Will there be a resurrection from the 2 million 868 thousand and 47 who have died from the virus so far? How many biblical stories of grief will emerge? How many years will be engulfed by mourning? Who will make room for the deceased and who will heal the bereft? On this weekend, when we still think of Christ, will we think of them in the thousands of years to come?


Isla de Chiloe, July 2018

In 2016, I wrote rather disparagingly that tourist photography says nothing more than ‘I-was-there’, an assertion of the individual’s place in the world at a moment in time. But today, in rudderless, obfuscous time, I don’t need the photograph as anything more than a momento that says ‘I-was-there’.