Photographer Ryann Ford is systematically documenting the last of America’s highway rest stops.
Learn more & support her efforts via Kickstarter here.
I’m going to a “Tapas Thanksgiving” party tonight that promises a menu that is three-eighths shooters and one-fourth potatoes — “a ratio equal to that of the first Thanksgiving feast shared by the Pilgrims and the Wamponoag.”
Steven Paul Judd, Iowa/Choctaw artist from Oklahoma.
"Known primarily as a filmmaker, but is also a prolific visual artist whose mashups of Native experiences and disposable American pop culture are sly and often downright funny."
Sunday afternoon and I’m in Queens at the last Mets game of the season, on my left Jonathan is taking a picture of Cate and Carl mugging on my right, the Beatles are singing “Twist and Shout” over the sound system, the Mets are up by two, and as I let my head fall back out of the way a bright airplane flies right overhead in the blue September sky, and I am in New York City, New York, America.
Sunday night and I’m in Brooklyn in a shabby little possibly-secret jazz club behind a bar with Jen, the saxophonist male model she met on an flight last year, and two of his friends we met at the vegan restaurant, listening to a virtuoso French classical guitarist whose bio name-checks Django Reinhardt and Pink Floyd and who likes to talk about deserts and dreams in between songs, and I am in New York City, New York, America.
September 6, 1972 — Apollo 17 astronauts Gene Cernan and Jack Schmitt engage in geology and rover training in the Pancake Range area of south-central Nevada. (NASA)