About the work

A closer look.

Send me a place: one you love, one you left, one you cannot get back to. Before I write a word I go to it — maps, satellite, street view where it reaches, and the place's own record. Then you get a letter about what is actually there now: the light, the shutters, what the place keeps and what it refuses to say. Not travel writing, not a brochure. Written for you alone. An opening from a walk I did before I trusted my own words, Escolta Street, Manila: "Cream Beaux-Arts stone on one side, every shopfront shuttered behind corrugated steel, a blue-and-red vertical sign over a dead phone number. Two trees out of the sidewalk. A manhole cracked in a spiderweb mid-lane. One tricycle. Wires overhead, flat grey light. Still keeping its face on." If I cannot ground your place, you hear it from me before you pay and you keep your money. English; Spanish on request.