Downtown Salt Lake City: a building caught mid-becoming, wrapped, exposed, paused between intention and abandonment. I’m always pulled toward these in-between states — unfinished structures, organisms, humans — where the truth is still visible, like Michelangelo’s unfinished figures emerging from stone.

This is the beginning of my UNFINISHED project.

Others reveal their meaning through repetition.

Nicola’s days are made of simple gestures — preparing food, caring for the space he inhabits, sharing quiet time with Shanti. There is no spectacle here, no statement. Only continuity.

What once was a radical decision has become something steadier: a way of being that no longer needs to be explained. The rhythm is slow, intentional, and grounded in the present moment.

This is not a portrait of isolation, but of coherence.

A life lived close to what matters, unfolding one ordinary day at a time

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In a quiet workshop in Ponte Quetame, Don Guillermo and his wife stand guard over a black steel roaster that has become the heart of their family economy. Each batch of beans arrives from nearby hillsides, still carrying the dust and stories of the farms that grew them. Here, far from industrial chains, every kilo is measured, watched, listened to as it cracks and darkens.

Their work is part craft, part survival. Coffee prices rise and fall, but the routine remains: warming up the machine at dawn, checking the color of the beans by eye, cooling the roast in metal trays scratched by years of use. What leaves this room in sacks is more than a product; it is rent, school fees, a modest future financed one batch at a time. In the hands of this couple, Ponte Quetame’s coffee is not just an export commodity but a daily act of resilience and care.

The photograph shows a dense web of tree roots clinging to an eroding bank, interrupted by a discarded metal guardrail that cuts horizontally across the foreground like a scar. The roots search for soil and stability, while the corroded barrier, once designed to protect people, now lies abandoned as a reminder of what has been sacrificed to human convenience. The contrast between organic forms and industrial debris suggests a negotiation that nature never agreed to.

Uneasy coexistence

This scene speaks to the uneasy coexistence between human culture and the living ground that sustains it. Where the riverbank should breathe and shift freely, the landscape instead absorbs the leftovers of roads, extraction, and short-term planning. The roots continue their slow work of holding the earth together, but they must now do it around objects that do not decay on the same timescale and do not belong to the forest’s language.

Sand extraction and collapsing rivers

In places like the Rio Negro, intense sand extraction has deepened channels, destabilized the margins, and stripped the riverbed of the sediments that once buffered currents and nourished aquatic life. What was taken to feed construction and urban expansion has left behind altered flows, collapsing shores, and stretches of water where fish and plants struggle to adapt. The photo’s tangle of exposed roots echoes these invisible extractions, hinting at a river whose support has been quietly removed from beneath it.​

Landslides as a warning

Recent landslides along river valleys and steep banks are often linked to this same pattern of disturbance: removal of vegetation, excavation of sand and soil, and the weight of unplanned building pressuring fragile slopes. When heavy rains arrive, the loosened ground yields, sending trees, homes, and infrastructure sliding into the void that people helped create. In the image, the guardrail lying useless in the dirt becomes a quiet symbol of this failure of protection—evidence that controlling nature without respecting its limits ultimately leaves both sides more exposed

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Traveling through Río Negro and Cáqueza means stepping into a different rhythm — where time doesn’t rush, it breathes.
Over these days, I’ve been gathering faces, gestures, and small stories that live in the mountains, along the dirt roads, and inside the kitchens of this rural part of Colombia.
These portraits are born naturally, without staging — in the soft light of homes, during work breaks, in the spontaneous laughter shared over a hot cup of coffee.

There’s the quiet dignity of the men starting their day at the Rodadero restaurant, with weathered hands and honest eyes.
There’s the clean, raw energy of the boys playing soccer under the night lights, chasing dreams far bigger than the field they stand on.
There are the young girls growing fast, cradling their dogs, wearing tilted hats, carrying that gentle mixture of shyness and strength that only adolescence has.
And there are the grandmothers — guardians of another era — strong like the soil they’ve worked for decades, their eyes carrying half a century of labor and wisdom.

These portraits don’t try to idealize anything.
They simply aim to share the authentic beauty of the people I’ve met: real faces, real lives, real moments worth seeing.
Rural Colombia isn’t made of folklore — it’s made of humanity.

And through my camera, I’m trying to give back the same sincerity with which this land welcomes me every day.

Why New York Needs Free Public Transit—And How to Fund It Fairly

As Mayor Zohran Mamdani pushes forward his bold initiative for free citywide public transit, the question of how to sustainably fund such an ambitious program remains central to public debate.

While proposals to increase taxes on the wealthiest residents have generated controversy, an alternative path forward is gaining traction: reclaiming the billions lost each year to tax avoidance and evasion by multinational corporations operating in New York. Rather than further burdening local taxpayers, especially those who already contribute a fair share, the city could focus efforts on enforcing tax laws and closing loopholes that allow giant companies to shift profits abroad or exploit regulatory gray areas.

Redirecting these recovered funds to support fare-free transit would not only secure the program’s financial future, but also promote greater economic fairness. Big corporations benefit tremendously from the city’s infrastructure, talent, and public services. By ensuring they pay what they owe, New York could fund a more just, accessible transit system—without increasing the tax burden on working families or small businesses.

This approach strengthens the social contract and keeps New York moving, making public transit a truly public good—open to every New Yorker, funded by a system in which everyone, including corporate giants, pays their fair share.

The New York City subway, typically alive with motion and noise, offers moments of profound contrast. In this black-and-white photograph, a single commuter stands against the tiled wall, lost in the glow of a smartphone. Nearby, machines for tickets and information reinforce the mechanized, transactional nature of transit, yet the most striking presence is not the infrastructure but the isolation—voluntary and complete.

Despite being in a space designed for shared movement, the figure is wrapped in solitude, a reminder of how devices meant to connect us can just as quickly separate us from our immediate world. As social media and digital communication become more pervasive, scenes like this highlight a growing tendency toward digital retreat, even when surrounded by others—a quiet testament to the complexities of connection in modern urban life.

In modern urban life, the presence of greenery is essential for both well-being and environmental health. Yet, often, our relationship with nature is defined by control—carefully bending the natural world to fit our needs, routines, and architectural plans.

Many city dwellers crave the sight of lush plants, not just for aesthetics, but for the psychological comfort they bring. Green spaces reduce stress, clean the air, and provide a sense of connection to the natural world. However, instead of allowing nature to flourish freely, people often confine it—placing trees in square boxes, designing parks with precise lines, or allowing only certain plants to grow in carefully measured plots.

This paradox reveals a deeper truth: while we need green spaces, we are also compelled to domesticate them, making nature obedient to our vision of order and convenience. The result is a managed beauty—plants thriving, but only within boundaries we set, surrounded by concrete and steel.

Ultimately, this controlled green offers a compromise: it provides the benefits of nature, but on our terms, reflecting a uniquely human desire to have the best of both worlds—nature’s vitality and modern civilization’s order.

The Nigerian community in New York City continues to be a beacon of cultural pride and unity, coming together in vibrant displays of tradition each year. At the recent Nigerian Heritage party in Manhattan—part of the festivities surrounding the 65th Nigerian Independence Day Parade—thousands from across the city’s diverse neighborhoods gathered to honor their heritage. Draped in elegant lace, beaded jewelry, and the iconic fila hats, elders and youth alike celebrated with music, food, and joyful camaraderie.

Events like this strengthen community ties and connect new generations with their roots, while also creating opportunities for networking, cultural exchange, and mutual support. Groups such as the Organization for the Advancement of Nigerians and various local Nigerian networks have played a pivotal role in nurturing these connections, hosting celebrations and fostering engagement across professions and ages.

The vibrancy of Nigerian culture is woven into the fabric of New York life—from fashion in Harlem markets to the aroma of jollof rice in Brooklyn eateries, and the beats of afrobeats pulsing through Manhattan streets during parades and festivals. At their core, these gatherings reaffirm the importance of unity, cultural pride, and the ongoing impact of Nigerians in the heart of New York City.

Always wearing a helmet is essential for cyclists in New York City—while the law only requires helmets for riders under 14 years old, safety experts strongly recommend that all cyclists, regardless of age, wear a properly fitted and certified helmet. Helmets significantly reduce the risk of head injuries in case of a crash, especially given the busy and sometimes unpredictable nature of NYC traffic.

Wearing gloves, while not legally required, is also widely recommended for urban riders. Gloves protect hands from scrapes and impact during falls, improve grip in wet or hot conditions, and reduce numbness on longer rides. For year-round cyclists, using weather-appropriate gloves can also keep hands warm and maintain control during colder months.

In summary, for maximum safety: always wear a helmet and, if possible, gloves, to better protect yourself as a cyclist on NYC streets.

• Follow all traffic rules and use bike lanes when available.

• Plan routes using the updated NYC Bike Map or bike GPS apps.

• Equip bikes with headlights, taillights, and bells for safety.

• Take part in group rides to gain confidence and discover new routes.

• Lock bikes securely and consider indoor storage if possible, as theft remains a concern.

The Williamsburg rooftop flag project, curated by James Esberg and Jane Fine, blends public art with local celebration by inviting artists to hang their custom flags atop their building for a set period. Each installation offers a fresh vision of creativity, transforming familiar urban views and prompting new interactions within the neighborhood. Davis Brody’s recent flag presentation was lauded for its expressive clarity, while Haley Blomquist’s current installation continues this legacy of innovation and public dialogue. Visitors and residents alike have come to anticipate these dynamic flag changes, underscoring the role of art in community building and urban identity.

The rooftop stands as both stage and gallery, fostering a sense of shared ownership over the evolving cityscape. Through this rotating showcase, Esberg, Fine, Brody, and Blomquist exemplify how artists can create meaningful communal experiences, inspire conversation, and redefine the boundaries of public art in Brooklyn.

The unmistakable flame paint jobs, like the one seen in the image, are evocative of hot rod culture, symbolizing speed and bravado. Such graphic flourishes were not just about aesthetics—they proclaimed allegiance to a tradition where creativity, technical skill, and a love for performance merged. Pinstriped flames, yellow-to-orange fades, and “real-fire” airbrushing became hallmark looks on the street and at local meets, reflecting each owner’s personal style and the influence of kustomizer legends.

For many, this culture was about much more than breaking speed limits; it fostered a sense of community, friendly rivalry, and mechanical ingenuity. Amid tightened law enforcement in the early 2000s, the culture adapted—street racers turned to sanctioned drag strips or nostalgic cruise nights, but the rebellious, adrenaline-filled spirit of drugstore racing remains legendary in New Jersey’s automotive history

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On a summer evening at the boardwalk, two families share the same picnic table, yet remain worlds apart. On one side, women gather in headscarves, animated in conversation, their meal unfolding in quiet ritual. On the other, a Brooklyn mother and her children linger over fries and soda, the small details of everyday life.

Between them runs an invisible line—two cultures, two traditions—brought into proximity not by choice but by the logic of public space. The photograph reveals both contrast and coexistence: gestures, dress, and customs diverge, while the table unites them under a single umbrella.

The scene becomes a portrait of New York itself—restless, plural, unresolved. It is not harmony, nor is it conflict. It is something in between: a fleeting moment where difference is lived side by side, ordinary and extraordinary at once.

Walking down Mulberry Street during San Gennaro has always felt like stepping into two worlds at once—Italy and America, past and present. When I photographed the festival in the early 2000s, I wasn’t just documenting food stalls and games. I was tracing the echoes of an immigrant story that still breathes through these streets.

Everywhere I looked, there was a connection to home. The laughter of kids winning toys at the carnival, the hands flipping sausages over open grills, the voices calling out in both English and Italian—it all spoke to me of resilience and belonging. These weren’t just vendors or passersby; they were keepers of memory, carrying pieces of Naples, Sicily, Calabria into New York’s restless rhythm.

As I look back on these photographs, I realize they aren’t only images of a festival—they are fragments of identity. For Italian Americans, San Gennaro is more than celebration; it is a bridge. It holds the devotion of our grandparents and the curiosity of new generations who still gather, eat, laugh, and remember where it all began.

Black and white film stripped away the distraction of color, leaving only expressions, gestures, and light—the raw truth of heritage alive in a crowd. And maybe that’s what San Gennaro is really about: not the spectacle, but the threads of connection that refuse to fade, even decades later.