Sunday, January 31, 2010

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.

Saturday, January 30, 2010

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


Sunday, January 24, 2010

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

Saturday, January 23, 2010

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.

Friday, January 22, 2010

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. 

Thursday, January 21, 2010

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

Wednesday, January 20, 2010

Thursday, January 14, 2010

Wednesday, January 13, 2010

Monday, January 11, 2010

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.
 

Sunday, January 10, 2010

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

Saturday, January 9, 2010

Tuesday, January 5, 2010

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

Monday, January 4, 2010

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.

Sunday, January 3, 2010

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

Friday, January 1, 2010