it goes on..

Two souls at the narrow streets of Iruya, a small village
at 2800 m above sea level, at Salta province..
and I am almost sure i hear Robert Frost whispering:
"In three words I can sum up everything
I've learned about life: it goes on."

music in the soul....

"Music in the soul can be heard by the universe", wrote Lao Tzu..

and i can assure you her laugh

was like a whole symphony,

coming from centuries ago

to pervade my soul.

the opposite of love...

She was so focused on her chat.. but i heard him singing.. waiting..
He finally looked at me and said: " becuase the opposite of love isn't hate, but indifference.."
Then, closing his eyes, he calmly walked away...

memories..

The leaves of memory seemed to make
A mournful rustling in the dark.
~Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

egyptian tango..

From where can I have a word
Full of pain, rebellion and determination?
From where can I have a word born by Earth
A word which cures what Heaven words couldn't cure?

Salah Jaheen.... egyptian poet

tending towards the eternal..

i am back... two months traveling around my country...
i have passed through snowstorms... sandstorms.. rain...dust and wind covering roads, breaking the glasses of the car.. making stones hit and spoil the engine...weather changing from - 20 to + 34 degrees..

But i have found also souls that warmed mine... some became close, other were just silent meetings, in contemplation...
i have felt, suffered, smiled and grew among them...
and i remembered something i read long ago.. words that changed me forever...
“Traveling is a brutality. It forces you to trust strangers and to lose sight of all that familiar comfort of home and friends. You are constantly off balance. Nothing is yours except the essential things – air, sleep, dreams, the sea, the sky – all things tending towards the eternal or what we imagine of it.” Cesare Pavese..

childhood..

And even if you were in some prison, the walls of which let none of the sounds of the world come to your senses - would you not then still have your childhood, that precious, kingly possession, that treasure-house of memories? ~Rainer Maria Rilke

pure air and fire..

He's of the colour of the nutmeg.
And of the heat of the ginger....
he is pure air and fire;
and the dull elements of earth and water never appear in him,
but only in patient stillness while his rider mounts him;
he is indeed a horse, and all other jades you may call beasts.
~William Shakespeare, Henry V

suspended and.. realized..

Thanks to the Asociación Amigos de la Fotografía Antigua y del Museo Fotográfico de Quilmes, my exhibition "Souls"( that was scheduled at Museo Fotografico de Quilmes and was suspended by Quilmes Municipality) will begin today at cultural centre Libremente, at Temperley.
Many thanks, from the bottom of my heart, to the Association and to the Museum of Photography's director, Fernando San Martín.

new exhibition... Souls...

Broken..

Everything in this world has a hidden meaning. Man, animals, trees, stars, they are all hieroglyphics… woe is anyone who begin to decipher them and guess what they mean! .
When you see them, you do not understand them.
You think they are really men, animals, trees, stars. It is only years later, too late, that you understand...
Nikos Kazantzakis

more here
http://www.pbase.com/silvia_marmori/hidden_meaning

It's harder..

It is harder to kill a phantom than a reality

Virgina Woolf

air of heaven..

"The air of heaven is that which blows between a horse’s ears.."
or the one i still listen when remembering your voice..

for more images, http://www.pbase.com/silvia_marmori/horses

to trot the air..

When I bestride him, I soar,
I am a hawk: he trots the air;
the earth sings when he touches it;
the basest horn of his hoof is more musical
than the pipe of Hermes.

~William Shakespeare, Henry V

maybe..

I was taking a photo of the window.. and someone appeared taking the photo of who knows whose soul..
The photo of a photo.. the soul taking a soul.. taking a soul…
I wondered, without an answer.
Like at the insomnia nights…
Like the endless remembrances that appear, as hidden thieves, and instead of stealing they give us a present: a feeling of melancholy..
For the times deeply lived and gone but also for the times to come.. maybe.
And that “maybe” makes the whole difference…