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I’m interested in juxtapositions that are not obvious.

But the weight of the tragedy — and the bizarre juxtapositions of life in the midst of it — often catches him off guard.

The initially jarring juxtaposition of then and now — fiction and documentary — quickly becomes intoxicating, inviting the viewer to both contemplate the ceaseless passage of time and ponder the seamless temporal transitions.

The shrewd, vivifying juxtaposition pits crude, primal, static stone, its huge weight pressing the ground beneath your feet, against sleek, industrially elegant windmills spinning overhead to catch the invisible airstream and generate similarly imperceptible energy.

On the opposite wall in the basement of the museum, a portrait of Ayatollah Ruhollah Khomeini, the founder of the Islamic Republic of Iran, is on display in juxtaposition.