Brian Buckner
Articles by Brian Buckner :
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Tres señoras
They were headed somewhere important. You could tell that by the way they moved. Actually, they sort of swayed but it was with purpose and determination. They were certainly syncopated… -
El acordeonista
I turned up my collar to the demands of a brisk, damp wind as I skirted the corner of Pío Bravo and Manuel Vega on the east side of El… -
Línea de baile
The original intent of a photograph is determined solely by its maker. However, interpretations abound by others who have various degrees of familiarity with art. The result? The work is… -
Niña de Saraguro
There’s much to be said for reverence and pausing to recognize another person and their condition. For me, the words “caring” and “respect” rise quickly to top of mind when… -
El Wiki
He’s a joker, he protects. He dances with his small “look-alike” guaga, moving through the crowd with both grace and abandon. He steals your hat and wears it for a… -
‘Scuffling Footsteps,’ a scary poem
Scuffling Footsteps My feet scuff quiet, quite unnoticed, amongst the white stones, pale light ghosting. Not sun of day, nor moon of night, between perhaps, I’m filled with fright. Time… -
A werewolf In Cuenca
I landed on the shores of what is now Ecuador with Francisco Pizzaro and Hernando DeSoto in 1532. At that time, I was twenty-two years old and hoping to gain… -
Behind life’s scenes
I used to own a window manufacturing plant. It was a sizable operation and when I liquidated my position there, we were shipping to about forty states. The jobs we… -
Of verities and lambkins
The gravel was loose and the slope steep and rutted. El Fantasma had picked his way down a ridge in Ecuador’s southern Andes and dropped into a fertile valley a… -
Isabella
I was eating a hot empanada filled with queso and mashed green plantanos while she interrogated Pablo with her incessant questions. I looked on, entertained, munching and smiling. The line… -
Board time
It was a half-hour before twilight, late on a Saturday afternoon, as I made my way up Tres de Noviembre. I never trudge but I’ll tell you, the soles of… -
Gloria
It was mid-afternoon as I walked west up Presidente Córdova under a mostly cloudy sky. Areas of blue opened on occasion, allowing some interesting light to filter through. I was… -
Spot was here
El Fantasma slid to a stop in the loose gravel of the parched clay roadway. His engine idled down to a steady throb as I hit the window switch to…