Religious symbols are regularly sold at the doors of Cuenca’s main cathedral. I noticed a crucifix, packaged in protective plastic, resting on the sidewalk, and photographed it from a low angle. When we see it from this vantage point, separated from all of the other crucifixes for sale, the plastic wrapping becomes less of a package and more of a shroud, a symbol full of religious implications.

A grim concrete container contains a discarded bouquet of flowers, symbolizing the thin line that exists between life and death itself. Groundskeepers at this cemetery remove flowers left on the tombs as soon as they begin to wilt – these, however, still show enough color to make us wonder if there was not still some life left in them. Another interpretation might be drawn: the blossoms that lie within this container might also be a metaphor for premature death.

The weathered political posters on the door of a village house symbolize the transient nature of political life itself. Winners and losers come and go here. Yesterday’s victory may well have become today’s defeat. The candidate at left still seems to survive, while the candidate on the right has long since fragmented into oblivion. Of course I have no idea if either of these candidates won or lost, or are currently still in office. But given the tattered nature of the posters, I would guess that both might well be yesterday’s news.

We visited a Rio school, deep within one of its notorious favelas. It was a week before Christmas, and no children were present. However, they had left decorations for us to see -- a religious calendar, a whimsical clock, and a chain of four gyrating Santas delivering sacks of gifts from window to window. The primary colors of red and blue energize the scene, and draw the eye to the procession of religious, secular, and seasonal symbols flowing through the frame below a timepiece that has a skateboarder asking us to have a “sweet tday.” The image speaks of the hopes, dreams, and beliefs of children who live within one of the most impoverished communities in Latin America. The school was originally launched with the support of a European corporate executive.

The façade of the New York Stock Exchange is actually a vast display of symbols and metaphors. I move in to fill the lower half of the image with the huge flag and allow the name of the exchange, its classical Greek architecture, and the sculpted figures laboring on the pediment that surmounts the vast portico of columns to fill the upper half of the frame. A stock exchange is a non-governmental organization, yet here it literally wraps itself in the flag to display its patriotism. The Greek columns and pediment symbolize timeless virtues, designed to inspire trust, no doubt, in financial instruments. Finally, the five figures at work suggest the timeless value of labor itself. Working together, these symbols suggest that investing in businesses as a patriotic act, an act that draws on historic traditions for its reliability and value. In light of the recent financial disasters on Wall Street, however, the warning “Caveat Emptor” should be added to the mix here.

Just outside the walls of historic Mogosoaia Palace, two huge statues lie discarded in a muddy field. One of them depicts Lenin, who is resting face down. The other one once honored Romania’s first Communist prime minister, Petru Groza, who rests face up, hat in hand, arm outstretched. His statue was dumped here twenty years and has been gathering bird droppings ever since. I photograph only Groza’s statue here, cropping in on the middle section of the statue, and abstracting it into a symbol of political failure. We primarily see the two hands, one still clutching the stained and dated hat, the other gesturing futility against a crumbling brick wall. It becomes a symbol that goes beyond Romanian political history – it shows us how history remembers all failed political systems.