The heavy wooden doors anchor every entrance of the historic building, acting as sentries that both greet and defend. I press my hand against the wood, trying to reinvent the minutes and hours and years that came before me. My mind swells at everything it has seen, an envy burns deep inside to know all that it knows. Its memory hangs in the air around it, its presence etched into the earth it stands on.
Where I Stand Sunday is an ongoing photo essay examining the different places I spend my life standing. Too often we take for granted the everyday places we spend our lives walking on. The ground we tread on has its own stories to tell. (You can view Year One of the project here and the gallery for this year here.)