“(...) There is no weapon like words, no armor against words.”

Jurgen, James Branch Cabell

 

 


For me, photographs are like words.

Or 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 —.
The fact that I’m using photographs on their own, or with diptych and tryptch, resembles creating a sequence of words to form a sentence. When the correct sequence is established, every line hinges on the previous one.

I can 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.

What I struggle to describe within me is in the metaphors of these charged photographs.

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.

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.

Put on my Geneva armour

 

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