Big doors for big people.
Big doors for big people.
Shadows like a black hug. Deep, inky shadows… traveling the surfaces of the rock in curves and lines… biting it as a lover. Because the shadows are made with the language of mysteries.
Noon: a lantern write with its language of shadows in the wall: it wants to compete with the young men of the night before.
I don’t see many news, I think there is an obsession with the bad ones and so few of the good ones, because there is goodness in the world too. I think in the people of Brussels and Istanbul.
I have chosen to don’t forget, as it happened to me when child, that there are also solidarity and support even in war; that always we will find a way to be happy, doesn’t matter what people, who needs help for his behaviour, try to do to dirt the heart, it’s just in our nature to pay with compassion to ourselves. That’s what we do in my years as children and we got to survive in a better world. I trust that is going to happen there in the far and dear Europe.
Classic echoes in the white stones of another world.
Ecos clásicos en las piedras blancas de otro mundo.
If I would have to say why I love the moon
She is one and unique in the universe.
I love her when she is in the sky.
I miss her when she is not there.
I love her when she is full of light.
I love her when she is in shadow.
In a field of billions of stars
The sky is filled just by you.
Si tuviera que decir por qué amo la Luna
Sólo hay una como ella en el universo.
La amo cuando está en el cielo.
La extraño cuando no está ahí.
La amo cuando está plena de luz.
La amo cuando está en sombras.
En un campo de miriadas de estrellas
Mi cielo está ocupado sólo por ti a.n.c.z.
Paolo and Francesca find a hole in the hell. They discover inside a tranquil blue sky and a colorful place to start again their love: hopefully they escape.
They fly a colorful city dreaming to touch each other with their wings. The colors start to melt inside the rotten shells, the sky burns and the shadows change their shapes into laughing beasts ripping Francesca with lupine tusks.
Paolo wakes up. He sees in silence the familiar whirlwind, there is no Francesca in it. He is alone.
Weeks ago I had published some photographs in film about this monastery in a visit with my friend Melissa (they say this monastery is the biggest on the world, probably because it certainly is a small city)
I process my photographs to match what I see and what I feel, sometimes I’m driven by a certain color or meaning, shooting at the same time with film helped me to understand better the colors. I hope you enjoy the trip.
Some of the buildings have a blue so intense that even the sky with its intense blue of the desert can appear almost invisible.
I wonder if that heart is product of a sensible gardener, or just product of my imagination…
There is a trend to use HDR techniques in photographs; put it in a quite simple, and unfair because it can get nice and natural images, way it’s a technique to get the most of details in shadows and highlights. But I love deep shadows, and under the sun of the desert in Santa Catalina the shadows are almost solid, turning the architecture in a sort of old watch pointing the path of time in the slow procession of the shadows.
It’s a crowded place with tourists, as I was in that moment, but being a city covering a large area there are always moments of ancient silence, that language that the ashlars of volcanic origin whisper after the heat of the day.
The photographs were shot in July, in winter; the season in the desert means clean blue skies.
I love kitchens, they are the place where a home has the strongest amount of familiar memories, conversations, moments, true life.
The photograph lines below is a place I’ve taken before so it could be familiar to you. But what I can say, I like it a lot and certainly to me it would be a wonderful place to read or just simply rest to the warm of the afternoon.
And that’s all, in a certain way it’s a sort of street photography of a city whose life now endures in a little (although quite comfortable and modern) corner. Although that’s good, I think it was a sad destiny to be in such a beautiful place but not by choice but for the cruel rules of tradition. In colonial times rich families used to send one daughter to buy influence from church. Now fortunately seems that heaven doesn’t need money ;-)