Dharmic Light

08/09/2026

The new home of the Buffalo Bills was looking pretty impressive in it's debut tonight. Fireworks from the debris pit of the old Ralph was a nice way to make the transition into the future.

08/03/2026

America After Hours

03/19/2026

@ 3/14/26

02/21/2026

https://www.rollingstone.com/music/music-features/bob-weir-photographers-jay-blakeberg-rosie-mcgee-1235515262/

Photographers Jay Blakesberg, Bob Minkin, Danny Clinch, and Rosie McGee remember photographing Grateful Dead co-founder Bob Weir

01/22/2026

Midnight light and muffled footsteps in the Village of Hamburg. Finding the stillness in the center of the storm.

01/03/2026

No corporate bu****it - Remembering Woodstock '89

There is a profound metaphysical argument that a specific plot of earth can retain the psychic resonance of the events that transpired upon it. Certain landscapes do more than just hold space; they evoke a visceral, spiritual significance that lingers long after the crowds have dispersed. For many, the rolling hills of Bethel, New York, are an example of that phenomenon.

​In August 1989, that resonance was reclaimed. This was the 20th anniversary of Woodstock as it was meant to be: a spontaneous, grassroots convergence of souls that existed entirely outside the machinery of the corporate music industry.

​I look at these images and see a version of myself that feels like a lifetime ago, fu***ng young, wide-eyed, and completely immersed in the raw energy of the moment. These scenes were captured by my mother, Linda Miklasz, who was there in the mud with me, documenting a pilgrimage that was as much a spiritual homecoming as it was a musical one.

​At the time, the site remained in its most honest state. This was years before a corporate amphitheater or a polished museum stood on the ridge. There were no turnstiles, no gift shops, and no gates. The only architecture was the land itself, punctuated by a solitary, modest historical marker that stands as a silent witness in these photos.

​Our experience was rooted in the literal geography of the counterculture; we car-camped on the exact footprint of the original 1969 stage. There is a Dharmic weight to sleeping on the very soil where the air once vibrated with a collective prayer for peace. We weren't just visiting a historical site; we were participating in a living history that proved the spirit of the Woodstock Nation belonged to the people, not a brand. 🕊️✨

​📸: Linda Porter

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12/30/2025

Before the wind started screaming and the heavy snow buried us, there was this brief, damn near spiritual window of time where the world just stopped.

The ice wasn't destructive yet; it was art. It coated everything in a layer of perfect glass. The woods were dead silent; no birds, no rustling, just this suspended animation.
It felt like nature was taking a deep breath, holding it, and letting us admire the stillness for a second.

Of course, a few hours later, the weather turned absolutely brutal. The wind howled and the snow blinded everything. But in this moment? It was pure, frozen fu***ng magic.

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12/22/2025

The Ghost at Third Base. 🏟️🏗️

​1986, I stood on the corner of Ellicott and Douglass, my camera aimed at a building whose fate was sealed.

​The L.A. Woolley Building wasn’t an architectural marvel. It was a three-story workhorse of soot-stained brick, built in 1916 to house the electrical supplies that literally wired Buffalo’s industrial peak. It had the quiet dignity of a structure that knew its job and did it well for seventy years.

​Today, that corner has been wiped from the map. Douglass Street was demapped. Ellicott was re-engineered. If you stand at 73 Ellicott Street today, you’re standing near third base at Sahlen Field. Where the smell of ozone and the crate-thud of commerce once lived, there is now only the crack of a bat and the roar of the Bisons crowd.

​Progress in Buffalo has always worn a heavy, sometimes ruthless, uniform.

​These photos were a professional commission; the owner wanted the building documented before the wrecking ball arrived. When you’re tasked with capturing the "last" of anything, your eye changes. You stop looking for light and start looking for ghosts. You listen to the walls hold their breath.

​Buffalo knows this ritual of loss: the Larkin Building, the Aud, the thinning of entire neighborhoods in the name of "renewal." We trade our soul for a better view of the horizon, leaving a dull ache behind.

​The Woolley Building was a practical assembly of brick and glass, a nervous system for a city that believed in its own permanence. The building fell, but the name traveled; L.A. Woolley still operates today on Tifft Street.

​These frames aren't a protest; they’re an acknowledgment. A reminder that cities are living organisms, constantly shedding their skin. If you look closely at these photos, you might still hear the echo: the scrape of a boot, the hum of inventory, the patient silence of a building waiting for its final assignment.

​Light catches what it can. Memory does the rest.

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