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Put on my Geneva Armour

 

 

There is no weapon like words, no armor against words.For me, photographs are like words.

Or even better; they are letters, punctuations, and words.

When they come together, they form narratives — even though sometimes a single photograph can tell us the whole story —.
These photographs stand on their own, as diptych and tryptch. They resemble creating a sequence of words to form a sentence. When the correct sequence is formed, every line hinge on the previous one.

It is not hard to foresee the final sentence of this story. Like a lightening in the sky; brightening the room first and thunder thereafter; prolongs the feeling of that illumination until the nature settles down.

The heart-aching struggle is to describe the metaphors within these charged photographs.

As many would guess, it’s not difficult to be a good person in Geneva. But it is far from simple. You feel like the ugly duckling among the noble swans.

And they say Switzerland’s chosen color is red. Still everywhere I look is in turquoise: the lake, the sidewalks, the whole city. Unnerving.

My soul drifts from darkness to light, lightness to dark.
Without feeling a moment of belonging, I’m in pieces.