i wanted this to be about borders, or transitions, or negative space, or corridors, or striving, or something a little bit fancy and artistic, but after watching a recent documentary about local native son f. scott fitsgerald, all i can see in this photo is his somewhat sad, very fashionable and crisp, 1920s center part. i’m not proud of this. he wrote the great american novel, for crying out loud, and here i am remembering the man for the way he combed his hair.

twigs arranged

saint paul, minnesota