Word: photographs
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Dates: during 2000-2009
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...Gazing now at a 150-year-old ambrotype photograph of her convict forebear, Upfold sounds proud and protective. She will not brook any suggestion that Anne Dunne was other than a brave soul who endured a myriad of hardships while at the female factory in the settlement of Parramatta, now a commercial center in western Sydney. Dunne eventually married a lifer named James Tompkins and experienced, Upfold speculates, times of joy in a land where she chose to live out her post-convict years. "In life, you've got to go forward," Upfold says...
...wounds healed, he and seven other gang members are sitting in a muddy backyard behind an empty house. The homeboy who lives there with his mother is a crackhead who has pawned off everything in the house except for a photograph on the wall of his runaway father...
...some ways, Don's life is as phony as a stock photograph. Unloved as a child, he may never know how to love, though he's learned the gestures. Yet looking at his compromised memories, he wells up, and so do we, even as we know we're being sold. The Kodak suits want to focus on their machine's technology. Don argues that its true pull is emotional. "In Greek," Don says, "nostalgia literally means 'the pain from an old wound...
...shown kissing Jeffs is a stepdaughter of Carolyn Jessop, whose book Escape details her flight from the FLDS. Married at 18 to 50-year-old Merrill Jessop - now the 72-year-old leader at the YFZ Ranch - she said one of her daughters had a recent conversation about the photograph with her half brother who still lives at the ranch. "What's wrong with it?" the boy asked. "There is a lot of denial," Carolyn Jessop says, and Jeffs still commands loyalty despite his imprisonment. Jeffs moved the FLDS "aristocracy" to Texas, Jessop says, and little girls were given great...
...thousand bullet holes. On through Phu Bai, gone back now to rice paddies and oxen and lacerating elephant grass. Next, lovely old Hue; there the monks have enshrined the Austin that in 1963 carried one of their number to what was then Saigon, where he immolated himself (a photograph of the fiery moment was stuck on the grille). Then out on the Perfume River in a rented boat so busily tarted up that it resembled nothing so much as spaghetti Bolognese. The Lurp, a little sorry hooch in his belly, loosened up. ''Yeah, I saw Mr. Bob Hope. They came...