You travel through Nic Nicosia's photographs as a voyeur might through a neighborhood, inspecting window after window for some illicit thrill. Your glance may be quick and incomplete, even hazy. At times you do a double take, not sure of what you just saw. Nicosia's grasp of cloaked emotions and stalled dreams is so complete, you can't help but feel you're privy to someone's private life, that secret world where a person's solid ground crumbles into sand and where a familiar present is swallowed up by a dark past... More >>>