Echoes in the Stone
It is 3:15 am. The house is holding its breath, and I am staring at the wall, wondering why we are so obsessed with leaving marks on things that were here long before us and will remain long after we are gone. We carve our names into trees,…
Bodhgaya Student by Ryszard WierzbickiThe Weight of a Uniform
I am wary of portraits that lean too heavily on the iconography of poverty. There is a tendency to look for a specific kind of nobility in the faces of children in difficult circumstances, a narrative we impose to make ourselves feel better…
Tuk Tuk Driver by Ryszard WierzbickiThe Weight of a Journey
I spent this morning waiting for a bus that was twenty minutes late. I watched the driver of a delivery truck nearby, who sat with his hands resting on the wheel, staring at nothing in particular. He looked like he had been sitting there for…