Jay Gould was a leading American railroad developer and speculator. He has been portrayed as one of the ruthless robber barons of the Gilded Age, whose success at business made him one of the richest men of his era. He was hated and reviled, with few defenders then or now. He purchased the Lyndhurst Mansion and grounds in 1880, an estate of more than 400 acres overlooking the Hudson River.

I made this image in the mansion's entrance hall. Gould's own cane, capped by a gilded head of a eagle, was the first thing that I noticed as I entered Lyndhurst. It stands out, a contrasting to the dark, richly carved and engraved wood and metal hat and cane rack that supports it.

The eagle is a bird of prey. Gould was a man of prey. Gold is a symbol of wealth. Gould died leaving a fortune estimated at $77 million. Gould's gold cane is a symbol of his masculinity, urbanity, and wealth. If anyone should have tried to attack him, the head of this cane would have made a formidable weapon. Gould's cane makes an ideal symbol to sum up the character of the man himself.

I moved in on the bark of this palm tree, juxtaposing its carefully pruned crosshatched wood pattern against the new growth exploding within. In doing so, I create a symbolic relationship expressing the nature of life itself. The palm continually grows new branches that inevitably perish and are pruned away, leaving the mark of man upon nature. The pruning encourages new branches to grow, symbolizing the cycle of life and death. This image symbolically projects such a message, burnishing it with vivid color and tactile textures.

This is a relatively small working model, depicting the Martin Luther King Jr. Memorial in Washington DC, which is on display in Atlanta’s King Historic Site visitor’s center. The actual memorial to Dr. King in Washington stands almost 30 feet high. This model is about six feet high, and is placed in front of a window overlooking the plaza in front of the visitor’s center. I waited until two visitors were framed within that window, and then made this image to symbolize the meaning of this memorial itself. The figure of Dr. King glows in golden tones as it rises from a base of stone. It was designed to embody the phrase “Out of a mountain of despair, A stone of hope…” taken from King’s famous “I have a dream” speech in 1963. Behind King, two silhouetted symbolic figures pass in soft focus within a pair of windows. One of them is approaching, while the other is departing. Behind them is a softly focused mural, floating above a washed out plaza. The mural represents King’s unfinished dream, while I saw the figures in the windows as symbolizing “opposites” – a society where people should be free to make their own choices and move towards their own goals and purposes. The pose of Dr. King himself, arms folded and confident, reinforces that very idea.

Religious symbols are regularly sold at the doors of Cuenca’s main cathedral. I noticed a crucifix, packaged in protective plastic, resting on the sidewalk, and photographed it from a low angle. When we see it from this vantage point, separated from all of the other crucifixes for sale, the plastic wrapping becomes less of a package and more of a shroud, a symbol full of religious implications.

A grim concrete container contains a discarded bouquet of flowers, symbolizing the thin line that exists between life and death itself. Groundskeepers at this cemetery remove flowers left on the tombs as soon as they begin to wilt – these, however, still show enough color to make us wonder if there was not still some life left in them. Another interpretation might be drawn: the blossoms that lie within this container might also be a metaphor for premature death.

The weathered political posters on the door of a village house symbolize the transient nature of political life itself. Winners and losers come and go here. Yesterday’s victory may well have become today’s defeat. The candidate at left still seems to survive, while the candidate on the right has long since fragmented into oblivion. Of course I have no idea if either of these candidates won or lost, or are currently still in office. But given the tattered nature of the posters, I would guess that both might well be yesterday’s news.

We visited a Rio school, deep within one of its notorious favelas. It was a week before Christmas, and no children were present. However, they had left decorations for us to see -- a religious calendar, a whimsical clock, and a chain of four gyrating Santas delivering sacks of gifts from window to window. The primary colors of red and blue energize the scene, and draw the eye to the procession of religious, secular, and seasonal symbols flowing through the frame below a timepiece that has a skateboarder asking us to have a “sweet tday.” The image speaks of the hopes, dreams, and beliefs of children who live within one of the most impoverished communities in Latin America. The school was originally launched with the support of a European corporate executive.

The façade of the New York Stock Exchange is actually a vast display of symbols and metaphors. I move in to fill the lower half of the image with the huge flag and allow the name of the exchange, its classical Greek architecture, and the sculpted figures laboring on the pediment that surmounts the vast portico of columns to fill the upper half of the frame. A stock exchange is a non-governmental organization, yet here it literally wraps itself in the flag to display its patriotism. The Greek columns and pediment symbolize timeless virtues, designed to inspire trust, no doubt, in financial instruments. Finally, the five figures at work suggest the timeless value of labor itself. Working together, these symbols suggest that investing in businesses as a patriotic act, an act that draws on historic traditions for its reliability and value. In light of the recent financial disasters on Wall Street, however, the warning “Caveat Emptor” should be added to the mix here.

Just outside the walls of historic Mogosoaia Palace, two huge statues lie discarded in a muddy field. One of them depicts Lenin, who is resting face down. The other one once honored Romania’s first Communist prime minister, Petru Groza, who rests face up, hat in hand, arm outstretched. His statue was dumped here twenty years and has been gathering bird droppings ever since. I photograph only Groza’s statue here, cropping in on the middle section of the statue, and abstracting it into a symbol of political failure. We primarily see the two hands, one still clutching the stained and dated hat, the other gesturing futility against a crumbling brick wall. It becomes a symbol that goes beyond Romanian political history – it shows us how history remembers all failed political systems.

My good friend Tim May’s passion for symbolic “lonely leaf” imagery has rubbed off on me. Whenever I see a dead leaf curled up off by itself, I think of Tim. While walking the shoreline of Vancouver’s English Bay, I saw this autumnal leaf decaying on a boulder, its shriveled form emerging from a stream of lush green lichen, and my thoughts immediately went to images I call “Timesque.” Tim, by his very nature, is ever the optimist. He usually manages to at least offer a hint of renewal as his lonely leaves wither before our eyes. (For example, see the green winking at the crumpled leaf in this image of Tim’s: ( http://www.pbase.com/mityam/image/98032185)

And that’s what I mean by his artistry “rubbing off on me.” A few years ago, I would see a dead leaf as simply dead. But now I eagerly look for symbols suggesting a new life to come. While the leaf in this image may have come to the end of its road, in this instance, at least, the brilliant green lichen encourages all of us to think about the road to tomorrow. Thanks, Tim, for helping us appreciate such symbolic treasures as this.

I found this man sleeping on a table in the lounge of a deep-sea fishing boat. He had spent the day fishing and was heading back to Gloucester. The circular table echoes the arm and hand that circle round his head. His fingers rest lightly on the table, casting their shadows within a window reflection. The table supports his weight, becoming a makeshift bed, its circular shape going round and round like the dreams that might be flowing through his slumbering mind.

The grave of C.J. Keeling lies off by itself in this small cemetery. Although he has been dead for 75 years, he is still mourned. Somebody has decorated the grave, perhaps to remind us that he was born 100 years ago. Using a 24mm wideangle lens, I came in close enough to show detail on the metal plate bearing his name, yet the wide focal length still enabled me to stretch the frame enough to include the three silent tree trunks that stand behind the grave – the symbolic mourners.

Using my longest focal length (400mm) to compress the space between the flag and the man standing just behind it, makes it appear as if the man has wrapped himself in the flag, symbolic of extremely patriotic behavior. Actually, there are several feet between the flag and the man, but the long telephoto lens does not allow us to see that such space exists. It is an appropriate motif for Jacksonville, a 19th century town which calls itself “one of the most historically significant communities in the western United States.”

An awning of slats runs along side of Scottsdale’s library, and at 2:30 in the afternoon, the angle of the sun paints the both the sidewalk and the library wall with a pattern of horizontal bars. While on a field shoot, I asked my tutorial student to take a break on a bench at the base of the wall. She does not seem very enthusiastic over stopping her shooting, which makes the message of my photograph even more expressive. She tries here to relax, but her folded arms tell another story. The shadows slice across her, hiding her face in deep shadow. They make her anonymous, a symbol of confinement and restraint. She makes no effort to resist. She will simply wait it out, a metaphor for humanity trapped in a situation it cannot remedy. By using a 16mm wideangle focal length, I can move in to make her large, yet still retain a considerable about of wall and sidewalk in the image. I also convert the warm colors of her clothing and skin to black and white, making the symbolism stronger in the process.

As we steamed past the Statue of Liberty on the way to Ellis Island, our boat offered this frontal view. I chose to photograph it from chest to torch, stressing a look of outright determination that is seldom seen. The overcast background adds a somber context to its forceful attitude. The contrast of the oxidized green copper patina to the gilded flame in the torch suggests that while the statue was 129 years old at the time of this photograph, the passage of the years has not dimmed the flame, nor the idea of freedom that it represents.

It is incongruous and ironic to see a single couch within a vast space, such as this one placed in a lobby serving the thousands of people who use the sleek new Phoenix Convention Center. It is a matter of scale incongruity – a gesture of hospitality intended more as a gracious symbol than serious comfort for the masses. (Hey, only one person at a time could sit back on this couch and relax.) I found that single couch standing alone, empty and forlorn. I stress such loneliness by converting the image to black and white, removing the bright color of the couch and moving it to the top of the frame. I fill the space below the couch with shimmering floor reflections that seem ready to swallow it whole. The image becomes a symbol of a dysfunctional modern world.

Jerba is a popular resort, attracting vacationers from European countries. A golf course was located across the street from our hotel, enclosed by a rusting green fence. At various intervals along that fence, metal plaques cut into the shape of golfers were affixed. They were primitive in design, often chipped and rusting, and all of them displayed featureless black heads and hands. Ironically, the metal golfers were depicted as symbolic Africans, even though very few Africans vacation here, and most local residents can’t afford to play golf. After making this image, I realized that the people who created this signage probably did it in this way because it simply felt right to them. This course, after all, is in Africa, even if it is on the northern fringe of the continent. We read symbols according to the context we bring to them.

The woman parting the blinds was about to clean the display window of a Klamath Falls store, and I was trying to find a workable vantage point. I worked my way across the street, and noticed that the reflections of parked vehicles were almost obscuring her. I made the image anyway, and as soon as I saw it, I realized that the image was more about the symbolic meaning of the reflections, than it was about her. The chaotic jumble of reflected vehicles appear to be inside the store itself, overwhelming her in the process. Her world is one of order and system, yet she, like all of us, also must survive in a world of random chaos. That tree just outside the window is the work of nature, while the reflected chaos is the work of man. When she opens those blinds to clean the window, she sees the world as she expects to see it. Yet from our vantage point, she is beholding chaos without realizing it.

A 330-foot long covered bridge, built in 1862, crosses that Stanislaus River at Knights Ferry. I walked halfway down the length of the bridge and saw a man walking towards me. I waited for him to pass, then turned and waited again for him to reach the opening at the end of the bridge, in order to get the maximum amount of scale incongruity out of the image. I deliberately allowed the background to burn out – I wanted the man to stand out in the abstracted glare of the mid morning sun. He appears to be fleeing down a long tunnel towards that light, as if he is caught in a bad dream. The antique interior of the bridge adds context to his flight. It is as if he is being chased by time itself.

The small figure of the child clings to the towering wall of a massive museum. The wall symbolically represents the world as a child might see it: overwhelming, unyielding, and intimidating. Yet the young boy seems to test that world by throwing his weight against the wall, just as he may someday deal with the challenges of life itself. Meanwhile another child plays at the fountain in the center of the courtyard. He also seems to be symbolically testing the world as he sees it, and in his own way. Even the bright red container on the ground by an entry door plays a symbolic role here – it links the building’s doorway to the child in red, functioning as a territorial marker. It also creates a triangle linking both children to each other and to the entrance to the building.

The specter of poverty, homelessness, disease, and death hangs over every city in India. I saw it at close hand twenty years ago, and saw it again in 2008. These men were lying near the gutter just outside of our hotel. I photographed them asleep in the dust of a Jaipur street and converted the color image to black and white, making the scene appear as grim as it really was. They do not see the naked child, a member of their extended family, brandishing a pair of crossed sticks over their exhausted bodies. It almost seemed as if the child had conquered these men. I would like to think that this child might someday have a better shot at life, a chance to live in a way that has so far eluded these adult members of his family. In that way, perhaps, he may yet triumph.

The cemetery was locked, but fortunately the image I wanted to make was right in front of me, an easy shot through the bars of the entrance gate. The key symbol is the hand on the back of the tomb. It seems to beckon to us, as if, after all these years, it was waving us on to eternity. The Dutch, who ruled Cochin in the 17th century, left the bones of its shopkeepers and traders in massive tombs, as upright and stolid as the Dutch character. By converting this image to black and white, I make them blend into each other, a continuous row call of mortality.

We spent an evening and day in Cambodia's capital city. The most chilling moment came at dusk, when we visited the fields where just thirty years ago, the execution squads of Pol Pot's Khmer Rouge murdered thousands of Cambodian citizens. The monsoon rains regularly uncover human bones. This handful of bones, neatly stacked in a hollowed out tree trunk by someone who cared enough to do so, and illuminated in the warm glow of the evening sun, speaks volumes in symbolic terms. These human remains can certainly represent the nature of evil, but they could also symbolize great courage, because many of these people who died were Buddhists who publicly protested the violence in Cambodian life. The tidy piles represent honor as well – they were not left lying on the ground where they came to the surface, but rather gathered together and displayed as a memorial to those who died here. And finally there is the context for this wideangle image – the growing tree symbolizes the continuation of life, serving as an ironic shelter for the bones of those who perished here.

I first photographed this doorstop in front of a Santa Fe art gallery in 2006.

(Click on thumbnail below). I used it then as an example of layering. On my most recent visit, I photographed it again but in a different way. Instead of inviting my viewers to go inside the gallery, I build the image around the symbolism of an Indian turned into a chair, and put into the context of a poster promoting wine tasting, featuring other Indians. A heavily romanticized version of Indian culture is heavily marketed by the Santa Fe art community and this doorstop is intended to stop visitors in their tracks, and perhaps go inside to buy something. I see it as symbolizing the Indian as a sentimental, passive and mildly amusing representative of the stereotypical Old West. It transforms a personification of what once was a proudly independent culture into a clever contemporary convenience – a chair. I also see it as a metaphor for the proverbial “wooden Indian,” – a throwback to the “cigar store Indians” that once advertised cigar shops. Only here, the product becomes art and wine. This time I was able to photograph the scene in late afternoon light, adding a shadow to the scene. The shadow, slowly enveloping the wine-tasting poster, adds still another layer of symbolism to this image. The shadow replicates the shape of the Indian, but in shadow, the Indian appears as faceless as his culture -- a culture often treated as a historical artifact. Ironically, when I compare this image with my 2005 photograph, I notice that the painted Indian seems to be gradually fading away, just as the gradual erosion of American Indian tradition.

Arts festivals are always rich in symbolic content, largely because art itself is always symbolic. In this sculptor’s festival booth, I found not only a large-scale bronze mask, but also a circus full of acrobats in full flight. Using a wideangle lens, I moved very close to the small figures on the ladder and the acrobats flying through the air just behind them. The bronze acrobats contrast in both mood and meaning to the glowering large-scale mask at left. To me, the empty mask symbolizes life as a façade, while the soaring acrobats symbolize the life as the pursuit of joy and accomplishment. I bring them together within this frame, each sharing half the image. This photograph’s highly symbolic metaphorical approach is very much like life itself – we often must look past the façade to find the essence of life.

This metal sculpture rises from a sea of grass, symbolically throwing off its chains. I brought the tree into the frame as well, symbolizing a new life. The artist who made the sculpture is expressing man’s need to be free. Rene di Rosa, who collected this work of art and mounted it outside on his vast estate, surrounded by nature, to enhance it’s meaning. I use a vantage point to stress its emergence from servitude and thereby emphasize the act of freedom. By backlighting the sculpture, I show less of it in order to say more. As an abstraction, the sculpture becomes more than a piece of metal. It becomes all of us.

The canvas cover on this pool is designed to keep the water clean and wandering kids and animals out. I saw it as a canvas for symbolism. The diving board breaks into the curve of the pool, and suggests that we dive into the future. The future is symbolized by the shadow of a tree. Its darkness is mysterious, yet its outstretched limbs lead us onward. The deeper we move into this image, the darker and more impenetrable it becomes. Very much like life itself.

The Keane Wonder Mine produced a million dollars worth of gold from 1903-1916. Today, it is a Death Valley ruin, marked by rusted metal, cracked foundations and rotting wood. I saw an opportunity to make a symbolic image out of the remains of a fence post on its perimeter. It resembles a fallen crucifix, and made me think of the famous “Cross of Gold” speech by William Jennings Bryan at the 1896 Democratic National Convention in Chicago. Bryan, who wanted a US monetary system based on silver rather than gold, warned the convention “not to crucify mankind on a cross of gold.” And so I symbolize the ruins of 100-year-old gold mine with what appears to be a fallen crucifix. I give it context by photographing it upon a pile of the very rocks from which gold was once mined, and contrasting its forlorn profile to the promise of a growing plant in the foreground.

I saw this large-scale representation of the Statue of Liberty standing against a downtown Bakersfield building over a block away. As I lifted my camera, four birds exploded into flight overhead, and I made this photograph. I only had one chance at it, and was fortunate to freeze the birds in a perfect arc of flight. Once again, we have a juxtaposition of symbols that will be interpreted in various ways, depending on the context a viewer brings to this image. The statue is a symbol of liberty, as well as a national symbol. The birds could be seen as doves of peace. Seen in juxtaposition, this image could be read by some as an anti-war statement. Others might see the birds as fleeing the statue, and read the image as an expression of diminished peace hopes in a troubled world. In either case, I intend the image as a catalyst for thought, emotion, and imagination.

These storks, nesting on the ramparts on the ruins of Marrakesh’s El Badi Palace, could be a mating pair. The stork on the right tries to make itself heard, while the stork on the left will hear none of it. They stand on a nest, the home of the next generation of storks. The metaphor here extends beyond our feathered friends into the nests of married couples everywhere. When it comes to raising families, humans also must learn to listen as well as speak.

Glittering spires of copper candelabras, and the national flag flank the steps to the tomb of King Mohammed V, Morocco's most important modern ruler (1927-1961). I found a vantage point that allowed me to layer the image, placing the spires in the foreground layer and the flag in the background layer. The spires on the candelabra reflect the sun, and symbolize royal authority. The Moroccan flag is a symbol as well – its green pentagram represents Solomon’s seal – it origin dates back to the Babylonian Empire. It symbolizes the link between God and the nation. Morocco is an Islamic country, and the King is regarded as a descendant of Mohammed. In fact, virtually all aspects of a tomb – its architecture and its decoration, are associated in one way or another with symbolism. As a photographer, I try to abstract and juxtapose such symbols to intensify meaning.

A big moose on a big hill, his foreleg bent to the task, its eyes looking straight ahead makes a perfect symbol of determination. I composed the image so that the moose is plodding diagonally from the lower left hand corner towards the upper right hand corner. He has a long way to go, and he moves his great bulk slowly but steadily. The massed branches that dot the landscape reach out to greet his antlers as they move forward. To make this image, I cut my ten megapixel resolution in half, transforming my 12x zoom lens into a 17x zoom lens, which provided a focal length of nearly 600mm. I needed every bit of that reach to make the moose this large in the frame.

What appears to be an abandoned school stands alone just behind the crest of a hill. This image is a blend of the three primary colors, yellow school, navy blue sky, and reddish earth. The yellow color brings the old school house into a vivid present, a color that could be interpreted as a symbol of renewal. Because the school is so small, I do not stress its ruination – we can’t dwell on the rust on its roof and siding, or on its broken windows. Rather, I stress its isolation in space, and use the symbolism of the spunky yellow building standing alone against the ominous deep blue sky, to create a metaphorical challenge: the small school standing alone on the horizon can viewed as a school of hard knocks. Education itself can often be a tough, lonely and demanding task – and this image conveys that aspect as well.

Built in 1926, the Monte Vista Hotel’s sign dominates the skyline. It has been the symbol of Flagstaff for eighty years, and is said to be haunted. I photographed the sign from a distance, using a long 430mm focal length. The letters themselves seem to be ghostly; the neon tubes that illuminate the sign at night seem skeletal. I add still another level of symbolism by including the two flagstaffs that stand in nearby Heritage Square in my picture. They not only symbolize the country, but also echo the very name of the community.

The splintered top of a weathered post along the Columbia River just outside of Portland records the years of its former life as a tree. I found it to be as good a symbol as any for the timber industry that gives Oregon so much of its character. With my lens set for macro focusing, I was able to move in within a few inches of the old post to stress this symbolic detail.

The remnants of ancient Delphi, renowned as the dwelling place of the god Apollo, overlook the Delphic Gorge on the slopes of Mt. Parnassus. From the end of the 8th century B.C., people from all over the world came to Apollo’s great temple to ask him how to govern their lives. Apollo answered through a priestess, known as the Delphic Oracle. All roads led to these steps – the Sacred Way – an ancient path that twists and turns its way through the ruins of the place the ancient Greeks considered the center of the universe. I wanted to make a picture of the Sacred Way as more than just a road. I wanted to make an image that symbolized the unknown, the uncertainties, and the questions that drew people looking for answers to these steps for more than 1200 years. As I slowly climbed the Sacred Way very late in the afternoon, I noticed how the sun reflected off the worn marble steps. I limited the image to just six levels, and exposed for those reflections. The textures came up beautifully, and the black gaps in between each surface seemed to symbolize chasms of doubt and mystery.

When I saw this framed portrait and the old china resting on the ground of a Brussels flea market stall, I immediately regarded them as symbols. I also saw symbols within symbols, which could be compared and contrasted to each other in a photographic image to trigger the imaginations of those who will view it. The old photograph itself functions as a symbol. All photographs are actually symbolic representations of actuality. The picture is not the woman. It symbolizes her. She is long gone, but she lives on as a symbol in the old photograph, and in this one as well. Her demeanor is symbolic as well. For most of her generation, photography was a serious event, and her expression stands for the solemnity and gravity appropriate to such an occasion. It might represent her general state of mind as well. She appears to have been a stern, resolute person. The golden frame can also be seen as metaphorical, a gilded enclosure representing wealth, importance, and formality. The reflections of objects and trees on the frame’s glass can symbolize the intrusion of the present upon the past, or vice versa. It might also symbolize the natural world’s presence in human affairs. The china also becomes a metaphor when viewed next to the old photograph. These objects might have belonged to this woman, and now that she is gone, they seem abandoned and forlorn, particularly the cups that have been knocked over. Even the darkness that invades the frame can be seen as symbolic of the mysterious tone that pervades this image. Darkness represents the unknown, and there is much here that is just that. How we read, or fail to read, these symbols and metaphors will determine what this image will express to each of us.

Clouds are among the most common photographic metaphors. As far back as the 1920s, Alfred Stieglitz, the man responsible for establishing photography as a fine art, was making images of clouds as representations of the feelings within us. I saw this image of strange clouds hovering over a Bruges sunset as a metaphor for the perpetual interplay between life and death. I abstracted the old Flemish buildings, with their quaint embellishments outlined against the sky, by underexposing them. They represent the homes of those who are no longer with us. The golden sunset is a metaphor of sheer energy and vitality – symbolic of life. The clouds, particularly the largest one, are the keys to the image. They are actually not clouds at all, but contrails from jet aircraft in various stages of dissolution. They appear haunted, wispy, insubstantial and shroud-like, almost transparent. To me, they represent the dead of Bruges, particularly when juxtaposed with the blackened hulks of the houses they once lived in.

In Leiden, the town that gave us a Rembrandt, I noticed a large symbolic wall painting on the side of a building next to a construction site. Painted puppets joylessly glide across the huge wall -- a metaphor for thankless work. I see it as a group of indifferent people, dancing to the tune of their boss. They may raise their hands to their heads, but not in joy. Perhaps in confusion. The blue color symbolized the attitude they bring to their tasks. It is a somber dance, performed on an enormous scale. The fact that someone has painted it next to a construction site was not lost on me. It is a comment on work in the midst of a work place. That’s why I included the structures in my own image of it, and why I made sure those sticks of building materials are symbolically skewering the hearts of both the mural and my own photograph. I wanted my image to work as a metaphor for joyless work as well. Our time here is too precious to waste as a slave to mindless duty. The muralist seems to be asking us to reconsider how we spend our time and lives. I made my own dark-toned, semi-abstracted image to symbolically extend that message.

Under the distant gaze of a Roman dignitary, a woman checks her watch. An instant later, she left the park. The Old Roman remained. His countrymen once lived in this region. They called it Gallia Belgica. This image is all about time itself. The Roman statue symbolizes the past, the woman the present, the glance at the watch, the future. The dark forest is a metaphor for eternity, time unending. The glow of light on the ground before the woman symbolizes vitality, energy, a life to be lived and enjoyed. Her position at the end of the bench creates tension – all that space was available to her, yet she chooses a position most appropriate to a quick exit. Tension can often work as symbolism. Her body language provides a metaphor for everyday life – one arm appears to be relaxed, yet she seems to sense an obligation with the other. Some will look at this image and see only a woman in the park. But others will be willing and able to read the elements of this image as symbol and metaphor, and will supply their own interpretation of them.

The most prominent sight on the battlefield of Waterloo is a 148-foot high earthen mound topped by a huge cast iron lion. It marks the spot where the Prince of Orange, a Dutch general who was on the staff of England's Duke of Wellington, was wounded during the battle. He was but one of the nearly 50,000 who were injured or killed here on June 18, 1815. Nearly 200 years later, the Battle of Waterloo still holds a terrible fascination. This, the battle’s most prominent monument, symbolizes an extreme moment in time – a remembrance of a single day when 200,000 men dressed in a gaudy costumes, and massed in enormous ranks, marched to the beat of drums and the blare of trumpets into a hail of bullets, exploding cannon balls, flailing swords and stabbing bayonets. After this day, the political, social, and economic history of Europe would never be the same again. I intend this to be more than just a post card picture of a monument. It is also an image metaphorically representing sadness, mourning, yet also the possibility of renewal. Waterloo was a turning point in history. To create this metaphor, I waited for a huge rain cloud to nearly cover the sun so I could abstract and subdue the symbolic power of the great lion, and replace it with this dark, brooding symbol of overwhelming loss. The size of the massive rain cloud dwarfs the lion and the hill upon which it stands. Meanwhile, the sun continues to work free of the cloud cover, symbolizing the two centuries of revitalization that followed the Napoleonic wars. On steps leading to the top are two tiny figures, incongruously small as they halt for a moment of respite on their long climb to the summit. To me, they symbolize the common man, small in size yet eventually destined to rise above the servitude and tyranny of the past. In the years following the Battle of Waterloo, it would be ordinary people who would ultimately drive the engine of history, instead of the kings, bishops, nobles, and emperors.