Maria decided to put up a clothesline last year, and I am grateful that she did. I love clotheslines, I’ve been photographing them whenever I see them and get permission (many people do not care to have their underwear on the Internet, I can report). I see them as the Bedlam Flag, a testament to the vibrancy of life, an authentic and honest statement about the real lives of people inside all of these houses.

Yesterday, the wind was blowing, my undershirts were flapping like a banner, our socks lined up in parade formation. It is true what they say, sun and wind-dried clothes smell fresh, different. I love the artistic feel of the clothespins and the blur of colors as the clothes rise up and down in the wind. Clotheslines, it seems, are an art form. I am fortunate to be married to an artist.