A series of books exploring remembrance, nature and self-discovery.
Years ago, during a cross country driving trip to a writing fellowship Robbie Kaye drove through Bryce Canyon, leaving it, in awe. She left the canyon and passed a large white cross standing on the hill of the median. In big black letters it read, “Saturday Warrior.”
Mesmerized by the sight of that cross, she continued on the highway for several miles and then a feeling came over her. The intrigue was too strong, and she had to turn around and go back for this hauntingly beautiful marking.
Every time I took a photograph of these trees it allowed me to study them, to focus in closer and my connection grew deeper. Separated by barbed wire like a Rembrandt cordoned off from the public, I often refer to this place as the ‘tree museum.’ This particular ‘tree museum’ is different than the ones I knew on the east coast. I used to take drives from NYC up to Nyack or Westchester to see the Autumn trees in all their regalia.
In 2011, when iPhone selfies were on the rise, Robbie Kaye stood in front of her bedroom mirror, poised to take a photograph of herself. She noticed a crack on the bottom left corner. “I can’t take this picture,” was her first reaction. The mirror wasn’t perfect. She took the photograph anyway.