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If we follow the light of Albert Camus and use the sea as a metaphor, we explore how “aesthetics inhabit and define the Mediterranean as a common cultural horizon founded on difference.” Maltese-born author  John Badacchino provides a wonderfully rich and inspiring talk on
The granite tombstones are gray and crooked, their engravings barely legible from weathering more than a century of rain, sand, and Atlantic hurricanes. Purple sea grapes border the cholera graveyard which rests peacefully on a bluff near the old Hopetown fire station. We see white caps glimmering in the pure light of the moon, a full drie...
My eye catches the tips of the dark mountains on the outskirts of Caracas, Venezuela, and in a blink I find myself gazing at the shanty towns hugging their sides– an imperfect pyramid of white, orange, and gray rectangles dotted by an occasional tree, smoky green under the smog and burning heat of the equator. The geometric patterns remind me s...
The dock is our compass, our legs, the arrows facing west. Staring up into the inky blackness, we draw a path from star to star resembling the hull of a ship, as little waves lap the salty posts like a cat licking a bowl of cream. The harbor is quiet, but for the soft purr of an old Whaler guided in fro...
Built in 1870, our house survived the Great Chicago Fire. She witnessed from her large bay windows the greedy flames devouring our town after Bessie, the cow, kicked over the lantern in the O’Leary’s barn. Just how close she was in her infancy, I could never be sure, but the sight and smell must have been terrible from any distan...