#dannylyon

[matchpointfaist]

yes pleeeeeeease danny x reader!!!! I'm down on my knees begging you cause there's like a shortage of him and for what? he's so fucking hot btw you're so talented I really enjoy the way you describe things!!!

biker danny lyon x nurse! reader

danny made a habit of staying out of the vandal's way, keeping out of fights and drunken arguments, confining himself to a corner with his camera and notebook. he was good and safe that way, keeping himself free of injuries but close enough to the action to get a good view. that is, until the night he earned his leathers.

benny had been into it all night with some trashy guy from a rival gang, shouting comments back and forth across the bar, creeping closer and closer to a full on brawl with each drink. one thing led to another, and in the blink of an eye he was on benny, swinging and cursing and grabbing at him, making up for his lack of coordination with brute force.

danny had a sort of knee jerk reaction, hyper aware of benny's healing injuries, and shot up out of his seat in an instant. he was not, by any means, a fighter, but he was tall and strong enough, he could hold his own. "hey, fucker, get off him!" he shouted, already grabbing for the other guy, catching hold of his vest and landing the hardest hit he could manage on his jaw. his step faltered, and danny had a moment of pride before someone spun him around, a bottle inches from his face. it broke over his head, and the last thing he heard was johnny shouting his name before he fell to the floor.

he came to with a groan a few minutes later, blinking blood from his eyes as he was all but dragged down the sidewalk, johnny on one side and benny on the other. "you awake now?" benny asked, half concern and half laugh, "you took a pretty hard hit," "did i get that guy off 'ya?" he asked, voice slightly hoarse. "yeah, yeah you did," benny shook his head, grinning, "you were a dumbass for that, ya hear? you ain't a fighter,"

danny didn't care. he felt more alive then, half conscious, than he ever had. he might not have been a fighter, but he stood up that night, for the first time in his life. he wasn't just watching from the sidelines, he participated, however stupid it may have been. "where we goin?" he didn't recognize the area, but it looked like a nicer part of town than they usually frequented. "hospital, your dumbass needs stiches," johnny grumbled, nodding his head just up the road, "almost there,"

he knew it was necessary, could still feel the blood trickling out of the cut on his forehead, but he hated hospitals. hated how cold they were, how they reeked of death and rubbing alcohol. he was too lightheaded to protest by that point, letting the boys walk him into the waiting room, plopping him down in a plastic chair and going to sign him in. he dozed off sometime in the process, and came to in an evening brighter room, blinking and struggling to focus his eyes.

when he did, he coulda sworn there was an angel standing over him, and it briefly crossed his mind that maybe he'd died in that waiting room. "there you are," you smiled down at him, your voice like music in his ears, "how you feelin'?" you weren't an angel, he reasoned with himself, you were just the most beautiful girl he'd ever seen, all dressed in white. a nurses' uniform, he finally realized as he got his bearings, looking you over. "like hell," he mumbled, reaching up to press a hand to his throbbing head.

"don't touch your stitches," you fussed, gently putting his arm back down, "what d'you need? got you on a pain drip and fluids, but i can up your dosage," "can i just have some water? throat's dry," he asked, smiling faintly as you quickly filled a little paper cup, placing it in his hand carefully. "so you ride?" you asked, busying yourself adjusting his medication. "not really," he shrugged slightly, "why?" "vandal's brought you in here. had to take off, but they left a number in case you needed them,"

"mm," he hummed, "yeah, i'm writin' a book about them," "writers get bashed over the head a lot?" you asked, smiling slightly, like you knew some sort of a secret. "not usually," he laughed as much as he could manage, "rough night, i s'pose," "well you oughta be careful," you tsk'd, "don't wanna have to see you back in here, mkay?"

god, he wanted to see you again, regardless of where it was. "my shift is over, so i'm gonna hand you off to another nurse, alright? you'll be discharged soon, though. you're all rested up," "wait-" he tried to sit up, wincing, "what if i wanted to see you again?"

"are you flirtin' with me, mr. lyon?" there was a glint in your eye, or maybe he really was losing it, and a small, teasing smile on your lips. "yeah," he nodded, "yeah, i am. do i gotta get myself checked back in here just to see ya?" "i bet you talk to all the girls like that," you grinned, jotting something down, "i could get in trouble for this, yknow. but you're sweet," you passed him the paper, ten digits scrawled out in pretty handwriting. "atta girl," he smiled up at you, holding onto the paper like he'd lose it, "i'll see you soon, then. not in the hospital this time,"

a week later, danny was dialing your number on the bars rotary phone, leaned against the counter with a giddy feeling buzzing in his veins. "hello?" you picked up on the third ring, voice sweet even through the phone. "hey, it's danny," he hoped he didn't sound too excited, "you busy tonight?"

an hour later, you were walking through the door of the vandal's bar, looking every bit out of place. "hey, sweetheart!" he called you over, trying not to focus too much on how fucking gorgeous you looked, your hair down and your skirt short. "danny, hey," you smiled up at him, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear, "looks like you healed up good,"

"thanks to you," he grinned, "what's your drink?" "mm, shirley temple?" "that's fittin," he teased, leading you back behind the bar as he mixed your drink, watching as you looked around. you were too sweet for this place, he thought distantly, too clean and bright eyed. it was good you had him, the guys would've been all over you if you'd come here alone. "thought you were just a writer," you gestured toward the new leather jacket over his t shirt, "they just give those to anybody?"

"ah, they gave it to me after that fight," he shrugged it off like it hadn't been one of the most important moments in his life this far, "that bother you?" "mm, maybe i like it," your tone was light, teasing, but your eyes were tracing over every detail, the way the leather clung to his arms, his name stitched into the fabric. "you like bad boys, sweetheart?" he grinned, "wouldn't have guessed that,"

you wanted to tell him you didn't care if he was good or bad, you just hadn't been able to get him out of your mind since that night in the hospital. you downed the rest of your drink just to keep yourself busy, and gain some confidence, before wrapping a hand around his arm, pulling him to where some of the other guys were dancing with their girls, "dance with me?"

the two of you stayed out on the dance floor for what felt like hours, from slow dances and sultry glances to upbeat songs and giddy laughter, only pausing to down more drinks. "you know when i first saw you, i thought you were an angel," he mumbled in your ear as you swayed against him, his hands on your waist, "thought i'd done gone to heaven," "must've been brain damage," you rolled your eyes, but your smile was ever present as you turned in his arms, wrapping your own around his neck, "do you talk to all the biker girls like this?" "just you, sweetheart," he leaned closer, his breath fanning over your lips, "prettiest thing i've ever seen,"

"you're drunk," you murmured, and a small laugh left his lips, his hands tightening on your hips, "maybe, but when i'm sober you'll still be fuckin' beautiful," "god, you're good this," you said softly before pulling him down to your height, crashing your lips to his. he encircled you in his arms, picking you up slightly, a giggle muffled between your lips as you clung to him.

sweet kisses turned to breathless desperation, danny biting at your bottom lip just enough to pull the sweetest sounds from you, your control slipping like you were the only two in the room. your hands settled in his hair, scratching at his scalp as he kissed your jaw, facial hair scratching at your skin slightly. "you wanna get outta here?" he asked, voice hoarse with need. "my roommates home," you sighed as he kissed the crook of your neck, "yours?" "i stay with the guys, sleep on the couch," he nearly groaned from frustration, biting the inside of his cheek as you ran your fingernails over his scalp once again.

"d'you trust me, sweet girl?" he hummed, trailing his hand down your back. "mhm," you nodded eagerly, squealing as he picked you up, your legs wrapped tight around his torso. he led you across the bar to the farthest bathroom, kicking the door open and kissing you feverishly as he rested you on the sink, closing the door behind you. you pulled off his jacket, never letting your lips leave his, looping your legs around him to pull him closer. "eager thing," he teased, pulling away to pull off his t shirt, his fingers finding the zipper of your dress.

he let it fall to the floor, kicking it away, fumbling with the buckle of his belt as he kissed you desperately, pushing his jeans to the floor without ever pulling away from you. he felt like he’d die if he stopped, like you’d disappear, like it was all too good to be true. “tell me how you want it, baby,” he pulled away to trace his lips over the shell of your ear, “go on, tell me,”

“just want you to fuck me,” you reached for him, needing him everywhere all at once. “greedy little thing, ain’t ya?” he grinned, pulling you gently off the sink to turn you around, your back arched against him, “wanna watch while i fuck you, pretty girl?” you nodded eagerly, pressing against him, practically writhing for him already. “didn’t even touch you yet,” he teased, ghosting his fingertips down your spine, humming as you arched further into his hands, “bet you’re drippin’ for me, ain’t ya? bet you got the sweetest fuckin cunt,”

he pulled off your lacy underwear in one motion, letting out a low whistle as he looked you over, spreading your thighs apart as much as he could. “goddamn,” he murmured, leaning over you, pressing kisses to your exposed shoulders. he pulled his boxers down, pausing just to admire you for one more moment before trailing the head of his cock through your folds, rubbing it over your clit. you whined beneath him, your eyes rolling back at the feeling. “knew you’d be soaked,” he exhaled shakily, watching as he ran his length down your core again, unable to tear his eyes away, “so fuckin’ pretty, baby, yknow that? fuckin’ perfect,”

he held one of your hips with his free hand as he lined himself up, watching your reaction in the mirror as he slowly fucked into you, your swollen lips parting and big eyes rolled back into your head. “oh, danny,” you gasped as he filled you as deep as he could go, his cock brushing your sweet spot. “i know it, angel,” he murmured, “feel so good around me, so wet f’me,”

he grabbed a handful of your hair, just hard enough to pull you up off the sink as he slowly thrust back into you, your reactions only making him harder. “you want me to fuck you slow, pretty baby?” he asked, sucking at a spot on your neck as he held you there, “or you want me to fuck you hard, hm? talk to me,” “whatever you want,” you managed, clenching around him, thighs shaking, “wanna be good f’you, danny, please,” that sent him over the edge, a groan leaving his lips as he secured one hand in your hair, the other on your hip, fucking into you fast and rough.

you bounced back against him, greedy as ever, a moaning mess. “atta fuckin girl,” he panted, watching as you fucked yourself on his cock, “come on, baby, what a greedy thing,” he watched in the mirror as you looked up at him with watery eyes, blissed out, babbling about how good it felt, repeating his name like a mantra. “i know it, sweet thing,” he hummed, “you gettin close, hm?” you nodded eagerly, and he snaked his arm around your waist, the pad of his fingertips circling your clit as he fucked you. that nearly sent you over the edge, a gasp tearing itself from your throat as you clenched around him tighter, moaning wildly. “come on, baby, come for me,” he grunted, his teeth scraping against your shoulder, “so close,”

you sank your teeth into your lip as you came, shaking against him, his hand soaked between your thighs as he watched in awe. he came soon after, gripping your hair tighter, desperate for release but never wanting the moment to end. “such a good girl,” he moaned into your neck, “tell me you want it, baby,” “fill me up, danny, please,” you practically mewled, legs almost giving out from your orgasm, “please,”

he held you close against his chest as he came, his hands all over you, grabbing anywhere he could as he rode out his high, pumping you full. “good god,” he panted, still inside you, looking at the two of you over your shoulder, “you see how pretty you look stuffed full, angel? so perfect,” he trailed his fingers all over your chest, grinning as you clenched around him when he tweaked your nipple between two fingers, “you still want more, hm? or you all done?”

“done,” you whined, “too much, danny,” “poor baby,” he tsk’d, pulling out of you slowly, “you gonna let me go down on you next time? bet you taste so fuckin good,” “you can do whatever you want,” you smiled hazily, all starry eyed and fucked out as you gazed up at him. “mm, we’ll see,” he laughed softly, pulling you to his chest and pressing a kiss to the top of your head, “i’ll help you get cleaned up,”

[harvard-art-museums-photography]

Memorial Day run, Milwaukee, Danny Lyon, 1965-1966, printed 2006, Harvard Art Museums: Photographs

Harvard Art Museums/Fogg Museum, Gift of Doug and Joan Hansen © Danny Lyon/Magnum Photos Size: 33.7 x 22.7 cm (13 1/4 x 8 15/16 in.) sheet: 35.6 x 27.9 cm (14 x 11 in.)

https://www.harvardartmuseums.org/collections/object/336208

[naturalbornworldshakers]

Zipco, Elkhorn, Wisconsin
The Bikeriders Portfolio
Danny Lyon (at Elkhorn, Wisconsin)

[artbookdap]

Featured photograph, of the arrest of Atlanta high school student Taylor Washington in 1963, is reproduced from 'Danny Lyon: American Blood, Selected Writings 1961–2020,' the timely and gorgeous, 396-page @karmabookstore new release collecting the influential photographer's writings on documentary and social change in America. ⁠⠀ ⁠⠀ “From the beginning, even before he left the University of Chicago and headed south to take up a position as the first staff photographer for the Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee, Danny Lyon dreamed of being an artist in language as well as in pictures,” writes @bklynkennedy in the introduction to 'American Blood.' In 1961, at the age of 19, for example, Lyon penned a brutally satirical article for a student mimeo magazine in which he argued for the deterrent power of prime-time televised executions (“the show would open, no doubt, like a baseball game, with a rendition of the National Anthem”).⁠⠀ ⁠⠀ Lyon is widely celebrated for his groundbreaking work in photography and film. Less recognized is the extensive body of writing that has broadened and reinforced his reach, in both the pages of his own publications and in others as varied as the @latimes @nybooks @aperturefnd civil rights publications, underground magazines and Lyon's blog @dannylyonphotos ⁠⠀ ⁠⠀ This 400-page volume spans republished and previously unpublished texts from nearly six decades of his career, comprising a vast, meticulously archived history of American social change. Also included are conversations between Lyon and Hugh Edwards, Nan Goldin and Susan Meiselas. As Kennedy writes, Lyon’s collected writings, “remarkable as both artistic and moral models, remain far too little known, especially for an author who has seen what he has seen and possesses the rare ability to write about it as he speaks; Lyon is a world-class talker, funny, wise, sanguine and indefatigable.”⁠⠀ ⁠⠀ Read more via linkinbio.⁠⠀ ⁠⠀ @nangoldinstudio @susanmeiselas #dannylyon https://www.instagram.com/p/CKPGq6WpH30/?igshid=1cnqyq4xcqss0

[kunstkioskzh]

Lyon, Danny. The Bikeriders. The Macmillan Company, New York. 1968. gr. 8°. OKart. 94 S., Parr/Badger, The Photobook: A History Volume I, S. 256-257. Andrew Roth, Book of 101 Books 190-191. The Open Book S. 236-237. Name auf Vorsatzblatt, ansonsten gutes Expl. #dannylyon #bikeryders #photobook #photobooks #kunstkiosk #kunstkioskimhelmhaus #parrbadger (hier: Zürich, Switzerland) https://www.instagram.com/p/CI-_y-NFn9x/?igshid=cinc0k2sib0t

[sakeracers]

DANNY LYON

[matchpointfaist]

photography class w danny lyon 🎞️

tw for smut! request for a twitter friend <3

the soft light of late afternoon filtered through the windows of danny's studio, casting long shadows across the room. it was your third private lesson, and you were already starting to feel like you were learning more than just photography. the way he looked at you sometimes, the way he held the camera like it was an extension of himself—it was all so intimate, so raw. you couldn’t help but feel drawn to him.

today’s lesson was about realism, he’d told you. not just capturing a scene, but capturing the truth, the raw truth of a subject, no filters, no pretenses. as he set up his equipment, adjusting the light just so, you found yourself struggling to focus. the tension between you two was always there—quiet, simmering beneath the surface. you had a silly crush on him, of course. it was hard not to. he was everything: dark, intense, a little dangerous. but you kept it hidden, buried deep, knowing that nothing could ever come of it. he was your teacher, and you were just his student, there to learn. still, you couldn’t help but wonder—did he ever see you as more than that?

"ready?" danny’s voice pulled you from your thoughts, rough and direct, but not unkind. his gaze was steady, though it lingered on you for a beat longer than usual. you nodded quickly, pushing the question out of your mind, "yeah, i’m ready," he didn’t waste any time, "good. i need you to model for me today. i want to capture you in the most real way i can, alright?" you blinked, taken aback. modeling for him? this wasn’t what you’d expected. the idea of standing there while danny lyon—the man who had already gotten under your skin in ways you couldn’t explain—studied you, analyzed you through the lens of his camera, made your stomach tighten. you swallowed, trying to steady yourself. "what do you mean by ‘real’?" you had to ask, the question prying at your mind, though part of you was already dreading the answer.

“just raw,” he said simply, “unfiltered, clean. you being yourself, no walls up. think you can manage?” “yeah, yeah of course,” you nodded quickly, lying through your teeth. could you manage? “great,” he busied himself adjusting the camera angles, “just act natural, alright? i want candids, little glimpses into your life,” you tried your best, really. you never knew it could be so difficult, acting natural. you were hyper aware of your every movement, of the way your hair curled, of the way your hands shook as you repositioned them. he could feel it, sense it, all the way across the room. “relax,” he muttered, half scolding, “candid, remember? just be yourself,” you weren’t sure you knew how to do that, with him standing there watching, so intense through the lens. you could feel his eyes on you as strong as a physical touch, raising the hairs on your arms, bringing heat to your cheeks. you forced it down, glancing around, trying to be good enough for this little project he had you on.

“you’re hiding,” he finally said, pulling you from your thoughts, “i can see it all over you. we’re done here,” he collected his equipment, leaving you wide eyed and confused, scrambling after him. “wait,” you called, following him to the development room, “did i not- did i mess it up?” “i told you to be natural, you posed. i said be yourself, you were rigid all over. how do you expect to be a true photographer, to truly capture life as it happens, if you can’t even live yourself?” the words struck you, your eyes stinging. “let me try again,” you practically pleaded, “danny, please, i just needed to relax,” “one more chance,” he stopped, turning to you, “take a minute, collect yourself, meet me back by the window,” you nodded quickly, smoothing out your clothes, “okay, i’ll be right back,” “and for the love of god, stop worrying,” he rested a hand on your shoulder, practically burning you, “it’s just me,”

you spent your break in the bathroom, splashing cold water on your cheeks, taking deep breaths. it’s just danny, as if that made it any better. as if you hadn’t spent every day since your first lesson thinking of him, worrying over what he thought of you, obsessing over your stupid, pointless crush. you returned to the studio the moment you calmed down, forcing your anxieties down your throat, quieting them as best you could. “i’m ready,” you cleared your throat, stepping in front of the camera, “really ready this time,” “good,” the smile he gave you was short, but efficient, your heart fluttering, “just sit there, be you. i want to see what’s in there, alright? i wanna see who you are when no one’s watching,”

you wanted to tell them that was impossible. how could you pretend no one was watching when he was inches away, the camera shuttering incessantly, catching every moment of your insecurity? but you pushed it down, let him lead, let him snap photo after photo, chipping away at your built up walls one click at a time. he finished after half an hour, seemingly satisfied, looking at you through a new light. “perfect,” he murmured, more to himself than to you, “let’s go get these developed,”

you trailed after him, silently wondering how they turned out, if he’d discovered what he seemingly wanted to know. he led you into the dark room, fumbling with his camera, the silence heavy between you. “so i- did i do okay, this time?” you finally asked, biting the inside of your cheek. “you tell me,” he gestured to the enlarger, a photo of you gazing out the window displayed before you, “what do you see?” “the lighting is really nice,” you fumbled for words, “you did a great job with the focus, and the detail is great-“ “no,” he cut you off, coming to stand behind you, “what do you see in yourself? i know i took a good photo, i don’t need to hear that. i’m asking what you think about this,” he reached over your shoulder, pointing to the image, his arm settling around you. the breath was sucked from your lungs, your heart racing all over again at his proximity, “i- i think i look candid, caught off guard,” you managed, “i think i look natural,”

“you look beautiful,” his breath fanned over your shoulder, “do you see that? i want you to look, really look, see yourself the way i see you. can you do that for me?” god, you could do anything for him. “yes,” you nodded, “i can do that,” “what’s the most beautiful thing about you?” he asked, brushing his hands over the slope of your arm, down to your wrist. you were at a loss, but desperate to please him, “i like my eyes,” you managed to get out. “good,” his voice sent a shiver down your spine, “that’s very good. and what else?” “danny, i-“ he made a short tsk, “what else?” “my lips,” your voice wavered, trembling slightly, “what’re we doing?”

“we’re lookin at pictures, doll. what do you think?” he sounded smug, trailing his fingers across the back of your neck, collecting your hair in a makeshift ponytail, his brain fanning over your skin, “i can see right through you. the way you look at me, your nerves,” “danny,” his name falls from your lips like some sort of confession, your back flush against his chest as his hand presses against your abdomen, holding you there. “i know it,” he murmured, “i feel it too, doll, ain’t just you,”

you aren’t sure how it even starts. one moment he’s leaned against you, the next you’re kissing him, frantic and urgent, his clothes falling off and your skirt hiked up around your waist. he’s all smooth, liquid movements, confident hands and needy lips, pulling moans from you before he’s even inside you. he’s got you propped up on a table, back against the wall, stepped between your legs as he kisses you stupid. “we shouldn’t,” you pant, kissing down his jaw despite yourself, “someone could come,” “i own this studio, baby,” he grinned, pulling you back up to look at him, “do you want to stop?” “no,” you shake your head quickly, “no, course not,”

that’s all the go-ahead he needs, pulling you back into a messy kiss as he pushes your panties to the side, not even hesitating as he pushes into you, quick enough to leave you gasping. “oh, danny!” you mewl, gripping onto his shoulders, head thrown back. “i know it, doll,” his voice is hoarse, “takin’ me so good, look at you,” he pulls away, still inside you but leaned just out of reach, and you start to grab at air, whining for him to return. he leans back over you with a grin, camera in hand, kissing you hard before pulling away, angling the lens down at you. “what’re you-“ “shh,” he hums, his thrusts slowing, “just for me, pretty girl. that alright?” “i- okay,” you nod, too fucked out to argue. he reaches down, spreading your apart as he slides into you again, the camera shutter drowned out by your moans as his thumb brushes your clit.

“pretty,” he grits out, fucking into you faster, taking a shot of your face as he brings you closer to the edge, “wanna picture when you come for me, doll. can you do that, hm? make a mess on me?” you gasp, eyes rolled back when he rocks his hips up higher, brushing that spot inside you that sends you reeling. that, paired with his fingers on your clit, sends you get the edge with a near scream, bucking your hips up to meet his, mouth hung open. “oh, fuck,” he groans, snapping his hips quicker, letting his camera fall to the side as he grips your hips tight, “gonna come, baby,” you’re a moaning, babbling, overstimulated mess as he finishes, mewling when he pulls out suddenly, finishing all over your panties and thighs with a hoarse moan.

his eyes are half lidded as he grabs for his camera again, taking one last shot of you all painted with his come, before hurrying to get a towel, cleaning you off. you sit in a daze, legs still open as he wipes you down, humming softly. “you still with me, baby?” he teased, kissing the side of your head. “mhm,” you nod, eyes closed, “just need a minute,” “lemme take you home,” he mumbled, smoothing out your hair, “we’ll get you a shower, yeah?” “mm,” you nod again, giggling when he picks you up off the table like a rag doll, “your place or mine?” “mines closer, just upstairs,” he reminded you, “silly girl, too fucked out to think ain’t ya?”

“maybe,” you let him carry you upstairs, humming and smiling as he runs you a bath, content as ever when he slides in behind you, his hands running over your body, pooling the warm water over your limbs. “think i’ll keep you forever,” he mumbled into your shoulder, “my pretty little muse,” “not just a muse,” you huffed, “supposed to be teachin’ me, too,” “oh, darlin, i remember,” he laughed, the sound vibrating against your skin, “i’ll take you out tomorrow, we’ll go see the vandals, alright? long as you stay with me tonight,”

[rgf-wallsplus]

Danny Lyon, Wall of the St. George Building.

via https://www.newyorker.com/culture/photo-booth/a-revered-photojournalists-chronicle-of-lower-manhattan-on-the-brink-of-transformation

[harvard-art-museums-photography]

The Bikeriders, Danny Lyon, 1966, printed 2006, Harvard Art Museums: Photographs

Harvard Art Museums/Fogg Museum, Gift of Doug and Joan Hansen © Danny Lyon/Magnum Photos Size: 26.3 x 26 cm (10 3/8 x 10 1/4 in.) sheet: 35.6 x 27.9 cm (14 x 11 in.)

https://www.harvardartmuseums.org/collections/object/336233

[asalvadorsala]

#DannyLyon, from The Destruction of Lower Manhattan, 1966 https://www.instagram.com/p/CpJDOmTNIJU/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[larsfredriksvedberg]

#dannylyon #nyc #1967 https://www.instagram.com/p/BtwTwaDCAr8/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=m10rjq0ihsue

[dicemagazine]

Tonight was fun! Thanks to all the crew-family-friends, that made it out to the @faheykleingallery for the #DannyLyon exhibition. Riding back from West Hollywood to Pasadena was like a video game...dodging cars and swerving out of the way of drunk drivers. I deserve this...Cheers! 🍺 (at Pasadena, California)

[pilgrimartfoundation]

Detail, Danny Lyon (Brooklyn 1942; lives and works in New Mexico and Maine), Untitled, Knoxville, 1967. Gelatin silver print. @knoxart, 2014 purchase with funds provided by Sheena McCall. #knoxville #dannylyon *See link in @dannylyonphotos bio to PURCHASE signed copies from the artist DANNY LYON: MESSAGE TO THE FUTURE @deyoungmuseum @whitneymuseum #SupportLivingArtists (at Knoxville Museum of Art) https://www.instagram.com/p/CG-sihWFCyI/?igshid=1mmbuq5uh4v3f

[coberlinphoto]

Danny Lyon also photographed the series Conversations with the Dead (1967/68), the first to reveal the daily lives of inmates and guards in Texan prisons. Only on view until Sunday at #coberlin Photo: Weight lifters, Ramsey Unit, Texas, 1968 © Danny Lyon / Courtesy Gavin Brown‘s Enterprise #visit_berlin #berlin #DannyLyon (hier: C/O Berlin)

[sakeracers]

Ciao Orazio (Rocket Garage Magazine)