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a dying day 

who knows where days go to die

a graveyard filled with bones ?

still swallowed up by withering earth ?

or another abyss

the only trace

filing away in strict procession

their golden coattails fading into

a road unknown

Where do days go to die ?

Only the trees know,

Bowing down before the undertaking,

Whispering secrets amongst themselves

of this long awaited place

Dusk illustrates what Robert Frost names “the antiphony of afterglow” in his poem, "Waiting—Afield at Dusk.” An ancient form of music, antiphony depends on two interacting voices, singers or choirs to create a single piece of music that lives two lives in conversation with one another. My photo series consists of two nocturnes: one that mourns the day’s departure and another that marvels at its evanescent beauty. Together, these two movements depict the duality with which we often view change, transition and departure — as both bitter and sweet. Literal light juxtaposes dark; images of nature and portraits of a 99 year old woman harmonize, dialoguing about different views of dusk — both a sorrowful end and enchanted rebirth. Immortalizing the fragile beauty in both sides of this dichotomy, I seek to “dayify the darkest realm”* in Dusk: a Dying Day.



*Robert Frost, “Two Leading Lights”

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