Author Archives: BobHill

Film Capsule: How Much Does Your Building Weigh, Mr. Foster?

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“Sometimes I think I see things [other people] don’t.”

So says Norman Foster, whose iconic structures have redefined the very boundaries of modern architecture. Foster, who is now in his mid-70s, helped spearhead the Post-Formalist movement back in the early 80s and 90s, and he continues to be a guiding force today. Much like Ieoh Ming Pei and Vincent Scully before him, Foster views free-standing structures as a progressive reflection of the time and space they inhabit – cultural totems that are much more indicative of where a civilization is headed than where it has been.  Continue reading →

Zoe Strauss: A Decade in the Making

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Zoe Strauss arrived at the press preview for her Ten Years installation at the Philadelphia Museum of Art yesterday sleepy-eyed, yet buoyant – her gray hoodie and blue jeans a welcome contrast to the roving sea of cotton Dockers and tweed milling about the place.

Zoe Strauss came as she was. Nothing more. Nothing less. She came as the unassuming kid from the northeast who acted on an impulse to develop an installation underneath the beams of I-95 a little over 10 years ago. She came as the friendly neighborhood photog … an ambitious young storyteller who possessed the rare combination of guts and compassion necessary to wander into some of the city’s deepest pockets; to capture her subjects in that fleeting moment between spontaneous and staged; to befriend and document the travails of everyday people who had somehow managed to fall between the cracks.  Continue reading →

Flash Fiction: Baked Goods

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Angie Thompson did not work on Friday nights.

Danny Petzak knew this about her. Danny Petzak knew several things about Angie Thompson.

He knew she enjoyed crossword puzzles and snacking on pecans. He knew she had an aqua broach that she only wore with her matching mohair sweater. He knew the first thing she did when she arrived at the bakery every night was hang her denim jacket on a three-inch nail, located just beyond the swinging doors.

Danny knew all of Angie’s shirts were frayed at the cuff, that she rarely wore shoes behind the counter, that when the bakery wasn’t busy, she’d stare out the display window for hours at a time. He knew she watched reruns of Seinfeld every night at six-thirty, The Simpsons at seven, and Seinfeld again at seven-thirty. He knew Angie Thompson sang to herself when she thought no one else was listening, that she had difficulty lifting Hefty bags into the back alley dumpster, that once a week she’d wander across the street to the A-Plus Mini Market to buy a handful of Tootsie Rolls.  Continue reading →