I like the second photo best. I like how much of the photo is occupied by the white silk dress, and the mysteries it hides. It is interesting to guess what hides in the distant gaze of your friend: snatches of glorious? ancient legends? fragments of archaic idols? snippets of mythology? Indeed, every instant in your photographs - every dress, every position of the hands, every object, every cup of hot tea, every tree at sunset- is a fracas, a seething drama. It overflows, unable to contain its own meaning. You are photographing high tide! Your photographs make me think of the Polish writer Bruno Schulz: once, in his childhood, at a melancholy, twilight hour, his mother Henrietta entered his room only to find him feeding grains of sugar to the few flies that had survived cold autumn. "Bruno?" "It's so they'll last the winter."
love!
ReplyDeleteI like the second photo best. I like how much of the photo is occupied by the white silk dress, and the mysteries it hides. It is interesting to guess what hides in the distant gaze of your friend: snatches of glorious? ancient legends? fragments of archaic idols? snippets of mythology? Indeed, every instant in your photographs - every dress, every position of the hands, every object, every cup of hot tea, every tree at sunset- is a fracas, a seething drama. It overflows, unable to contain its own meaning. You are photographing high tide!
ReplyDeleteYour photographs make me think of the Polish writer Bruno Schulz: once, in his childhood, at a melancholy, twilight hour, his mother Henrietta entered his room only to find him feeding grains of sugar to the few flies that had survived cold autumn. "Bruno?" "It's so they'll last the winter."
Uwielbiam oglądać świat, który kreujesz poprzez swoje zdjęcia.
ReplyDelete