I wish I could recapture a bit more from my child’s eye view of the large, Asian house. The memory is a tissue thin scrim of standing by the railed porch with my father and his friends, awaiting entrance to a blurred art opening. The ambiguous
Tag: Amy Schindler
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I will be honest, it has been a rough winter, both indoors and out. I have always loved winter. A frosty-day detection, sliding around town on icy streets with a camera, notepad and a big Stanley of coffee normally brings me great delight. But
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I was on my merry way into my newest Byzantine investigation at the W. Dale Clark Library when I happened upon the old club fenced in, like a wayward jailbird or some unruly cattle pen. My heart lifted for a split minute, imagining a resplendent