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Summers Full of Porch Bull Languidly as slowly growing sugar cane, summers pass in South Louisiana where I was raised. Rocker grooves on Mamma T’s front porch mark the tick-tock of time, a metronome for conversations about cooking, romance, the good ole days, oilfields and cane fields. A Cacophony of different accents blends together to create the rhythms of bayou life. I’ve coined the phrase Porch Bull to describe these peeled-back moments. My photographs hold on to the sacred élan between events lived and words spoken. Mariana Titus
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