THE ESCAPIST: THE WHEELS KEEP TURNING
THE ESCAPIST: THE WHEELS KEEP TURNING
THE ESCAPIST: THE WHEELS KEEP TURNING
THE ESCAPIST: THE WHEELS KEEP TURNING
THE ESCAPIST: THE WHEELS KEEP TURNING
THE ESCAPIST: THE WHEELS KEEP TURNING
THE ESCAPIST: THE WHEELS KEEP TURNING
THE ESCAPIST: THE WHEELS KEEP TURNING
THE ESCAPIST: THE WHEELS KEEP TURNING
THE ESCAPIST: THE WHEELS KEEP TURNING
THE ESCAPIST: THE WHEELS KEEP TURNING
THE ESCAPIST: THE WHEELS KEEP TURNING
THE ESCAPIST: THE WHEELS KEEP TURNING
THE ESCAPIST: THE WHEELS KEEP TURNING
THE ESCAPIST: THE WHEELS KEEP TURNING
THE ESCAPIST: THE WHEELS KEEP TURNING
THE ESCAPIST: THE WHEELS KEEP TURNING
THE ESCAPIST: THE WHEELS KEEP TURNING
THE ESCAPIST: THE WHEELS KEEP TURNING
THE ESCAPIST: THE WHEELS KEEP TURNING
THE ESCAPIST: THE WHEELS KEEP TURNING
THE ESCAPIST: THE WHEELS KEEP TURNING
THE ESCAPIST: THE WHEELS KEEP TURNING
THE ESCAPIST: THE WHEELS KEEP TURNING
THE ESCAPIST: THE WHEELS KEEP TURNING
THE ESCAPIST: THE WHEELS KEEP TURNING
THE NEW YORKER: DEL THE FUNKY HOMOSAPIEN
THE NEW YORKER: DEL THE FUNKY HOMOSAPIEN
THE NEW YORKER: DEL THE FUNKY HOMOSAPIEN
THE NEW YORKER: DEL THE FUNKY HOMOSAPIEN
THE NEW YORKER: DEL THE FUNKY HOMOSAPIEN
THE NEW YORKER: DEL THE FUNKY HOMOSAPIEN
THE NEW YORKER: DEL THE FUNKY HOMOSAPIEN
THE NEW YORKER: DEL THE FUNKY HOMOSAPIEN
THE NEW YORKER: DEL THE FUNKY HOMOSAPIEN
GQ STYLE: JOHN JOHN FLORENCE
GQ STYLE: JOHN JOHN FLORENCE
GQ STYLE: JOHN JOHN FLORENCE
GQ STYLE: JOHN JOHN FLORENCE
GQ STYLE: JOHN JOHN FLORENCE
GQ STYLE: JOHN JOHN FLORENCE
GQ STYLE: JOHN JOHN FLORENCE
GQ STYLE: JOHN JOHN FLORENCE
GQ STYLE: JOHN JOHN FLORENCE
GQ STYLE: JOHN JOHN FLORENCE
GQ STYLE: JOHN JOHN FLORENCE
SMITHSONIAN: DANNY THOMPSON
SMITHSONIAN: DANNY THOMPSON
SMITHSONIAN: DANNY THOMPSON
SMITHSONIAN: DANNY THOMPSON
SMITHSONIAN: DANNY THOMPSON
SMITHSONIAN: DANNY THOMPSON
SMITHSONIAN: DANNY THOMPSON
SMITHSONIAN: DANNY THOMPSON
Danny Thompson is the son of racing legend Mickey Thompson who in 1960, on the Bonneville Salt Flats became the first American to go over 400mph in a piston-driven vehicle. Thompson's car-- the Challenger, an 8,000 point, 3,000 horsepower streamliner with four V-8 engines he built with his own hands, broke during the next run of the race. Nonetheless, under that high Utah sky, Mickey Thompson became an American hero.
In 1988, Mickey Thompson and his wife were savagely murdered by their business partner Michael Goodwin.
Danny Thompson lived under the shadow of his heroic father. After his father's murder, he set out in pursuit of his father's unfinished legacy. In August of 2018, also on the Bonneville Salt Flats, at the wheel of the Challenger 2, a 32 foot long streamliner he built with his father, Danny became the world land speed record holder by reaching a speed of 448.757 mph.
FADER: ADAPTATION ECOLOGY
FADER: ADAPTATION ECOLOGY
FADER: ADAPTATION ECOLOGY
When we celebrate the Enlightenment, we should celebrate the people in the Dark Ages who kept the light going. It's about keeping the light going now. There's something on the other side, we just don't know what.
- Gregor Schuurman, Adaptation Ecologist
FADER: ADAPTATION ECOLOGY
FADER: ADAPTATION ECOLOGY
FADER: ADAPTATION ECOLOGY
FADER: ADAPTATION ECOLOGY
FADER: ADAPTATION ECOLOGY
FADER: ADAPTATION ECOLOGY
FADER: ADAPTATION ECOLOGY
FADER: ADAPTATION ECOLOGY
FADER: ADAPTATION ECOLOGY
FADER: ADAPTATION ECOLOGY
FADER: ADAPTATION ECOLOGY
WSJ MAGAZINE: ADRIÁN VILLAR ROJAS
WSJ MAGAZINE: ADRIÁN VILLAR ROJAS
WSJ MAGAZINE: ADRIÁN VILLAR ROJAS
WSJ MAGAZINE: ADRIÁN VILLAR ROJAS
WSJ MAGAZINE: ADRIÁN VILLAR ROJAS
WSJ MAGAZINE: ADRIÁN VILLAR ROJAS
WSJ MAGAZINE: ADRIÁN VILLAR ROJAS
South of Anchorage, Alaska
Near the Alaska / Yukon Territory border
Dawson City, Yukon Territory
Dawson City, Yukon Territory
Swallowtail, Outside Shanghai, China
Bangalore, India / Florence, Italy
Outside Shanghai, China / Florence, Italy
The house where Grandma was born / Dalton, Missouri
Great Grandpa's front porch / Dalton, Missouri
Great Grandpa's Living Room / Dalton, Missouri
FCS: LIFE IN THE HEARTLAND
FCS: LIFE IN THE HEARTLAND
FCS: LIFE IN THE HEARTLAND
FCS: LIFE IN THE HEARTLAND
FCS: LIFE IN THE HEARTLAND
FCS: LIFE IN THE HEARTLAND
FCS: LIFE IN THE HEARTLAND
FCS: LIFE IN THE HEARTLAND
FCS: LIFE IN THE HEARTLAND
FCS: LIFE IN THE HEARTLAND
FCS: LIFE IN THE HEARTLAND
FCS: LIFE IN THE HEARTLAND
FCS: LIFE IN THE HEARTLAND
FCS: LIFE IN THE HEARTLAND
FCS: LIFE IN THE HEARTLAND
FCS: LIFE IN THE HEARTLAND
FCS: LIFE IN THE HEARTLAND
FCS: LIFE IN THE HEARTLAND
FCS: LIFE IN THE HEARTLAND
FCS: LIFE IN THE HEARTLAND
FCS: LIFE IN THE HEARTLAND
FCS: LIFE IN THE HEARTLAND
FCS: LIFE IN THE HEARTLAND
FCS: LIFE IN THE HEARTLAND
FCS: LIFE IN THE HEARTLAND
FCS: LIFE IN THE HEARTLAND
FCS: LIFE IN THE HEARTLAND
FCS: LIFE IN THE HEARTLAND
FCS: LIFE IN THE HEARTLAND
THE WIRE: BLACK SPIRITUALS
THE WIRE: BLACK SPIRITUALS
THE WIRE: BLACK SPIRITUALS
THE WIRE: BLACK SPIRITUALS
THE WIRE: BLACK SPIRITUALS
THE WIRE: BLACK SPIRITUALS
AFTER 67 YEARS: THE DAY AFTER GRANDPA DIED
AFTER 67 YEARS: THE DAY AFTER GRANDPA DIED. Grandpa's Ashes / Grandpa's Briefcase
AFTER 67 YEARS: THE DAY AFTER GRANDPA DIED
Since 2000, hundreds of men–civilians and convicts–have participated in Inside Circle, a support group and intensive training session that began at Folsom State Prison, a maximum-security facility outside Sacramento, California. They came here to do “the work,” which can mean very different things to very different people. It can mean openly sobbing in a world that shuns emotion; it can mean allowing yourself to feel and hurt and rage and scream, to understand that your wounds can be your strength; it can mean seeking answers to the questions you cannot silence, and trusting that they lie somewhere within you.
Each gathering consists of intense four-day sessions where several civilian volunteers and level-four convicts tear down their defenses and emotional barriers, laying their pasts bare in emotional and sometimes physical ways. The prisoners and civilians are brought face to face with the men they are and the men they want to become. They see themselves in each other and they not only hold each other accountable, but hold the space for each other to be vulnerable and challenge the misguided notions of masculinity that taught them to never show emotion.
Of the ex-convicts who’ve been part of Inside Circle and have been released on parole, none have found their way back behind bars. When compared to the nationwide recidivism rate of nearly 60%, it’s profound proof that group therapy and rehabilitative programs work. The 2017 documentary The Work features a powerful look into the Inside Circle, allowing us the rare look past the dehumanizing tropes to reveal a movement of change and redemption that transcends what we think of as rehabilitation.
Four men from The Work are featured in the following images.
Rob Allbee in his backyard
Rob Allbee, 66
Rob Allbee’s father beat the hell out of him when he was growing up, and before that, his father’s father beat the hell out of him, and his father’s father’s father beat the hell out of him. It was a cycle of pain and generational violence that shaped Allbee into a pissed-off kid from Sacramento who got hooked on heroin and was in and out of prison.
At 17, his best friend was fatally shot by a police officer while the two were committing a commercial burglary. Because of California’s “Felony-Murder” Rule, in which someone dies in connection with a felony, Allbee was charged with his friend’s murder and sent to prison until he was 22. He came out full of a rage that he could only tamp down by shooting up heroin and he spent the next 18 years in a blur, in and out of prison. Because of these choices, Allbee was absent for most of his first two sons’ childhoods. But before his third son’s birth, he realized he was facing what could be his last shot at being the sort of father he wished he’d had. He was growing sick of living without purpose and beginning to look for the answer to a question he had been asking his whole life: What are we all doing here?
To find that answer, he started writing, traveling and joining local men's support groups, which allowed him to break through the binds of toxic masculinity that had kept him out of touch with his emotions and to explore his purpose in the world. “What we began to discover was that we were all carrying around these huge bags of emotions and just barely keeping control of it,” he says. “At these men’s groups, they told me, ‘Here’s a spot where it’s safe to feel whatever you feel.’ That was the first time anyone said that to me.”
He's the co-founder of Inside Circle.
In the circle we say, 'Only hurt people hurt people.'
Manuel Ruiz, 44
As a restless kid growing up in Southern California, he fell in with a local gang. He started drinking and fighting and getting arrested for gang-related crimes; then, when he was 17, some rival gang members challenged him outside a taco stand. He pulled out a gun and opened fire on them, paralyzing one boy, and was sentenced to life for attempted murder. Almost immediately after going to prison, he was thrown into solitary confinement for stabbing another inmate and remained in solitary for almost four years straight. He whiled away the long hours by reading everything he could, from poetry to Shakespeare to nonfiction, which led to him to ponder the sort of life he wanted to live.
After being transferred to Folsom prison, he became an Inner Circle participant. Through that work, he learned that what he had once perceived as a weakness—the directionless, childlike energy that led him to a life of crime—could actually be a strength. With all the rage and sadness in these groups, Ruiz explains, sometimes what the men needed was to be big kids. He introduced a fort-building exercise, and in one particularly memorable session got all the men to play a giant game of duck-duck-goose. “My medicine is joy,” he says.
Ruiz uses that joy every day now. In 2012, after serving 21 years of a life sentence, he was released on parole for good behavior. In 2017, he met and married his wife Zury, taking on the role of stepfather to four boys and a teenage girl with gusto. The family has an ever-growing list of all the things they want to do: go skydiving, scuba diving, and ice skating, and ride in a helicopter. “When I was a kid, I didn’t get to experience life,” he says. “I got busted when I was really young and even when I was young, I didn’t push myself. There’s just so much out there. There’s a world out there.”
Manuel at home with his wife, Zury
A box containing Manuel's entire prison history / Manuel's bucket list now that he's 'back out in the world.'
When I thought I'd be in prison forever I thought, 'What am I going to do with myself?'
A childhood portrait of Manuel (pictured middle) and his family / Manuel with two of his five new stepchildren
Eldra Jackson III, 46
A lot looks different to Jackson these days. Since beginning work with Inside Circle in 2004 and learning to work through the trauma that set him on a violent path that led to his becoming a member of the Bloods, he has come to see the world through a different set of eyes than those of the angry kid who tore through Sacramento stealing cars, dealing drugs, and running guns.
It took him decades, as well as a life sentence for attempted murder at the age of 19, to get to this place. During his first decade of incarceration, Jackson was transferred from prison to prison because of his behavior, and was often held in solitary confinement for stabbing and fighting other inmates.
In 2000, about nine years into his life sentence, Jackson ended up at Folsom, where Inside Circle had just been formed. It was in the circle that he finally explored the driving force behind his criminal actions. When he was seven or eight, he had been molested by his teenage babysitter and raped by her brother. The brother had threatened to rape Jackson’s four-year-old sister as well if Jackson didn’t have sex with him, and Jackson had emerged from that trauma believing that “caring about something, loving somebody, giving a damn, that puts me in a position to get hurt.” For the first time in decades, he let himself be vulnerable. And by allowing himself to feel, he was able to take control of his life again.
Jackson was released on parole three years ago. He returned to Sacramento, the same city where he had come of age with the mind-set that he must hurt others before they could hurt him first. But now he travels those roads as a husband and father, fear and apathy no longer dictating his actions. He married his wife, Holly and soon after came Eldra Jackson IV—the child Jackson never dreamed he would have. And now, as a traffic technician for a private company, his work sometimes brings him right near the prison he thought he would never leave alive.
Eldra at home with his son, Eldra Jackson IV and wife Holly
Prayer beads given to Eldra by a medicine man in prison
'Everything is different in prison. You look up and this same exact bright blue sky would look all grayed out.'
Rick Misener, 56
Rick Misener spent most of his life making sure everybody feared him. That’s why he joined up with the Aryan Brotherhood soon after he was sentenced to life in prison in 1988 for luring two Marines into an armed robbery that resulted in murder of one of the soldiers. ‘If you can scare people, you can be respected. I would love that when we walked down the hall, people would move out of the way for us.’
Even within Inside Circle, he made others uneasy. At first, he only participated at a bare-minimum. At the start of each meeting he'd say, 'I'm Rick. I'm in.' And at the end, he'd say, 'I'm Rick. I'm out.' He did this for a year's worth of weekly gatherings. He was then thrown in the hole for possessing a knife and as angry and on edge as he was, he found that he couldn’t hide from himself anymore. I remember they had those little stainless steel mirrors on the wall, he says. So I turned, and suddenly I was eye to eye with myself. I hadn’t done that in a very, very long time. And I hated that dude, just hated him.
Once out of solitary confinement, Misener was ready to do the work. He had to come to terms with the fact that he had killed a man”something he'd been hiding from for years. It’s not just the person who died, it’s so much bigger than that he says. There’s a ripple that continues to this day because of that act. There’s 12 people in the jury who had to look at 8-by-10 glossies of someone who had their heart blown out. What impact did it have on them? What impact did it have on the ambulance drivers who had to pick that guy up?...not to mention on the victim's family.
After serving almost thirty years, Rick was recently released on parole. At his transitional home in Los Angeles, his housemates don’t know him as ‘Scary Rick’ or ‘ Crazy Snake’ as he was known in prison. To them, he’s the guy always willing to lend a hand, whether driving them to the DMV, starting men’s groups wherever he goes, or repainting the house trim in a vibrant blue.
I took a life, so I owe a life, Misener says. If I owe a life, the only way I can pay it back is by living my life in a way that affects people in a positive way.
Rick Misener on the porch of his transitional home in Los Angeles
An old army portrait from the 1980's / Rick polishing his 'baby,' a 2007 Mustang GT
On being out of prison, 'Every day is like Christmas morning. Every day i wake up and laugh.'
'the writing teacher asked us to write about loss without saying the word loss. I never follow the rules.'
Rick's folder of good behavior
'I refuse not to enjoy my life now. It seems almost sacrilegious to not be grateful for the ability to even touch a leaf.'
WSJ MAGAZINE: FRENCH LAUNDRY
WSJ MAGAZINE: FRENCH LAUNDRY
WSJ MAGAZINE: FRENCH LAUNDRY
WSJ MAGAZINE: FRENCH LAUNDRY
WSJ MAGAZINE: FRENCH LAUNDRY
T.O. London: Alexander Wang
POST QUARTERLY: KELTIE FERRIS
A Magazine Curated by: Susan Cianciolo
Time Magazine: The End of Aids
Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York
Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York
Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York
Atlas Quarterly: Juniper Ridge
The Gourmand: Bobby Seale
Wallpaper: Berggruen Gallery
WSJ Magazine: Robert Irwin
Time Magazine: The Right to Die
Time Magazine: ShotSpotter
Time Magazine: ShotSpotter
M Le Monde: Dennis Lehane
Wallpaper: Inhotim Brazil
Wire Magazine: Left Hand Path
Wire Magazine: Left Hand Path
Wire Magazine: Left Hand Path
Wallpaper: Alex Rasmussen
Wallpaper: Alex Rasmussen
Good Magazine: Stewart Brand
Good Magazine: Stewart Brand
CALIFORNIA SUNDAY MAGAZINE: PHIL TIPPETT
CALIFORNIA SUNDAY MAGAZINE: PHIL TIPPETT
WSJ MAGAZINE: COOK IT RAW
WSJ MAGAZINE: COOK IT RAW
WSJ MAGAZINE: COOK IT RAW
WSJ MAGAZINE: COOK IT RAW
WSJ MAGAZINE: COOK IT RAW
WSJ MAGAZINE: COOK IT RAW
WSJ MAGAZINE: COOK IT RAW
WSJ MAGAZINE: COOK IT RAW
WSJ MAGAZINE: COOK IT RAW
WSJ MAGAZINE: COOK IT RAW
WSJ MAGAZINE: COOK IT RAW
WSJ MAGAZINE: COOK IT RAW
WSJ MAGAZINE: COOK IT RAW
WSJ MAGAZINE: COOK IT RAW
WSJ MAGAZINE: COOK IT RAW
WSJ MAGAZINE: COOK IT RAW
WSJ MAGAZINE: COOK IT RAW
WSJ MAGAZINE: COOK IT RAW
WSJ MAGAZINE: COOK IT RAW
WSJ MAGAZINE: COOK IT RAW
DWELL: FLOATING FARMHOUSE
MINDFUL: HOLISTIC LIFE FOUNDATION
MINDFUL: HOLISTIC LIFE FOUNDATION
SÜDDEUTSCHE ZEITUNG: DANIEL ELLSBERG
NIKE: ERIC KOSTON, ON THIS SITE
NIKE: ERIC KOSTON, ON THIS SITE
NIKE: ERIC KOSTON, ON THIS SITE
WALLPAPER: PARVIS TANAVOLI
WALLPAPER: PARVIS TANAVOLI
WALLPAPER: PARVIS TANAVOLI
WALLPAPER: PARVIS TANAVOLI
In 1985, police officer Ray Spencer was charged with raping his son, daughter and stepson. The case against him was based on investigators' interviews with the children.
While in prison, Spencer's children began questioning their memories and having doubts of their father's guilt. Over time, they began to fight for his innocence and release from prison. It took five years of fighting, but after twenty years in prison, nearly half of Ray's life, his sentence was commuted. After not knowing their father for two decades, the family is slowly getting to know one another again.
TIME MAGAZINE: LAUREL HILBERT
Laurel Hilbert arrived in the United States in August of 2013 as a blind, homeless 17-year-old named Ahmad. His birthplace — Deir al-Zour, in Syria — was in the process of being destroyed by war. He landed in Los Angeles without knowing a single person in the United States, without speaking a word of English and without being able to see.
Almost four years later, three of which were spent living homeless in Los Angeles and New York, he now has a new name, a job, a green card, a guide dog named Aero and a new life as a college student in San Francisco.
In January of 2017, his family, in Istanbul, finally received the visas they applied for in 2014. On the same day the visas arrived, President Trump signed his executive order on immigration, indefinitely suspending the admission of all refugees and immigrants from Syria. An email from the consulate informed Laurel’s family that their visas were no longer valid and officials at the airport in Turkey would not let them through security.
A little more than a week later, judges blocked Trump's order. On February 5th, Laurel's six family members arrived at Kennedy Airport in New York. What the family has gone through has not changed Laurel's opinion of his adopted country as a place full of people who are willing to help, if only you ask. When he has gone to protest immigration issues, it has been with appreciation for the rights he has not always enjoyed. “This country is not brutal. It’s not perverse. It’s not regressive. It’s not insular. This country is the place for all those who are hopeful or want to better their lives,” Laurel says. “My opinion never changed about America or the American people.”
In 2018, Hilbert started a non-profit called, A Dignified Home. They find shelter and aid for at risk youth.
TIME MAGAZINE: LAUREL HILBERT
TIME MAGAZINE: LAUREL HILBERT
TIME MAGAZINE: LAUREL HILBERT
TIME MAGAZINE: LAUREL HILBERT
TIME MAGAZINE: LAUREL HILBERT
TIME MAGAZINE: LAUREL HILBERT
WALLPAPER: MICKALENE THOMAS
CALIFORNIA SUNDAY MAGAZINE: NOMA AUSTRALIA
CALIFORNIA SUNDAY MAGAZINE: NOMA AUSTRALIA
CALIFORNIA SUNDAY MAGAZINE: NOMA AUSTRALIA
CALIFORNIA SUNDAY MAGAZINE: NOMA AUSTRALIA
CALIFORNIA SUNDAY MAGAZINE: NOMA AUSTRALIA
CALIFORNIA SUNDAY MAGAZINE: NOMA AUSTRALIA
CALIFORNIA SUNDAY MAGAZINE: NOMA AUSTRALIA
CALIFORNIA SUNDAY MAGAZINE: NOMA AUSTRALIA
CALIFORNIA SUNDAY MAGAZINE: NOMA AUSTRALIA
CALIFORNIA SUNDAY MAGAZINE: NOMA AUSTRALIA
CALIFORNIA SUNDAY MAGAZINE: NOMA AUSTRALIA
CALIFORNIA SUNDAY MAGAZINE: NOMA AUSTRALIA
CALIFORNIA SUNDAY MAGAZINE: NOMA AUSTRALIA
CALIFORNIA SUNDAY MAGAZINE: NOMA AUSTRALIA
CALIFORNIA SUNDAY MAGAZINE: NOMA AUSTRALIA
CALIFORNIA SUNDAY MAGAZINE: NOMA AUSTRALIA
TIME MAGAZINE: MARYAM NASSIR-ZADEH
TIME MAGAZINE: MARYAM NASSIR-ZADEH
TIME MAGAZINE: MARYAM NASSIR-ZADEH
TIME MAGAZINE: MARYAM NASSIR-ZADEH
THE LAST MILE, SAN QUENTIN PRISON
THE LAST MILE, SAN QUENTIN PRISON
THE LAST MILE, SAN QUENTIN PRISON
THE LAST MILE, SAN QUENTIN PRISON
THE LAST MILE, SAN QUENTIN PRISON
THE LAST MILE, SAN QUENTIN PRISON
THE LAST MILE, SAN QUENTIN PRISON
THE LAST MILE, SAN QUENTIN PRISON
THE LAST MILE, SAN QUENTIN PRISON
THE LAST MILE, SAN QUENTIN PRISON
THE LAST MILE, SAN QUENTIN PRISON
The United States makes up only 5% of the global population, but contains 25% of the world's incarcerated population. Since the 1970's, the number of people behind bars in America has risen over 700%.
The Last Mile program at San Quentin State Prison is a beacon of what's possible within the backwards and sad United States incarceration system. The program teaches inmates the skills needed for tech related employment after they're released. Of those who've been released after completing this program, the recidivism rate is 0%, compared to the 60% nationwide rate of recidivism.
MONOCLE: TRUMP RESISTANCE CALIFORNIA
MONOCLE: TRUMP RESISTANCE CALIFORNIA
MONOCLE: TRUMP RESISTANCE CALIFORNIA
MONOCLE: TRUMP RESISTANCE CALIFORNIA
MONOCLE: TRUMP RESISTANCE CALIFORNIA
MONOCLE: TRUMP RESISTANCE CALIFORNIA
MONOCLE: TRUMP RESISTANCE CALIFORNIA
MONOCLE: TRUMP RESISTANCE CALIFORNIA
MONOCLE: TRUMP RESISTANCE CALIFORNIA
MONOCLE: TRUMP RESISTANCE CALIFORNIA
MONOCLE: TRUMP RESISTANCE CALIFORNIA
MONOCLE: TRUMP RESISTANCE CALIFORNIA
MONOCLE: TRUMP RESISTANCE CALIFORNIA
MONOCLE: TRUMP RESISTANCE CALIFORNIA
MONOCLE: TRUMP RESISTANCE CALIFORNIA
MONOCLE: TRUMP RESISTANCE CALIFORNIA
POST QUARTERLY: CAI GUO-QIANG
THE WIRE: ORNETTE COLEMAN
THE WIRE: ORNETTE COLEMAN
BIG MAGAZINE: BIG IMAGINATION
BIG MAGAZINE: BIG IMAGINATION
BIG MAGAZINE: BIG IMAGINATION
Time Magazine: Innocence Project, Barry Scheck
Time Magazine: The Innocence Project (San Jacinto Courthouse) / (Murder Scene. Point Blank, Texas)
The NYT Book Review:
Harold Bloom / Christopher Hitchens
WSJ MAGAZINE: STEVEN VOLPE
HERMAN MILLER: FUSEPROJECT
3M: INNOVATION, SCIENCE APPLIED TO LIFE
3M: INNOVATION, SCIENCE APPLIED TO LIFE
DESIGN BUREAU: KARIM RASHID
For Better, For Worse: Beattie, Kansas
For Better, For Worse: Pony Express Caretaker / Motel Room, Washington, Kansas
For Better, For Worse: Runaway Car. Sidney, Nebraska
For Better, For Worse: North Platte River. Guernsey, Wyoming
For Better, For Worse: Runaway Car II. Sidney, Nebraska
For Better, For Worse: Raja Family. Washington, Kansas / Pony Express Station
For Better, For Worse: Meadowlark Lane. Cheyenne, Wyoming
For Better, For Worse: Father & Son. North Platte, Nebraska
For Better, For Worse: Portland, Oregon
For Better, For Worse: The Road to Dad's Grave. Dalton, Missouri
TIME MAGAZINE: THORNTON DIAL
TIME MAGAZINE: THORNTON DIAL
THE WIRE: JOAN LA BARBARA
STOPSMILING: STEPHEN MALKMUS
STOPSMILING: STEPHEN MALKMUS
WAX MAGAZINE: DANNY AND GARTH
IBM: Blue Cloud / Arper: Living Spaces