Chris Strevens, The garden to the death house Budapest. How appropriate the position of the sun, casting them all in shadows, conspires to fit the title. This could be the place you have to go to get your schizophrenia meds prescription refilled, or perhaps to get food stamps. Verrry depressing. But then attractive in a perverse way.
Bob McCulloch, Bouys on the Rocks. This has a feel that does not at all suggest anything nautical, although they clearly are bouys. A tangled jumble of disparate shapes and colors. Somebody ought to get over there and get things organized, cleaned up. Looks like the neighborhood is going to hell.
Dan Mitchell, Still Life. I don't know if it's appropriate to mention this, but the very first thought that came to my mind was: I understand, though not from direct personal experience, that some women use cucumbers in a very intimate way, but this one--if indeed it's a cucumber--would certainly cause them distress. As for the three other things, they suggest garlic, but then on closer examination they're something else. What could they be? Don't ask me.
Klaus Knuth, Comfort in the Long Run. The frame does nothing for the image. And the out-of-focus tombstone seems at odds with the crispness of the building and sign. The interest of the image rests entirely on the fact that somebody actually put up a hotel right next to a graveyard. Which means EVERYTHING should be in focus, IMHO.
