Photography is a matter of focusing the eye, of finding the unusual and strange in the mundane and the everyday. This holds not just for the photographer; good ones know how to identify and focus on the extraordinary parading as the hum-drum and unremarkable, but it also holds for photographs themselves. Good ones must draw the audience's eye in the same way the photographer directs his or hers.
This is a photograph of a window on the northern side of Weibolt Hall, just a window that allows students—distracted from an over-long lecture on social and political thought—use and have used since time immemorial to gaze onto campus and consider their path to home, to bed, to beer.
Look a bit closer and you realize: this is a stunning piece of craftsmanship (not the photograph obviously, the window). Each one of these windows is flanked by an utterly unique gargoyle and constructed with infinite care. Each bit of glass and stone, each trefoil and all the lacework wound together tightly enough to keep the cold and the snow of a deep, dark Chicago winter out even as it lets those inner students direct their attention outward.