not a pretty picture. not a good. not a bad. picture. but an argument.

Friday, January 20, 2012


what waits for us?


  1. nobody knows dear Erin...

    Sometimes I think about when I was little, carefree, innocent, unsuspecting.
    I make myself so much tenderness, when I think that I didn't knew everything that would happen to me later ...

    your fotos are stunning in this case, I love your fotos and your few words, that speaking to me so much..

    you are simply so full of feelings

  2. Perhaps you've entered these decrepit mansions, with cracks and leaks. This is the kind of life

  3. m violetta, is this so? oh! i never thought - (wonderful!)

    laura, nostalgia again)) to think of you little and innocent moving through a space such as this, suddenly you inhabit my own memories of self. we all become one in those early stages.

    damaso, in translation your comment refers to mansions. at first i reacted against this notion because the homes are so obviously (to me) less than mansions (but perhaps once were something of the sort) but now i find that actually i am quite in love with the idea, decrepit mansions. don't they call us onward? don't they say, but stop first for a moment and see what is here so that you might understand yourself?



"Words at the limit of hearing, attributable to no one, received in the conch of the ear like dew by a leaf." (philippe jaccottet) or even a quiet presence is appreciated))