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“We’re never going home”

Women's March on Washington, January Twenty First, 2017, Washington DC — We made an unlikely trio: an artist, a banker and an architect. I knew them better by their Twitter handles than by name, having met long ago in the faceless context of Internet fandom. Bound together by a deep love for tennis and the irresistible appeal of Rafael Nadal, it wasn’t the US Open that had brought us together on this chilly morning, but the results of the US Inauguration. Gathering in the 4 AM darkness of a January morning, we proudly clutched homemade signs and posters like precious homework assignments. Sleepily joining a long bus line in our pink hats and slogan-driven T-shirts, groups of drunken youths occasionally stumbled past us, … [Read more...]

Los Liones 2, Los Liones 3

Uneasy Landscapes,  Los Liones 2, 2013,  Los Liones 3, 2013 by Brian Forrest   Los Liones 2, 2013 Los Liones 3 … [Read more...]

A Sistine Chapel for Our Time

"Without having seen the Sistine Chapel one can form no appreciable idea of what one man is capable of achieving." — Johann Wolfgang Goethe, 23 August 1787 — I must confess that I felt no such awe when I first saw the Sistine Chapel, sometime in the seventies. By the time I reached it I was furious, having come from the Vatican Art Museum where I saw works of art that had been plundered but were exhibited as trophies to the glory of the Holy See. The Chapel did nothing to restore my capacity for awe. I giggled at Adam in limp-wristed lassitude, reluctant to receive God’s touch; at God swooping toward him in a conveyance that looks like a cutaway section of a body organ. Feeling suffocated by the reverence of the craning … [Read more...]

Rounding the Corner: Rome to Russia

The plane captain tells us before takeoff, look right, then left, at the beautiful city of New York. Total flying time to Madrid: 6 hours and 25 minutes. It could be bumpy. It's spring.  In Madrid, a woman overhears me telling a young opera singer, bound for Amsterdam on his first trip to Europe, that I’m traveling alone. Over coffee in the airport, she gives me two pieces of advice: always talk to strangers and always eat at the bar. It’s after midnight in Rome and I’m watching aging waiters close their Hosteria. They’ve left me a bottle of wine, a box of tissues, cookies, and a single chair. As one of them empties a bucket of dirty water into the planter boxes outside, he looks at me and says, “It's better this way. … [Read more...]

After A Decade

I vividly remember flying west to California for Christmas after my first semester at college, packing my cameras with the expectation of documenting all that was familiar and nostalgic. A professor of mine quenched my naive documentary excitement by informing me that it was too soon to search for sameness. He suggested instead I look for what had changed, and I discovered it wasn’t familiar buildings and storefronts that had morphed into something new, but the markers of childhood: our house, old friends, aging parents. A decade later, I find myself retracing my steps in reverse, flying from the east to the Midwest to revisit my collegiate stomping ground after a decade of absence. This time I hoped to find what, if anything, was still the … [Read more...]

Little Scenes 7&8

Little Scenes, Circa 1978, Diana Camera Contact Prints, Photography by Brian Forrest —     … [Read more...]

Little Scenes 5&6

Little Scenes, Circa 1978, Diana Camera Contact Prints, Photography by Brian Forrest —     … [Read more...]

Little Scenes 3&4

Little Scenes, Circa 1978, Diana Camera Contact Prints, Photography by Brian Forrest —   … [Read more...]

Collective Quad

A Vegetation Collective, iPhone, 2014 … [Read more...]

Portraits of Mexico City: A Missing Identity

Growing up third or fourth generation Mexican American in Southern California is as usual an occurrence as 70-degree winters, Santa Ana winds and scorching summer fires. It’s an ethnic identity so common that it doesn’t feel like an identity at all. Spanish streets, cities and surnames are as omnipresent as we are, and yet my mixed ethnicity followed and shaped my childhood. My father’s attitude toward day laborers standing pensively on suburban street corners to his overly respectful interactions with policemen, gave me a sympathy and wariness I subconsciously internalized. Moving away—to the midwest, abroad, down south, back east—this identity faded as quickly and unexpectedly as childhood. With so much Native American mixed into my … [Read more...]