A plastic bag dancing at the rhythm of the wind in Juliaca’s sky; shinning with an afternoon’s sun.
Makes me think in a movie, American Beauty, a part when a guy with a video camera confess to a girl that once he filmed a paper bag floating with the wind and that was the most beautiful thing he saw ever. Although I guess that was supposed to be deep because it looked like a dark thought I thought that instead was derp, LOL. The most beautiful thing (or being) he saw ever in my opinion was the face and eyes of the girl in front of him in that moment Said that I prefer my bag, and I don’t mean to the girl but to his bag :P
I was mesmerized with the light patterns in this shadowed wall. Like the light would feel attraction by the shadow, the myth of the Sun and Moon fulfilling finally their passion.
Monastery of Santa Catalina is a mini self-sufficient city inside Arequipa city built since 1579. Owned by a Dominican order of the Catholic Church. Part of this city now is a museum. I hope you find one of your delight ;-)
The buildings have colors so intense that the best time to visit the Monastery is when there is a blue sky. These ones were taken in 2012. As always I just walked to see and feel the game of light and shadows of the volumes. Be aware that in those years I used to saturate, not so much but my goal was to reflect what I saw, and to me with the blue of the sky and the golden light the colors simply go out of scale.
message in the light
tree seeing windows
I think this is one of my favorite compositions of the work of an anonymous architect. It’s just admirable the cleanness in the design in an epoch were there was temptations to saturate with ornaments.
plain in vermillion (pure)
I did a selfie inside the kitchens, I always wanted a portrait transformed in a being of light inside a black place (of course I’m far from being a creature of light mwahahaha)
I usually look like Moe Szyslak but there I like that I look more like I see myself, not so much detailed I guess.
volumes versus lines
I found a pair of Argentinian tourists in Titicaca Lake, they asked me if I could show them the Monastery in Arequipa. Sadly that day was an overcast one and the walls, like the visitors and me, felt a bit uncomfortable because was a visit very touristic, I mean: to go and see and after that just see other place without much soul really. It was in January.
tres tristes trees
encantamiento en rojo
Enter a caption
a desire of outside
Despite its religious nature I find that this monastery for women has a haunting feminine delicacy, like the sexy kiss of a woman with intense red lips.
Thank you for your patience with the long post, as I was saying, it’s a mini city and this barely is a glimpse.
I think the word “woman” in Spanish sounds rather rude to my porcelain ears, it’s “mujer“, that pronounced sounds in English a bit like “mooh-her”, I feel that such a word could come from a caveman anxious to find mujeres :O. In quechua and aymara one of the words is instead “warmi” that more or less in English would be prononunced ” war-me” and I like much more to say warmi because it make me feel like I’d say a warm person.
I say one of the words because in aymara there are several ways to call a woman, if she is a girl, a woman, a quiet woman, a funny woman, etcetera, but warmi is more generic.
I relate woman with warmi and warmth too because when I was a baby, one of my oldest memories, my grandmother’s sister took me in an aguayo (it’s a big squared textile with specific designs to every city or town) and carry me in her back, it’s a normal way since thousand of years and you’ll see it if you travel to Perú. And I remember that it was so warm, I think perhaps it’s the closer to feel what one could feel in the womb. That’s the most comfortable way to travel , but like I am very much taller so better go to hunt mujeres, lol, I mean, to talk with a nice warmi ;-)
It’s funny/tragic how the routine can make life long or very short in a city. If it is a big one it feels short, for example, the times to travel to a point to the other, they can last hours and ages; those periods are so long in middle of the traffic that we can dream a whole life to just forgotten it when the awakening comes.
Life can be long, but just if we can avoid the routine. The routine of wake up; eat (the same I mean); go to the work/university/institute/etcetera; if in one day we can create something, go to another place, think a moment in anything new, to know new people and discover something new in the old friends.
I don’t say that it is necessarily a requisite to be happy, I guess everyone has his/her way to be it. And even the routine can produce happiness if it coincide with an activity pleasurable to the desires. But I have the impression that the routine is an aspect that abbreviates our existence. Thus we can tell our time at school/university/work in a few sentences and perhaps two or three memorable stories.
I cannot bare so well the routine: honestly I am the type of guy that let the bus in the middle just to walk another route by myself. But actually I dislike the routine because I think is is a basic and geometrical mirror that corresponds another image more complex and complicated.
That ultimate image that appears reflected in our lives could be an illusion, actually we are free and words as destiny or doom are poor intents to justify our monotony; or could be a reality, a labyrinth triggered to grow and adapt to us, the work of inscrutable gods or an evolutive machinery.
What is the answer I don’t know, sometimes life is so short to even try to solve those questions.