My Fairy-Tale Life, by Steven Boone

THE DREAM speaks . . . sings, flows, is air, is water, flux. I am in it and witness, play along as an actor on it’s stage. I...

The coast of Sicily   “ Once you have traveled, the voyage never ends, but is played out over and over again in the quietest cha...

My father said that he never could see the “man in the moon.” The moon's face with it's big crater eyes and opened mouth ...

Dad, second from left at top My father, who died only two weeks ago, was an enigma to me. I always loved him, and he represented a...

It is odd, returning to my father's home in the wake of his death. The house that he loved is intact and outwardly at least, ...

Sometimes, in olden days when ships were powered by sails and breeze, it happened that during a journey, the wind stopped. ...

Faithfully writing a weekly blog has brought My Fairytale Life to the number 400 . That is four hundred posts; over 1000 photographs, en...

Death and love seem to walk on either hand as I go through life: they are the only things I think of, their wings shadow me...

Winter cold makes life contract—or so it seems. The sun shines for fewer hours of the day, plants go dormant and energy is spent in ...

There is no escaping racial issues when one is an American. It is in our history, from the days of slavery, and a terrible civil wa...

Nudes have been figuring into my artwork lately, and were to be the subject of my blog this week, but I have already written extensive...