The night of June 7, 2015. The air, warm, gentle. The street, eclectic and bustling. 8th Avenue, Manhattan. We notice a thick, foreign smell. We see a spark, subtle, timidly inhabiting the slightly curled left hand of the man walking before us. A woman runs towards him in preoccupied scream: Dramatic glowing flames climb his chest, his semblance becoming that of summoned evil or a mask of Early Antiquity. Disembodiment veils his pupils, pervades his mouth ajar. He stands still, drugged by rich compact jet-black smoke. We behold embers.
A Contemporary Photography and Creative Writing Publication for Chicago
John Steck Jr. & Pablo Vindel
John Steck. Jr. Stone window in a cold building, cold Ireland, 2012.