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.