You could say I was destined to become a photographer. Uncle Varouj believes that being an Armenian photographer in Lebanon is the most natural thing in the world, as natural as the cedar tree on the flag. ‘Armenians are photography, just as the cedar tree is Lebanon!’ he says. He taught me to trust my Read more

I was on my knees in the olive grove gathering the new olives, called jerjar, when the sudden squawk of a blackbird startled me. I looked up. It was young Zahi. His slender body skittered down the rough trail between the terraces, breaking through the dappled sunlight. He landed near me with a thud and Read more

When we walked again, Claire’s hand slipped into mine, softer than the fresh tulips glowing gently around us. I tightened my grip on her fingers, then I let go. We discovered that we had both been in Paris at the same time in sixty eight. I was stuck in a small hotel up rue Gay-Lussac Read more