I converted my bathroom/darkroom into a darkroom/bathroom. If I don’t print at least once a week, please kick me.
I’ve updated this blog’s history with imported posts from the previous one. You can now find some stories from my trip to Spain back in March/April 2013 in the archive on the right.
Christmas at Niebowo. Time passes slowly. At dusk we steal a small pine tree from the nearby forest. Someone has to prepare the fish. The lights don’t work so throw them away. On the Christmas day we go for a walk in an unexplored part of the forest and find a scenic railway bridge. We visit our friends. There’s food, music, warmth and moonshine. Time passes slowly.
Beware of people who claim they want to set the world on fire but never bring their own matches.
An intersection of thoughts, inspirations, visions. This Easter break has been a delight.
There’s this person I’ve admired for years. I first saw her photos by chance, on an online group dedicated to one lovely little camera we both owned at the time – and immediately fell in love with the way she saw the world. I remember following in her footsteps, tracing the walks, adventures, troubles and smiles, beams of sunlight and dark moods. I remember an eerie but friendly mood of her photos, a quiet way of accepting the reality while still grasping it, taking in as much emotion and feeling as possible. The world she portrayed… it was one of a perfect dream. I never thought of her as a real person, someone I could one day talk to, laugh with, walk the rainy streets together… but after many years of not knowing each other, in an impossible yet somehow effortless time and place, this was about to change.
* * *
When you meet someone for the first time, there’s always this anxious feeling, a minuscule possibility of disappointment. It was there… but it was fleeting; it dispersed like a wisp of smoke, gave way like the shadows yield to the light of gently rising sun. That morning had the softness of an Instax picture, an unsaturated, heartwarming glow. An it left a desire – for long talks, for change, for people whose fire never stops burning. For travels, books, the unknown. For photographs.
* * *
Her name is Jola. You’re missing a lot if you don’t know her.