Here I fling my bling, like an immodest peacock. But what else can I do with all this artsy stuff? Keep it in a binder that will be hauled away by the garbage truck after I die?

That happened to the neighbor who lived in the apartment above mine, a quiet woman in her nineties who had accumulated an admirable library. Two days after she passed I found her books in the building’s dumpster. Decades of caring for those paper friends and carrying them in boxes on her many moves across three continents… for naught.

On top of that pile was an old edition of Henry James’s tales. “I have a similar edition sitting on my shelf,” I thought.

I know everybody dies sometime (duh), but that book—orphaned from its owner and now smeared with sauce from some neighbor’s leftover pizza—was a chilling reminder of what happens to your possessions after you blow out your last breath.

This digital forum,, can be deleted, but at least it can’t be tossed in a smelly analog dumpster. So here is where words and images love each other and work together, if you want to watch.


For the love of colors, light, papers and inks.


For the love of people, faces, character, poses…


For the love of images, words, movement and music working together.

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