It begins in a specific place, and on a specific date: a country auction. March 26th. While I’m holding up a camera and looking for my one daily photograph, an Amish man swings the mirror he’s offering up to the highest bidder and briefly —for no more than a second— shows me… myself. And there it was: suddenly, I was Narcissus on the plains. So began a Spring of self-loathing. I don’t tend to like what I see. Editor’s note: In what has become a year-end PetaPixel tradition, photographic artist B.A. Van Sise—who has the unusual practice of making one,...
Monitoring Antisemitism Intel
