In the uneasy summer of 2002, New York City existed in a fragile equilibrium. The chaos and destruction of September 11 still lingered tangibly in the air—physically through the remaining debris and emotionally through the collective psyche of its people. Yet, signs of revival had begun to appear. Subway platforms were packed again. Street performers returned to Central Park. Families wandered through markets, cautious yet hopeful. Amid this blend of sorrow and strength arrived a young Lucas Foglia, just 19, newly settled from a pastoral upbringing on Long Island into the complicated rhythm of Manhattan.
Rather than standing back and observing the city from afar, Foglia immersed himself in it. He walked, listened, engaged, and—most significantly—photographed. Over the course of that summer, what started as a spontaneous documentation effort evolved into something profoundly intimate: a series of portraits that would eventually form the heart of his poignant monograph Summer After. Marking the twentieth anniversary of 9/11, this collection revisits not the collapse itself, but the subtle, deeply human process of rising afterward.
Rooted in Renewal: A City’s Grief Becomes a Catalyst for Connection
In the summer of 2002, New York City bore the weight of collective grief. The skyline had changed forever, but so had the lives of its residents. The devastation of 9/11 was not just physical—it had unraveled a sense of certainty, a belief in normalcy. Still, in the spaces left behind by destruction, something quieter and more profound began to take root: a desire to rebuild, not just structures but spirit. It was in this crucible of recovery and reflection that Lucas Foglia, then a 19-year-old recent transplant from Long Island, began his journey into the heart of a city both broken and blooming.
Unlike those who sought to document tragedy in dramatic forms, Foglia entered the city with a radically different perspective. He had no interest in sensationalism. His purpose was grounded in nuance and empathy, in the ordinary details of people’s lives that rarely make headlines. He wandered not as a passive observer, but as an engaged participant, seeking out raw, unfiltered glimpses into the soul of New York. His lens was not trained on ruins or monuments, but on faces—faces that embodied both sorrow and strength.
This deeply human approach would become the foundation of his landmark body of work, Summer After, a collection of portraits that captures not a single moment in time, but an emotional terrain that remains relevant two decades later. Through these intimate images, Foglia provides an invitation into the city's healing, not through grand gestures, but through quiet resilience.
The Unexpected Duality of a Healing Metropolis
Every corner of New York during that summer pulsed with contradiction. In one street, families celebrated with music and laughter, flags waving in spirited defiance. Just blocks away, silence settled like a veil over groups of mourners or solitary individuals lost in thought. This juxtaposition—hope and heartache, celebration and sorrow—defined the city’s collective experience.
Foglia captured these contrasts not by staging scenes but by immersing himself fully in them. From the bustling avenues of Queens to the quieter neighborhoods of Staten Island, he sought moments that revealed the city’s complex emotional layers. In his own words, “There were joyous parades, spontaneous performances, children playing in hydrants—and right next to that, moments of silence where you could feel the grief hanging in the air.”
By refusing to reduce his subjects to archetypes, Foglia gave room for contradictions to breathe. A child laughing at a street fair might have a mother who lost a co-worker in the towers. An elderly man waving a flag might do so in memory of a fallen friend. These were not mere symbols of resilience; they were individuals navigating a confusing landscape of healing, struggling to preserve their identity amid a city that had been irrevocably altered.
What made Foglia’s work distinctive was not just who he photographed, but how he approached them. He did not impose a narrative or seek to dramatize their pain. Instead, he allowed them to simply exist as they were—in flux, in recovery, in search of continuity. His portraits speak in quiet tones, yet they echo powerfully with emotional clarity.
A Search for Emotional Truth Across the Boroughs
Lucas Foglia did not set out with a rigid plan or checklist. His method was as intuitive as it was immersive. He roamed the streets of New York’s five boroughs, not looking for scenes to exploit, but for connections to build. Eye contact was his threshold—if a person met his gaze, that moment often sparked an exchange. Sometimes it led to a conversation; other times, it became a photograph.
In each borough, the tone was subtly different. In Manhattan, there was a determined energy, a collective need to move forward. In Queens, diverse immigrant communities navigated the added complexity of racial profiling and discrimination. In Brooklyn, neighborhoods were split between pride and paranoia, depending on who you asked. Foglia did not shy away from these nuances—instead, he embraced them as vital threads in the city’s post-9/11 identity.
One of the most affecting encounters came during the Pakistan Day Parade, where Foglia met Abu Huraira and his father, Afzal. Their portrait, composed with quiet dignity, tells a story far beyond the frame. Abu later shared, “We were grouped in with the perpetrators, even though my father was just a taxi driver who happened to be heading away from the towers that morning. But we never stopped loving this country.” That simple statement reflects the internal conflict many New Yorkers faced—loyalty tangled with alienation, grief wrapped in identity.
These testimonies—visual and verbal—became the heartbeat of Summer After. They reveal a truth that transcends political rhetoric or media cycles: that healing is not uniform, and that strength often looks like small acts of perseverance. Foglia’s commitment to truth, empathy, and nuance ensures that the project is not just archival, but enduring.
Beyond Survival: Unveiling the Architecture of Hope
Foglia’s work is not simply a reflection of the past—it’s an exploration of how communities regenerate. In the shadows of what was lost, he uncovered what endured: relationships, memories, rituals, and resistance. He found that hope was not some distant aspiration but a structure people were quietly building every day.
Each photograph is layered with subtle cues that speak to this process of reconstruction. A family holding hands in Flushing Meadows Park. A musician playing at a subway entrance, drawing a hesitant crowd. A group of teenagers sitting on a stoop, talking about a future that still felt uncertain but worth dreaming about. These moments may seem ordinary, but in Foglia’s framing, they take on extraordinary resonance.
What also emerges from Summer After is the realization that a city does not heal from the top down. While government officials made statements and media outlets covered formal commemorations, real recovery happened in living rooms, street corners, places of worship, and public parks. It happened in shared meals, open conversations, and quiet acknowledgments between neighbors. Foglia’s images document this grassroots healing process, capturing not slogans, but stories.
There is a visual humility to his portraits that underscores their emotional honesty. His use of a medium-format camera required physical closeness, and that intimacy is palpable. These are not photos taken from across the street—they’re face-to-face, rooted in real moments. And in a world increasingly saturated with curated images, this authenticity offers a welcome contrast.
Ultimately, Summer After is not a story of tragedy, but of tenacity. It reminds us that even in the aftermath of unimaginable loss, people still find ways to connect, to create meaning, and to carry each other forward. It’s a timeless meditation on the capacity of human beings to adapt without losing their essence, to mourn without surrendering their joy, and to find renewal not in forgetting, but in remembering differently.
Humanizing Strangers: The Unexpected Power of Eye Contact
In the days, weeks, and months following September 11, 2001, New York City underwent a transformation unlike anything in its modern history. What had once been a city of ceaseless momentum was suddenly paused by an invisible weight of collective trauma. Suspicion shadowed interactions. Crowds grew quieter. Strangers kept their distance, often physically, emotionally, and psychologically. It was within this charged and cautious environment that Lucas Foglia began quietly approaching individuals on the city’s streets—not with grand ideas or loaded questions, but with one simple human gesture: a shared glance.
Foglia’s approach was disarmingly minimal. He carried his camera not as an instrument of surveillance or spectacle, but as a tool of connection. He would walk through different neighborhoods in New York’s five boroughs, letting the rhythm of the city lead him, paying close attention not just to his surroundings but to the people within them. His signal to engage was singular and powerful—eye contact.
In a moment where fear had created psychological barriers, the act of looking someone in the eye became a quiet act of resistance. It was an invitation, a sign of mutual acknowledgment, a bridge between solitude and solidarity. Foglia explained, “I made a point to only approach people who met my eyes. It was never about catching people off guard or imposing my vision. That eye contact—it was mutual permission, mutual curiosity.”
What resulted from this method wasn’t simply documentation. These portraits emerged as ephemeral partnerships—temporary, profound agreements between two people to stop, connect, and preserve a moment of vulnerability. In a city full of noise and haste, these images carried a remarkable stillness.
The Intimacy of Mutual Recognition in Urban Space
Foglia’s insistence on organic, unspoken rapport redefined how intimacy could be built in public spaces. In a metropolis of over eight million people, anonymity is easy. Most pass each other without acknowledgment, consumed by personal errands, obligations, or emotional fatigue. In the post-9/11 era, this tendency intensified. People avoided confrontation, sidestepped vulnerability, and protected themselves through emotional distancing.
But Foglia’s work interrupted this flow. By choosing to only photograph those who looked back at him, he created a process of selection based not on physical features or dramatic context but on shared attention. There was no forced participation. Each subject was, in that instant, an equal collaborator in their portrayal.
The quietude in Foglia’s portraits is striking. You don’t see people posing. You see them existing, sometimes cautiously, sometimes with warmth, but always honestly. This authenticity is what gives Summer After its timeless relevance. The photographs don’t seek to impose narratives; they allow stories to unfold naturally from presence alone.
For those familiar with urban life, this method feels almost subversive. Cities condition people to move quickly, to shield their emotions, to keep to themselves. Foglia’s portraits gently resist that impulse. They remind us that even amidst chaos, we remain capable of forging subtle, sincere human moments.
A Story Within a Glance: Trauma, Memory, and Expression
Among the many subjects who paused for Foglia’s lens, some shared not only their image but also their voice. One such person was Desiree, whose recollection remains one of the most haunting stories within the project. She remembered being in elementary school on the morning of 9/11. While looking out her classroom window, she saw the plane strike the tower. Alarmed and panicked, she began to scream alongside another classmate. But instead of being believed, they were dismissed. “Our teacher thought we were being disruptive,” she recalled. “She never even turned around.”
Desiree’s memory is a testament to the silent wounds left by traumatic events. Not all pain is explosive. Sometimes it resides in disbelief, in isolation, in not being heard when it matters most. Her story illustrates the deeper function of Foglia’s work: not just to show faces, but to reveal the layered realities behind them.
In many of his portraits, you can sense this layered emotional landscape. Some eyes hold quiet sorrow; others seem to search for connection or clarity. These are not expressions crafted for the camera—they are unfiltered reflections of the inner world.
What makes these moments so compelling is the trust required to share them. And trust, in a post-crisis society, is a scarce and fragile thing. That Foglia was able to cultivate it through so subtle a gesture as eye contact speaks to the enduring human need for visibility—for the validation of simply being seen.
Visual Testimonies of a City Relearning Connection
The significance of Foglia’s work lies not only in the emotional candor it captures, but in what it suggests about community and recovery. After a collective trauma, societies often struggle to restore faith in their social fabric. Suspicion grows; empathy recedes. But Foglia’s portraits push back against this drift. They suggest that the process of reconnection begins not with speeches or slogans, but with individuals quietly choosing to be open to one another.
Each photograph in Summer After stands as a visual testimony—a record of not just who lived in the city that year, but how they endured, how they coped, and how they carried on. These aren’t abstract portraits of "New Yorkers" as a monolith. They are deeply specific, each rooted in a unique moment of exchange.
It’s easy to overlook how rare such honest moments have become in modern life, where even spontaneous interactions are often filtered through digital devices or social scripts. Foglia's work reminds us that there is still immense power in human presence, and that eye contact—a fleeting, primal gesture—can break through barriers where words fail.
By choosing such a method, Foglia not only elevated the integrity of his subjects, but also revitalized an endangered form of human interaction. He didn’t chase conflict or aestheticize pain. He simply paid attention, waited for connection, and then preserved it in a single frame.
This form of storytelling resonates across time because it’s anchored in truth. It doesn't try to manufacture emotion—it reveals it. And in doing so, it offers something rare in both art and life: sincere representation.
Dignity in Diversity: Amplifying Voices Often Overlooked
When Lucas Foglia embarked on his Summer After project during the emotionally charged summer of 2002, he did so with an instinctive understanding of New York City’s layered social fabric. The metropolis was not just mourning the events of 9/11; it was undergoing a subtle yet seismic shift in how its people perceived one another. In the wake of tragedy, communities already marginalized found themselves under increased scrutiny, suspicion, and in many cases, outright hostility. Foglia chose to position his lens not toward the towering symbols of the event, but toward the human stories that so often remained invisible—stories that resonated in the silences between news headlines, in the lived experiences of those who bore the compounded weight of grief and discrimination.
Rather than privileging any singular demographic or community, Foglia approached his subjects with a consistent ethic of equity and respect. New York, with its dynamic convergence of ethnicities, languages, religions, and socioeconomic identities, offered him an expansive field of experience to witness. But the magic of Summer After lies not in the breadth of its representation, but in the depth with which it honors each individual. Every face, every frame, is treated as a world unto itself—deserving of focus, time, and care.
In a culture often eager to reduce people to labels or flatten complex identities into digestible narratives, Foglia’s work is a quiet rebellion. His camera resists simplification. It listens more than it speaks. It chooses nuance over noise. And in doing so, it amplifies voices that history might otherwise have passed over in silence.
Confronting Prejudice Through the Power of Personal Narrative
Among the many subjects Foglia encountered, few stories underscore his approach better than that of Abu Huraira and his father Afzal. Both are Pakistani Americans who lived in Queens and experienced the sharp sting of Islamophobia after 9/11. Despite having no connection to the attacks—Afzal was, in fact, driving a passenger away from Lower Manhattan when the towers were hit—they became targets of suspicion simply because of their faith and heritage.
Their portrait is serene, almost understated. Father and son stand side by side, their expressions calm but resilient. There is no theatricality in their posture, no attempt to dramatize their pain. But behind that image lies a profound duality. “We were lumped together with the people who caused the destruction,” Abu recalled. “But we’ve always loved this country. Always believed in it.”
This paradox—alienation juxtaposed with patriotism—embodies the kind of emotional and cultural contradiction that many Americans of Middle Eastern or South Asian descent had to navigate during that time. Foglia’s decision to include their story wasn’t just an act of visual inclusion. It was a reclamation of narrative space. By offering them a platform free from prejudice or preconception, he affirmed their place within the broader American story—not as suspects or strangers, but as citizens and contributors, as fathers and sons.
These nuanced portraits challenge audiences to reconsider what it means to belong, especially in a nation where identity can be weaponized. Foglia's work encourages reflection rather than reaction, empathy rather than assumption. It calls upon viewers to engage not with fear, but with understanding.
Celebrating Complexity in Everyday Identity
Throughout Summer After, what becomes increasingly evident is Foglia’s refusal to frame diversity as a backdrop or statistical detail. For him, diversity is not an aesthetic choice—it is the narrative heart of the city. Each person he photographed was approached on their own terms, invited to share a piece of their reality without expectation or condition.
Whether it was a Jamaican grandmother seated proudly in a Harlem courtyard, a Dominican teenager preparing for her quinceañera, or a Hasidic father walking with his son near Williamsburg, Foglia captured people in their element. He didn’t alter their environments or sanitize their appearances. He let their lives speak through gestures, clothing, glances, and light.
This authenticity is especially important in a post-crisis urban context. After an event as polarizing and traumatic as 9/11, there is a tendency for dominant narratives to consolidate around easily recognizable figures—the first responder, the Wall Street professional, the mourning spouse. While these are undeniably valid experiences, they do not encompass the full spectrum of the city’s reality.
Foglia's portraits expand that scope. They highlight the school janitor, the bodega owner, the undocumented worker, the street performer, the child of immigrants. In doing so, he restores dignity to lives that the media often ignores. Each subject is a testament to the idea that no one person owns the narrative of New York’s resilience. It belongs to all who endured, regardless of whether they were seen on television or not.
Honoring Invisible Histories in Public Memory
What Summer After accomplishes, more than anything, is a reframing of who we include in our collective memory. Public monuments may capture the heroism of a few, but Foglia’s portraits document the quiet perseverance of the many. They remind us that public memory is not solely constructed through ceremonies and memorials, but also through everyday acts of survival, kindness, and community care.
In many ways, his work serves as a visual archive of lived histories that risk erasure. Without being performative, the portraits demand recognition for the breadth of human emotion and cultural heritage that converged in post-9/11 New York. They ask viewers to look not just with their eyes, but with context—understanding that each image is anchored in a unique set of historical and emotional truths.
This commitment to honoring invisible histories is what sets Summer After apart from traditional forms of documentary work. Foglia doesn’t present people as subjects to be studied, but as collaborators in remembrance. The city, through his eyes, is not a monolith. It is a living organism composed of voices—some loud, some soft, all significant.
By amplifying these voices, especially those often sidelined in mainstream narratives, Foglia offers a vision of inclusivity that is both radical and restorative. His work tells us that dignity does not have to be earned through exceptionalism; it can simply be acknowledged in everyday life. And perhaps that is the greatest act of justice a visual storyteller can perform.
The Evolution of a Storyteller: From Youthful Curiosity to Mature Vision
Lucas Foglia’s creative journey began at the confluence of timing, place, and personal conviction. In 2002, the emotional gravity of a recovering New York City met the wide-eyed ambition of a young man freshly moved from a Long Island farm. That summer became more than a season of artistic experimentation—it evolved into a rite of passage. With Summer After, Foglia stepped into his role not just as an image-maker, but as a chronicler of human resilience, vulnerability, and truth.
Those early black-and-white portraits bear the unmistakable hallmarks of a young artist grappling with the power of storytelling. Unfiltered, intimate, and stark, the images reflect not only the wounded mood of the city but also Foglia’s own raw interpretive lens. Each encounter was approached with unassuming openness, his process defined by listening more than directing. At just nineteen, he didn’t carry the burden of hardened style or institutional conditioning. What he had instead was an emotional acuity—and an intuitive respect for the people he encountered.
That beginner’s mindset—rich with curiosity, humility, and urgency—shaped the visual tone of Summer After. These were not formal compositions built for galleries or accolades. They were visual testaments formed in the liminal spaces between grief and grace, and they marked the beginning of a career dedicated to human complexity and environmental awareness.
Shifting Landscapes: A Journey Beyond the City’s Borders
After completing his undergraduate studies in Art Semiotics at Brown University, Foglia’s creative inquiries broadened dramatically. The academic lens gave him a deeper vocabulary with which to interrogate visual language, symbolism, and the relationship between subject and viewer. But it was his next body of work, A Natural Order, that demonstrated a profound evolution in his practice.
In stark contrast to the urban immediacy of Summer After, A Natural Order was rooted in the woods, fields, and homesteads of America’s rural Southeast. Foglia immersed himself in communities of individuals who had intentionally turned away from urban convenience and technological dependence. These weren’t simple lifestyle choices—they were philosophical commitments to self-reliance, sustainability, and autonomy.
What united these disparate subjects—from former engineers living in solar-powered cabins to families homeschooling in repurposed barns—was their quiet refusal to conform. Foglia did not portray them as curiosities or outsiders. Instead, he engaged with them on their terms, building trust over months and sometimes years. Through this long-form documentation, he captured the nuanced textures of alternative living—its joys, its contradictions, and its resilience.
If Summer After was about emotional recovery in the wake of public tragedy, A Natural Order was about conscious withdrawal as a form of protest. Yet both projects echoed the same values: authenticity, intention, and a deep appreciation for lived experience. Foglia’s subjects, whether navigating post-trauma in New York or building a solar oven in Appalachia, shared a commitment to meaning over spectacle.
Honoring Lived Experience in a Disconnected Age
Foglia’s maturing artistic voice can be seen in the way he approaches his subjects not as archetypes, but as collaborators in truth-telling. By the time he began A Natural Order, his eye had become more discerning, his narratives more layered. He no longer relied solely on proximity or spontaneity; now, preparation, relationship-building, and context shaped every frame.
And yet, the fundamental spirit of inquiry remained intact. What connects all of Foglia’s projects is a refusal to sensationalize. His portraits do not exaggerate hardship, nor do they romanticize simplicity. Instead, they unfold gently, inviting viewers into a space where real life happens—unvarnished, complex, and unfiltered.
This approach is especially resonant in today’s hyper-mediated world. As digital platforms increasingly reward spectacle over substance, Foglia’s commitment to quiet storytelling stands as a countercurrent. He reminds us that in-depth, empathetic engagement still holds transformative power.
In both urban and rural settings, Foglia’s work serves as a quiet manifesto: people are more than headlines, more than data, more than the roles society assigns them. Whether it's a cab driver in Queens or a homesteader in Georgia, each individual he photographs is rendered with dignity and dimensionality.
From Documentation to Dialogue: A Broader Artistic Vision
As his career progressed, Foglia’s focus expanded beyond portraiture. His more recent works explore intersections between people and nature, personal ritual and public space, environmental crisis and spiritual renewal. Projects like Human Nature and his forthcoming American Prayer demonstrate an increasingly global and thematic ambition.
Yet even as his canvas broadens, the core ethos remains: to create work that bridges distance—between people, between cultures, between ourselves and the land we inhabit. His projects don’t merely inform; they invite participation. They create space for contemplation, for empathy, and for dialogue.
In many ways, Summer After was not just Foglia’s beginning—it was a blueprint. It taught him how to listen deeply, how to engage ethically, and how to translate fleeting human moments into timeless visual records. Every project that followed has built upon those foundational principles, evolving in scope but grounded in the same unwavering commitment to authenticity.
This evolution—from a teenager wandering the boroughs with a camera to a globally recognized artist exploring the spiritual landscapes of modern society—is not merely technical. It is a maturation of purpose. Foglia’s work challenges us to slow down, to look closer, and to see each other with more care.
In a world increasingly fractured by noise and division, his images offer something rare and necessary: clarity. And perhaps that is the most mature vision of all—not to capture life as performance, but to honor it as presence.
A Lens Made for Intimacy: Crafting Connection Through Format
The technical choices behind Summer After weren’t incidental—they were integral to the mood and texture of the work. Foglia used a Hasselblad camera paired with an 80mm lens, a setup known for its clarity, depth, and square-format composition. Unlike zoom lenses that allow physical distance between subject and photographer, this configuration demanded proximity.
“You have to be physically close,” he explained. “That closeness isn’t just a visual tool—it becomes part of the emotional dynamic. It encourages trust. It strips away the performance people often put on when they know they’re being photographed from afar.”
The result is a body of work that feels less like a documentary and more like a visual conversation. These images don’t look through people—they sit with them.
Lessons in Listening: Finding Empathy Amid a City’s Wounds
As much as Summer After is a document of place and time, it is also an archive of emotional growth—for both Foglia and his subjects. Through every interaction, every story, and every shutter click, he began to learn the rare skill of empathetic witnessing. He didn’t just ask questions—he listened. He didn’t simply capture faces—he learned the histories behind them.
“There’s something sacred in that exchange,” he reflects. “I began to understand how to bridge differences, how to make room for conflicting truths. That kind of listening, that kind of seeing, feels more vital than ever in today’s world.”
Indeed, the project continues to resonate not because it recounts a major historical event, but because it dares to dwell in the emotional aftermath—a space often overlooked, yet deeply instructive.
From Sacred Streets to Spiritual Landscapes: The Next Chapter
Foglia’s journey hasn’t stopped with New York. His next project, American Prayer, explores a different kind of search—for meaning through spiritual and religious rituals performed in nature. From Appalachian revivals to desert meditations, the series follows individuals and communities who believe nature is more than landscape—it is sanctuary.
This forthcoming work reflects a continued evolution in Foglia’s creative exploration. It stays true to his original ethos—looking for quiet revolutions in unexpected places—while expanding the scope to national and metaphysical questions. What does it mean to seek healing in the wilderness? What rituals persist even when institutions collapse?
Through this new lens, Foglia continues to examine how people navigate uncertainty, find belonging, and cultivate belief in forces larger than themselves.
Final Thoughts:
In Summer After, Lucas Foglia offers more than a visual chronicle of New York City in 2002—he delivers a heartfelt exploration of how people find their footing when the ground beneath them has shifted irrevocably. What distinguishes this body of work is not just its historical relevance but its emotional clarity. Foglia did not aim to portray destruction or resilience as abstract concepts; instead, he focused on the intricate personal truths that existed between them—the kinds of truths we often overlook in the rush to "move on."
The portraits in this collection are quiet, yet they resonate deeply. Each subject met Foglia’s lens with a particular vulnerability that speaks volumes: about who they were, what they had endured, and what they hoped for. Whether it’s the lingering grief in someone’s posture or the subtle optimism in a child’s gaze, these images act as mirrors reflecting the complex emotional landscape of post-9/11 New York—both its pain and its potential for rebirth.
Foglia’s method—relying on eye contact and natural conversation—allowed for an intimacy that defies the detachment so often associated with street portraiture. These weren’t hurried snapshots; they were collaborative expressions of presence and trust. In capturing his subjects not as archetypes, but as individuals in flux, Foglia offered viewers something rare and timeless: the ability to see others not only as they are, but as they are becoming.
And perhaps that is the true gift of Summer After. It’s not just a look back—it’s a reminder of what it means to survive with grace, to connect amid chaos, and to preserve empathy when fear threatens to take its place. At a time when the world feels fractured once again—by polarization, crisis, and uncertainty—Foglia’s photographs offer an enduring lesson: healing begins in the small, sincere act of seeing one another.
As we continue to navigate our own eras of uncertainty, Foglia’s work encourages us to slow down, pay attention, and rediscover the transformative power of simple human connection. In doing so, we not only honor the past—we shape the future.
