Sharona Jacobs
The Boston Author Project
Steve Almond, 2012
Archival Digital Pigment Print
26 x 36 inches

Steve is as he writes; funny, risk-taking, obsessed with words and music, constantly on the move. The shoot was in Steve's attic on a 90-degree sweltering day, surrounded by the detritus of Steve's traveling lifestyle and the firing of my strobes. And somehow, it was just perfect; it was so Steve. I call this my "hot sweaty author" shot.


I Want to Buy the Guy a Drink Who

In the dead of a scowling New York January spots my great aunt Meta on 64th and Central Park West, a bent branch in cashmere and European poise staring doubtfully at the icy crosswalk and who, this guy, some handsome young fellow on his way to a bar with friends to drink turns back, races across the street, takes her arm in his and escorts her to the other side, the two of them leaning in, walking slowly, not unhappily, somewhat sexily in the voluntary lingering of what youth knows of what it is to be old, and moreso: after sheparding her under the awning of the restaurant where she will dine, he turns back, in front of all his friends, shoots a slyboots grin and says: Can I have your number? so that all Meta can do is smile and shyly demur in her humming Rhineland accent, an accent as rich as pot roast simmered for hours and delicate and beautiful, this moment, one for the ages, one to make us young again, all of us, and foolishly hopeful, as in love.

Steve Almond

Sharona Jacobs
The Boston Author Project
Mako Yoshikawa, 2014
Archival Digital Pigment Print
26 x 36 inches

Though Mako's home is a visual feast of full-grown trees and indoor bonsai gardens, and I certainly photographed many beautiful environmental portraits of Mako within her space, this quiet and contemplative image called to me most, as it seemed like one of the most true photographs of the session. Mako is framed by darkness and her luxurious mass of hair as her animated, finely boned face picks up reflected light, the background transitioning from shadow to brightness.
 

      When I drove my sisters back to town from the lawyer’s three days after our father’s death, it took a while for us to arrive at the subject of his women. The lawyer had given us a rundown on the will—no surprises, 20 percent to each of us, a little more to his final companion and a little less to his two stepdaughters from his second marriage. We knew that his estate, which included a parking lot in a commercial district in Tokyo as well as a summerhouse near Mount Fuji, was considerable. Yet none of us had any idea where
the right documents were, and for some time our conversation shuttled from where to look for them to what kind of service to hold to how to clear the house of its clutter to when to see the body and how best to lay it to rest.
      At last we grew quiet. We were tired, still jolted from the call that had yanked us from our lives.
      My older sister broke the silence. “Out of all those girlfriends and wives,” she said, “out of all the women he had, who did he love the most?”
 

Mako Yoshikawa
Excerpted from “My Father’s Women”
Best American Essays 2013 

Sharona Jacobs
The Boston Author Project
Pablo Medina, 2013
Archival Digital Pigment Print
26 x 36 inches

Every time I enter an author's chosen space to photograph, I'm visually thinking about what spaces will best convey both the writer's work, and character of the writer. Pablo's beautiful home leads into a tight spiral stairway, which I intentionally left dark. We climbed to the bottom, and I crouched, shooting slightly up, and framed Pablo's face with just a pop of light, conveying Pablo's kind, introspective nature as well the beautiful planes and texture of his face.

The Alphabet of Possibility

The intersection of x and y
is a convergence, a trigonometry

where z stretches into another state
(lines move that way),

trembling magnetic string between
the cities of the heart and mind—

that ancient strife. The world
though infinite is round (Columbus round)

and trite. The physics of attraction
(more powerful than duty or distraction)

predict that x and y will meet again and z,
like an arrow through the page,

move inward to an equal
but opposite alphabet of possibility.

Pablo Medina