship with pigeons.
A young man smiles at life in Paris.
Profound decisions pondered on the stone steps of the Château du Louvre.
Getting around Paris takes patience and a cool European shoulder bag.
Anticipation–just before the kiss.
Years written on her face, an old woman watches with anticipation.
Vespa–maybe the best way to see the city.
Crossing a Parisian street may create anxiety, concern and possibly anger.
The stonework of Paris provides the perfect spot for lunch.
On my last night in Lima, Peru, I wanted to share a few photos of the people I have encountered. Â Their faces a tell a thousand stories I will never know.
Sack lunches and school uniforms for this class in Lima, Peru.
This teenager enjoys a field trip to the Plaza in Lima, Peru.
Scones and Smiles, she’ll warm your heart with both.
They're Calling To Me 