My vacation photos suffer from my obsession with details, especially doors and windows. This wouldn’t be a problem except I forget to get the long shots as well, so I end up with a lot of frames but no story.
This door handle, reminiscent of a Zuni clown with his weird striped sock feet on his head, is on the front door of a Native American gallery/shop in St. Philip’s Plaza in Tucson.
I wish I could take credit for it, but it was my brother who saw the eye created from the shadow of a nearby street lamp. The position is so perfect it looks intentional. I wonder if the artist has seen it like this.
From the City of Denver web site:
“In addition to the Zen garden, MacIntosh Park contains a large granite sculpture of a Janus Head; the two heads face west and east, reminding us that we must look to the past as well as the future. Suspended between the two heads is a plumb-bob, a tool used by builders to establish a true vertical, representing this location as the beginning of “where a city is built.” The plumb bob points down onto the granite paving, which positions Denver in the larger world. Denver’s geographic position is represented by two wide, bi-axial granite bands suggesting longitude and latitude, crossing beneath the head sculpture. References to our history, our geology, our environment are inscribed in the granite bands on the ground plane.”
One night recently an old friend was in town, and we met in the Mission for dinner. It was one of those rare nights in the city where the weather is perfect and there isn’t a hint of the usual chilly wind. We just started walking with no destination in mind, chatting and giggling over tacky wares in the windows. At one point we ducked down some street or another — I probably couldn’t find it again — and we happened on this fun mural around the corner from an antiques store I’d love to have gone in if it had been open. I’m attracted to the cartoon quality of the mural, but what really sold it is how it incorporated the ugly, omnipresent city power lines into the scene.
