the book

the physical book

a few years ago i began to think about the book,
the physical book.

and now the reflection becomes more relevant with the appearance
of the kindle and last week, the new ipad!

a few years ago i began photographing old books,
fascinated by the printing, the fonts, the binding, the quality of the paper.
the fragility of the object.
the book as an object,
as an artifact, as part of our intellectual history.
a cultural reflection.
the book, representing knowledge.
tomes.

i am fascinated when i see people reading,
absorbed in thought.
people read on buses, in cafes.
in venice, people read on the vaporetto.

i find it hard to imagine the kindle ever replacing the book.
something about the experience of holding a book,
turning the pages, getting lost in words,
entering a literary landscape
which is part of our shared human experience.

the past becomes the present

In our generation, the present was made by the past —

there was no present without a strong influence from the past.

Now it seems like the past has been forgotten.

According to St. Augustus, time comes from a future which does not yet exist,

gets to a present which is in constant evolution,

and ends with a past which no longer exists.

Bernardo Bertolucci

always venice, sempre venezia

sotto voce

fantasma

after

when i went to venice i found my dream had become my address. Marcel Proust

empty book

waiting and watching

waiting and watching

our lives are a series of defining moments, strung together by passing time. surrender fully to this moment, because it is not the moment itself that defines us, but how we choose to live 

in it.   jill pendley

your future is created by what you do today, 

not tomorrow.   robert kiyosaki

litany of winter

winter envelopes

as we drift

through a dark landscape

desolate and bleak

a road leading

somewhere

a road leading 

nowhere

in cold silence.

your afternoon, my morning

dear stefan:

how are you and what are you up to today?

is today tomorrow?

i always feel out of sync with the time zone you are in.

more so even than when you are in europe.

very strange.

here it is friday, is it your saturday?

i feel like i am doing mental gymnastics in trying to imagine

day and time.

down under.

with love, mommy. 

the winter vault by anne michaels

"From the moment Ewa sent me this photograph, I knew the image was right for the novel. I felt at once there was a deep honesty and a compelling "necessity" to the elements she brings together in the photograph. Only later did I learn that this composite held a strong personal gravity for Ewa. There are three main characters in the novel and - extraordinarily - I felt that the child in the photo could be a childhood photo of any of those three, and the mother's face  - deeply moving - could belong to the mother of any of those three. For me, the profound connection among these characters is somehow hinted at in these two faces. Also, of course, there is a palpable sense of historical grief, and the meaning of the "vault" that underlies the relationship of those faces. By some coincidence, separately, in her own creating, Ewa had brought together elements that captured the history, and the history of those characters, in the novel."    Anne Michaels

i remember when i showed this photograph to anne she looked at it for a very long time...

THE WINTER VAULT WAS NOMINATED FOR THE GILLER PRIZE IN 2009

distance

I want to be in two places at once; I want my history to be one with my future.  Vicki Archer

at the window

state of mind

maiano

the waiting room

wrapped in time

winterscape

wrapped in time

i photograph places that are wrapped in time,

places where one can sense the presence of history.

my work is about memory and how memory is 

diluted, and sometimes lost.

in a place like venice one can see the passage of time

in the worn steps, the crumbling architecture,

the stained mirrors, the inscriptions on buildings.

we sense the past everywhere, even though 

we are living in the present.

these connections for me are visceral.

i feel them, sense them 

and with my camera want to record them.

 

stolen moment

i spotted this little girl at the metropolitain museum of art in new york.

her mother was not too pleased i was taking a photo.
i took only one.
you are looking at it.
i wish i had asked the mother for her contact info.
i think this image is so powerful, and timeless.
like a vermeer painting in the quality of the light. 

i titled this image, stolen moment.

mothers

out of time

meditation

just me

a community of dreamers

the languid light

there is a certain light in miami.

a languid light.

in the early morning and at dusk.

the colours are delicate.

rosy, blue, white.

a certain dreamlike atmosphere.

like being suspended in time,

in a place by the sea.

at this particular moment the sun was setting.

three cruise ships were slowly drifting

out to sea, the cabin lights twinkling.

a suspended moment.

(echoes of the opening scene in death in venice when the boat arrives)

a kind of timelessness,

as if the world was standing still.

home

van gogh's bed

last summer i was in provence.

i found myself in the room where

van gogh had lived the last years of his life.

i gazed out his window 

and saw the view he had seen. 

the landscape he had painted.

and then, in the corner i saw his bed.

selections

the photos below were taken in venice in january 2009.

one year ago.

it has taken me a year to absorb the experience

of this last trip.

a year to make preliminary selections. 

i am now editing my images.

on longing...

although this was my fifth trip to venice

i feel that i need more time in this city.

although previous sojourns resulted in projects

i feel there is still more to come.

i feel the urge to continue...

i need time in this city 

of water and reflections.

memory's images

"Memory’s images, once they are fixed in words, are erased,” Polo said.
“Perhaps I am afraid of losing Venice all at once, if I speak of it.”
a fragment of a conversation between Marco Polo and Kublai Khan
from Invisible Cities by Italo Calvino

"every moment is two moments" anne michaels

this image reminds me of fleeting time...