Barry Feinstein didn’t much care for photographers, who are — by nature — observers. He preferred men and women with strong opinions and passionate beliefs, individuals who scrawled memorable graffiti on the boundaries of an increasingly walled-in, walled-off world. His liberation from almost two decades of illness and pain is a merciful reprieve from the years he fought with supernatural strength against many “conditions” wanting him dead. In the end the conditions won. They always do. But Barry’s life defies extinction — it’s a wild ride, ten thousand stories deep. What we can print of his career is . . .
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