I got accepted for another exhibit- the “Dreams” exhibition in a gallery in Tucson. I also sold this image, entitled War, just two weeks ago. It is part of a mini-series of three called War, Peace, and Refugee. I also submitted this series to the UN for licensing. It’s a long shot, but I would love to have images there after working with refugees in the US and other countries.

This image reminds me of something I saw on a French news station covering the war in Ukraine. A young mother carrying her baby was helping her mother in the line to enter Poland. Just as they approached the front of the line, she handed the baby to her mother and turned around. She was heading back to fight, but first, she protected her loved ones.

Price: $300. Please get in touch with me at rithafellerman@gmail.com if you want to purchase this print. Could you buy an image and keep me afloat?

Morning Routine

I need routine, to be active, to learn, and to be creative. These are my vaccines for depression. My morning routine goes something like this. The cat bats my nose, if that doesn’t work, she jumps on me. I pet the cat and talk to her, make the bed (she helps), feed the cat, do chores while the coffee is brewing, and take a cup up to the funky roof garden with the cat tagging behind. We soak up some sun. I flip through old Sunset Magazines.

Lately I’ve been wondering if it might not be time to settle down in a small town in the Southwest and have a garden, provided, of course, that I don’t die of the pandemic here in Mexico.

While I mull this over, the cat chases bugs.

Then we put on music (the cat likes Atomic Kitten) and run around the house. Sometimes I chase the cat, sometime she chases me. She is nearly a teenager. Her legs are impossibly long, but her body hasn’t caught up yet. She reminds me of a small shack on stilts in a Louisiana bayou.

Around and around we go. The cat tracks around corners, leaning into it like a biker. Yesterday, she spun out and ended up facing the opposite direction. She was clearly confused as to how I had disappeared without a trace. I clicked my tongue. She jumped straight up and executed one of those mid-air cork-screw turns cats and skaters do so well. I turned and ran.

Around and around.

When one of use throws in the flag, I go online while the cat goes back to sleep at the foot of the closet – her current favorite hidey hole. Clearly, sleeping most of the day does not cause depression in felines.

Afterward, there is no structure. It’s like that Chinese juggling act with plates on the top of bamboo poles; whatever plate is about to fall off gets a twirl. Occasionally, a plate comes crashing to the floor and breaks into pieces, making me cuss like a Marine while the cat looks on disapprovingly.

Headed To Europe and North Africa

Image may contain: one or more people, people standing, child and outdoor

In Mexico City, leaving for Spain and North Africa tonight. Carrying a 70-200mm 1.8 telephoto lens, a 24 -120mm 1.4, a 35 mm 1.8, a 50mm 1.8, a speedlight, a reflector, and a tripod, plus a couple of t-shirts, two pairs of pants and boots. The hotel is in the center of the camera district – going to look for a meter and shoot-through softbox this morning.

Eight days of 4-hour sleep. I got everything done, though, including a class on lighting by Jose Luis Uribe (AWESOME) and two photoshoots. My survey is completed for my new client and we are now in test mode. Also, got two photos accepted in another show. Yeah, baby!

Dance Like the Wind

This is the second of five submissions I made to the Gallery for the upcoming exhibition.

The backstory follows, in both English and Spanish.

tango feet

Dance Like the Wind

Like a painter, she drew filigrees of ochos in her red shoes. “Close your eyes and dance with me,” he commanded. She obeyed, surrendering to his desire.  With her eyes shut, she listened to his body with her body. Something moved in the space between them.  Then, in a breathtaking flurry of steps, they crossed the floor, swept by music like surfers on a wave.

This is the passion of tango.


Bailar Como El Viento

Como una pintora, ella dibujaba filigranas con sus zapatos rojos. “Cierra tus ojos y baila

conmigo.” Le ordenó él. Ella obedeció, rindiéndose a su deseo. Con los ojos cerrados,

oyó el lenguaje de sus dos cuerpos. Algo se movió en el espacio entre ellos. Luego, en

una asombrosa ráfaga de pasos, cruzaron el piso barridos por la música como surfistas

en una ola.


Esta es la pasión del tango.

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