Henri Cartier-BressonLens sharp beneath his gray coat,he trots nervously across the open white of squares and circles, courses down the edge of black arteries, continuously scanning the full range of the city for those rare, transient coincidences of light and geometry when faces transcend their features and the bones of archetype poke through. Then, in spontaneous reflex, the Leica glints in the sun, the aperture narrows, and he snaps another head at the precise instant it becomes one of those strangers we have all known forever. Winslow Homer: The End of the Hunt: 1892Followingtheir dying scent, Homer searched for his family through pale yellow decades among alien benefactors and lone watermen, until finally a fresh spoor led him through thickening wilderness to the Adirondacks, where with the intense clarity of suddenness he saw them, triumphant, floating in grace on the blue water through the black woods, men and dogs at rest in the blood red kinship of the hunt. |  |
