Rancho del Cielo, a 688-acre ranch northwest of Santa Barbara, was owned and used by US president Ronald Reagan as the “Western White House” during his presidency. His widow, Nancy Reagan, sold the property to the Young America’s Foundation, a conservative group that preserves it today as “a living monument to Reagan’s ideas, values, and lasting accomplishments.” The ranch is closed to the public, but the foundation offers students and supporters an opportunity to visit the property. The foundation is headquartered in a building adjacent to Highway 101, near the Santa Barbara Railroad Station. The foundation calls this headquarters building “A Schoolhouse for Reaganism” and offers four floors of classrooms, lecture space, a movie theatre, ranch exhibits and a library of resources designed to “bring conservative ideas to life.” I photographed the entrance to the headquarters by placing the frame of one its open doors directly through the middle of a panting of the former president. The painting is mounted on a black background hanging from the building’s façade. By dividing and partially obscuring Reagan's face with the door frame, I abstract the painting to change its meaning. Can the former president be winking at us? The curve of the doorframe leads from his face to the entryway itself. This image may convey differing messages for people holding divergent opinions of Reagan, the president. His supporters may see the wink I’ve created here as a tribute to his trademark sense of humor, while others might read the image as a comment on a former president who some feel governed with one eye shut. If an image can express different ideas to different people, it will be all the stronger for it.

The repeating rhythms of the three large green double doors, fronted by three metal hitching posts, drew my eye. I waited for someone to walk past them to add still another layer of meaning to the image. As luck would have it, someone not only walked into my frame – he hauled open one of those large doors and paused for a moment within the entrance as I made this image. He seems to be walking into the past. After making the shot, I noticed that someone had also placed a small pot with a green plant in front of that door’s hitching post, extending a touch of green color into the foreground as well.

What initially may look like a step is not. It is just a lighter color stone, set into the foundation of this old house. It’s a long way from the sidewalk to the base of this old door, giving it a very incongruous setting. I liked the way the color of the glowing reddish light within the house is echoed by the red flowers in the box on the wall. The pink flowers pick up the color of the wall, as well.

This door provides an insight into the Tunisian economy – it is a study in piecemeal repair. I made this image within the 800-year-old medina of Sousse, where things are generally old and sometimes very old. I have no idea how long this door has served its owners, but it is obvious that when this door breaks it is not replaced, but seemingly reinforced at random. It becomes an incongruous symbol of a world where time stands still, money is hard to come by, and craftsmanship is not an issue. Incongruity comes to us here not just through the skills of the photographer, but rather through the bizarre nature of the subject itself. All we have to do is notice it, and expression takes place.

I layer an unhinged door with an ancient rag and decaying building. How long has this door hung unhinged on its jam, leaving the entrance to this old building open to all visitors? Kairuoan is almost a thousand years old, making age and decay a relative matter. There is a haunting beauty to this scene, chaotic geometry that challenges the imagination, making us wonder who lived and worked here, where have they gone, and if they will ever return?

California school children often come to Yosemite’s Pioneer village, dress in 19th century rural costumes, and live for a day as people lived during the Gold Rush era. I found this student poised just inside of the door of an old building, his head in shadow, and his toes awkwardly placed together, yet his face glows in the reflected light. The door to the past is wide open for him, yet he seems reluctant to walk through it. The glow on his face suggests that he will soon muster the courage to leave the shadows of the building and step back into the 19th century.

The Temple of Literature is just about the oldest place in Hanoi. It was constructed sometime between 1009 and 1225. Many of its original buildings are still in place. When I saw this door hanging ajar against the well-worn walls, I felt as if I was looking straight back into the face of time itself. The ancient door hangs wide open, revealing a stack of nested baskets within. Just outside of it, worn roof tiles are stacked, their brownish hues echoing the colors of the baskets within the storeroom. The broom and dustpan look standing against the wall of the storeroom look as if they come from another time as well. Had this door been locked shut, as it probably should have been, think of all we would have missed! Just about the only concession to the industrial age here is the padlock that is supposed to keep photographers and others at bay.

Buddhist temples have doors set in very large frames, which almost always means a big step up when getting in or out of them. I spent about ten minutes watching tourists navigating this obstacle and made some fairly amusing images in the process. But none gave me more pleasure than this shot of a very small child struggling mightily to haul herself over the high doorsill. Everything works together here – the worn red door of this temple is hundreds of years old, while the young child has barely learned to walk. Her task is impossible, and her expression is intent. The determined eyes and open mouth say it all. And all the colors complement each other perfectly – pink is a variant of red, and the child wears pink right up to the tie on her hair. All of which tells us to hang around doors if we can – we never know what might come through them.

I used the temple doorway as context for this image of a Buddhist nun at prayer.

There is a spiritual inscription on the door panel, and the dimly illuminated banners hanging in the darkness over the nun’s head echo its vertical flow.

This man lives behind massive wooden doors that could be hundreds of years old. Everything echoes the color of the brown dust that blankets this remote city, except for the red and gold banners that welcome him home. I spent more than fifteen minutes photographing residents walking up and down this alleyway and in and out of that door, which probably leads to a communal living compound. By photographing this man from behind, I abstract him, and put the viewer in his place. The distant doorway becomes our goal as well.

Essaoira’s Jewish community prospered in the 18th and 19th centuries. Persecution and emigration have long since obliterated it, but a tiny synagogue still exists in what is still known as Essaouira’s Mellah, or Jewish Quarter. The most symbolic subject in that synagogue is a blue wooden cabinet, called an Ark, holding scrolls containing the Five Books of Moses. It dates back to the 1800’s. A caretaker opened the outer doors of the Ark for us, allowing a glimpse of another door with a curved top, holding the holy scrolls within it. I used this inner door as an abstracting device – allowing the scrolls, known as a Torah, to recede into the darkness. Only a portion of the golden Hebrew letters on the velvet Torah cover can be seen, floating in the curved frame of this door within a door. By showing only part of the Torah, I symbolize the disappearance of the Jewish community from Essaouira.

Without this blue door, this image could not have expressed the point at hand. A frail man looks away from us, towards a door rich in symbolism. It is as if he is longing to enter, yet he makes no move to do so. The sun throws an oval glow on the door, a shape that echoes the curves of both his cane and cap. The glow invites him in, yet he remains still. The door is battered, symbolizing the hard knocks of life. Perhaps this is the ultimate message here – we can’t always get we want.

The shape of this doorway is elegant and traditional. It could be an entry to a mosque or Kasbah. Yet its sides are scarred and covered with dirt and it gives entrée to piles of used tires. The image is full of incongruities and facades – another door, ornate and massive lies open just to the right of the tires. The man who stands in the doorway is also incongruous. His white shirt is spotless, yet it hangs over his trousers. He stares at us with incomprehension – he probably can’t image why we would want to photograph a battered doorway and a pile of old tires. The doorway is the key to the image. As a symbol it is meant to promise much, but the realities show it is nothing more than a façade.

Nearly concealed in the shadows, an Essaouiran woman begins her day chatting with neighbors from her doorstep. The long shadow cast on the wall of the house invests the image with importance. She seems strong and powerful hiding in the shadowy door way. The blackness within has abstracted her, suggesting her strength.

This is a very special photograph, a spontaneous moment of pleasure caught in a Moroccan environment. I was walking through the souks of Marrakesh when I saw a shaft of sunlight illuminating an ancient wall within an archway at the end of a dark and narrow street. I heard the distant voices of children at play, getting closer and closer. I framed the shot and waited, and within a few seconds a kid came flying into the arch. I squeezed the shutter button and caught him just as he landed. The magic of photography will always keep him in this spot, framed in fiery red, a symbol of youthful exuberance. An arch constrains motion – there is hardly room to move within it. The shutter of the camera has also constrained motion here, catching it within a specific – and decisive -- moment in time. The spatial constraints of the arch offer the very tension that holds this image together.

The most beautiful gate in the ramparts of Marrakesh, this 900 year-old arch once led to the Royal Palace. Its carved sandstone still shows tinges of red, melding with grayish blue. The sculpted facade consists of alternating layers of stone and brick. To make this gate speak more effectively, I abstract the image by cropping it exactly in half. I kept the half with the person about to walk through the gate to offer a sense of how huge this gate really is. The elaborate detail on its façade tells still another story, and makes another image unto itself. You can see it by clicking on the thumbnail below.

A Marrakesh merchant is using this door as an easel to display the art prints he is selling. I moved in on the print, cutting it nearly in half, stressing the triangular flap that is bent backwards over its corner. I stressed the flap because its shape echoes the double triangular molding on the door. Incredibly, someone has also embellished the door molding with a flowing feathery white fringe, coincidentally echoing the feathery white skirts worn by the elongated dancers on the print. The entire image seems to be in motion. There is a wonderful lesson in this for us – doors can tell stories, accidentally or on purpose. Discover them, and interpret them.

Rabat's Oudaia Kasbah is its old city, a splendid warren of 17th and 18th century houses lining the twisting, narrow streets. We saw the interior of this lavishly decorated riad (traditional residence) because our tour guide knew its caretaker. We found him talking on his cell phone amidst the splendor of three hundred year old tiles. While he was talking, I built this incongruous portrait of him. The elegant doors in the center of the frame are open, revealing the sitting room within. An inlaid door above it is mysteriously closed. Where could it lead? Just the quality of the wood and the intricate marquetry, a Moroccan specialty, speaks volumes about the history, value and beauty of this place.

Some of Morocco’s finest woodworkers ply their craft behind these massive doors. Why iron doors embedded rock? Because their workspaces were formerly solid concrete rooms used to store munitions beneath Essaouira’s ancient ramparts. I photographed a whole row of these former munitions storehouses from a ramp leading down from the top of the ramparts. I waited until two of the occupants made themselves visible within those iron doors in order to add a human presence to the scene.

One door is elegantly tiled. The other is wide open -- leading to a public toilet. The man at left is the attendant, collecting about twelve cents from each and every visitor. The story here is simple one. The two doors are richly diverse. The one at left implies wealth and power. The one at right speaks to a common need. We have no access to the first door. But if we give the fellow on the left twelve cents, we are all free to follow in the footsteps of the fellow in the gray jellaba.