I began to photograph in the summer of my sixteen years with a Minolta underwater yellow sunflowers and the surprise of an age which provided upsets. The first shots daring, against the backdrop of a beach that smelled of pizza heated and cherry ice cream, depict the faces of friends that the storm season is late summer wore on. Random shots of those precious smiles in salted first moments of freedom. Then came the time of the SLR, an Olympus used the 1974, companion travel to European capitals and eager young lover of portraits and backlighting. I brought along the canals of Amsterdam, in the cold windy morning of Copenhagen, the land of Vikings and bold blue eyes. I followed her to parties, including paper cups and slices of cake left in half. He captured the trills of a silver trumpet played outdoors and the chiaroscuro of the keyboard of a grand piano. E 'Up in the mountains, down the valleys of a summer that reflected in lakes in the company of fishermen from the food that smelled of brandy drunk at four in the morning. He stopped the antics of a boy who has no voice and those pants that put a paw in the disco, fields of sunflowers, past loves and belly naked pregnant friend and the first breeze.
Thanks to photography I met my mother, daughter, met the frightened face of my grandmother in wedding dress and found the old two-seater car that drove my father when I still had not this life. On the images taken and I wanted to cry. Smile and relived. Although I have framed some moves, other fire ripped though a right.
's night. Browse the past shots of a strange meeting in Tuscany. Before me the familiar faces of a single meeting.
the former is a poet. The bony face and graceful. He has handsome features and a heart child. In the other, a red-haired prince searches the hill thinking of hunters in search of pheasants. Then again, the poet, smokes and hides the fatigue of a sleepless night. Here, a photographer with a beard and glasses looking for his shot and edited a fairy-eyed woman smiled thinking about it already found. In the other, a young girl's hair seem to be moving in the wind. Somebody let slip Roman accent on the nose a pair of dark glasses. Someone else seems to hide behind his glasses sudden migraine. Two men look at each other accomplices. Here again the poet who attempts a dip in the pool. In this other guy with a green jersey smiles and does not believe to be photogenic. Then, the sinuous profile of a girl who reflects the watchful eyes of two women face similar. And yet the poet who embraces a girl than forty years and an overview of the sunset over the olive grove.
We are all more beautiful when the light fades , think. I look at and respect. A spiral of faces that are followed imprisons and holds all my imagination and the silence of the night is passing is diluted with the first hints of dawn sleepy, sly.
"The Photographs can reach eternity through the moment, "said Cartier-Bresson, capturing the minute while peering from the viewfinder of an old Leica. Perhaps it is this eternity I'm looking for, still awake at this time.
0 comments:
Post a Comment