Silence.

 

2015 10 PT Desbarato IMG_6712

Hay pocas cosas tan ensordecedoras como el silencio.

Mario Benedetti.

There are few things as deafening as silence.

Posted in Photography | Leave a comment

Time…

2015 10 PT Desbarato web wm DSCF3873It takes time, or does time take it?

Anthony Liccione

Posted in Photography | Tagged , , , | Leave a comment

Radio Power…

2015-10-08 09.06.31

“The powerful chords that emanated from the radio

heated me from the inside out, like a microwave.”

Sandy Ward Bell, In Zoey’s Head: A Novel

Posted in Photography | Leave a comment

Footprints…

2015-10-18 08.53.41

 “It’s as if my footprints were already on the road before I even got there.

I walk into them,

my waiting footprints.”

 Jackie Kay

Posted in Photography | Leave a comment

Substitute

IMG_8374

“You have to be vulnerable and open to experience the new,

as nothing else gonna substitute it..” 

Jayesh Varma

Posted in Photography | Leave a comment

Rest

2015-10-07 09.26.46

“After all, the best part of a holiday is perhaps not so much to be resting yourself,

as to see all the other fellows busy working.”

Kenneth Grahame, The Wind in the Willows

Posted in Photography | Tagged , | Leave a comment

The cost of opportunity…

2015-09-01 17.03.26-2

“I saw my life branching out before me like the green fig tree in the story. From the tip of every branch, like a fat purple fig, a wonderful future beckoned and winked. One fig was a husband and a happy home and children, and another fig was a famous poet and another fig was a brilliant professor, and another fig was Ee Gee, the amazing editor, and another fig was Europe and Africa and South America, and another fig was Constantin and Socrates and Attila and a pack of other lovers with queer names and offbeat professions, and another fig was an Olympic lady crew champion, and beyond and above these figs were many more figs I couldn’t quite make out. I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig tree, starving to death, just because I couldn’t make up my mind which of the figs I would choose. I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant losing all the rest, and, as I sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and, one by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet.”

― Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar

Posted in Photography | Tagged , , , , | 2 Comments