In the sunny day in Juliaca, the beetle seemed like he was in middle of an infinite task (this is in a road, for that the lack of vegetation) I don’t know, perhaps I feel like this beetle trying to finish my work.
I’ve seen this view of Juliaca after the sunrise thousands of times… I used to wake up and before to go to school verify if the deposit was filled with water for the day (the public water distribution covers just a few hours) but in those days I didn’t have a camera with me, not even a cellphone because they were so big, freaking expensive and even worse they used to be just for calls XD and I had a plastic film camera but I had needed to buy rolls with money I didn’t have.
Oh, I converted the post in an almost a rant xP! fortunately now I can shot the sunrises when I (try to) wake up and even better now there is no school \o/ !!
White and red colors are tough to photograph, they can end in burned highlights so easily and turn into empty whites or oranges…But let’s take those issues to professionals photographs, blown or not highlights I like the photograph I took that morning.
Spanish is a foreign language from my perspective. The language I should speak is Aymara. Nonetheless Spanish is, alas, the only language we can use to aspire to a higher education. So I don’t feel attached to it, when kid I always won the contests about redacting compositions but, as it happens me with English too, I am not sure why the reader could find it nice composed. I just joint words like a kind of smith trying to give it a rhythm. In English I like so much the alliteration, I dunno, I think in sumthin’ like:
In Wotan’s world, worthy words weaving with wisdom; Hela’s blending a blind blade, an unknown anathema in her heart hardened by despair.
And well, that’s the way I think in languages, of course it’s not perfect. Without understanding completely them but judging their sounds I think Quechua is the perfect language to say words of honey; Aymara to speak the truth; French the language of feminine sensuality (but it sounds soft in men); European Spanish the dialect of masculine sensuality (but it sounds harsh in women); Argentinian Spanish the dialect of elegance, almost like a tango; German the language to read ideas; English to sing and Italian to read the Divine Comedy.
The photograph is part of a long project I’m doing and perhaps it’s going to take a year more. I want to write in Italian a series of photographs inspired in, with Borges’ complete works, my favorite book. Dante’s Divine Comedy.Westerners in my country read it as a book of horror, attracted by the landscapes of hell. I’m not westerner so I read it as a book of a marvelous exploration to a world never seen before. To me is fantastic and I read it since I was eight years old. I love this book so much. The maternal surname and gray-green eyes of my grandfather indicate that perhaps we’ve something of Italians but if that happened there is nothing in our language or culture that survived. I’m sure an Italian would read it quite differently to the way I read it. Time will tell.
In the morning a giant dreamcatcher awaits the night.
After my travel to Ilo in exchange of a favor I had to verify data in return in the Yanahuara’s City Hall. It’s a district in Arequipa city. I don’t like so much the sun of the morning in the desert, nor to make bureaucratic requests. But I had to go there so I took some pics of the plaza in the morning.
I imagine the high council condemned to the red man to a wooden jail. Yanahuara is a residential district whose history spans to pre-Hispanic times. National tourists like to get some photos in the Gazebo because it looks colonial but actually was made in the seventies XP
I saw a nice sculpture, but there is no reference to the sculptor. A search in internet doesn’t reveal nothing neither.
The artist made a great work in my opinion. There was a big tree next to the church so I shot it and also I get some details of the colonial, in this case indeed it’s from 1750, church San Juan Bautista.
A tree growing. It makes me think in Odin, a god sacrificing to himself…
And that was all. I went to fulfill a promise and everything finished well. Time to fly before the midday sun in the white blinding stone.
I said that today Wednesday I would post a photograph showing our ichu. Here in this part of the world still is Wednesday but in other parts it’s Thursday I think.
Instead of the green England pastures we’ve golden ones. They feed the llamas, alpacas, vicuñas and every native specie in needs of pastures, near the streams of water there are green grass but I’m not sure if is a native pasture. Ichu is also used to build roofs and bridges since thousands of years ago. The downside is that you have to renovate it every three or five years; the advantage is that every three or five years people of the block or town work together to renovate the ichu in homes in what always ends like a communal party.
I tried sometimes when child to run barefoot but its contact with the skin, or perhaps just my skin, is lightly irritant so I use at least socks. The ichu grows mainly in the Peruvian and Bolivian highlands.
Juliaca city is a city with a population of 250 000 hab. But still to go from one place to another you can take your time and walk calmly. When kid I used to walk the railway as the lady in the photograph, balancing like a circus performer, abstracted in myself. The time I lived in Lima city with its population of almost eight millions instead there was no time to slow down, the time was eaten ravenously by hours in seats of public transport. That’s the life in the big cities.