Desecrated Dalmatia

Desecrated Dalmatia

Croatia | Monday, January 14, 2013 | 5 photos

When I was twenty years old, I boarded a plane with nothing but my backpack, journal, and camera. I hitchhiked across the Australian Outback, capturing august sunsets. I tripped through the streets of Cairo, fished in the Red Sea by the light of the midnight moon. I walked through mazes of bombed out buildings in Croatia and Bosnia-Herzegovina, putting abandonment on film.

I see things. There are small, precious moments in the torment, and while I sit, watching, I capture them. A child’s carefree splash amidst her parent’s worry; the gentle dance of a poisonous creature. An explosion against luxury.

I want to lift the veil that Oman wears; to see inside its colorful warmth, to question it, to find its secrets. I want to hear it tinkle, to smell its perfume, to taste its spice. I want to sit on a busy street corner, watching girls laughing; their world differs so much from my own, yet it is exactly the same. I want my pen to glide across my notebook, catching small phrases from local conversations. I want to share it all. I will share the details to those who cannot see it with their own eyes; to those who can only look to their own world.

I want to go on assignment to Oman.