Saturday, November 17, 2018

Thursday, November 15, 2018

For Alena

























Alena Kolosarova 1928 - 2018
Rest in Peace

Ίρις

























"And now Iris, fleet as the wind, was sent by Jove to tell the bad news among the Trojans."

The Iliad Book II

Tuesday, November 13, 2018

The road east


Who were you yesterday,
blowing through the curtain in my memory

me estas mirando?


Friday, November 9, 2018

A fire on the horizon




















He stood on the beach and watched the black water splash on the frozen sand like a million unanswered cries for help. The dementia of overwhelming loss gripped his heart and it left him impotent on the shore. He closed his eyes and thought of her somewhere far away and he imagined her smooth skin reflected on the water caught in tiny fragments of perfectly distorted beauty and piece by piece the images of that world slipped and slid in the tide and were taken away. He screamed at the ocean until every last drop of energy left his weary bones and when he had finished and after he had emptied his soul out into that void at the edge of time he started to cry.

Thursday, November 8, 2018

Tuesday, November 6, 2018

voice

                                                              Kissing Oaks      Moss       Yorkshire



















A persons voice triggers a much more complex, intimate and expressive connection that a photograph can.

Sunday, October 28, 2018

Thursday, October 25, 2018

Thursday, October 18, 2018

sometimes

























Sometimes I wonder if I am nothing more than a collection of memories

atemporal?

























Nothing distinguishes memories from ordinary moments. Only later do they become memories by the scars they leave.

Monday, October 15, 2018

This is the way I look at the world




















from darkness to light

Friday, October 12, 2018

Solaris - a love story

























“What is art? ... Like a declaration of love: the consciousness of our dependence on each other. A confession. An unconscious act that none the less reflects the true meaning of life—love and sacrifice.” 
- Andrei Tarkovsky

Thursday, October 11, 2018

Roads


Wednesday, October 10, 2018

10 - 10 - 10


                                            Moss           Yorkshire          2018


Tuesday, October 9, 2018

Monday, October 8, 2018

La Jetée




Sunday, October 7, 2018

A Wild Sheep Chase


























"Some things are forgotten, some things disappear, some things die"
- Haruki Murakami, A Wild Sheep Chase

Saturday, October 6, 2018

Canada geese


Tuesday, October 2, 2018

A Promise

                                                  Fishlake                      Autumn                2018




















"Love is harder to give up than life"
Journey to the end of the night - Celine

Wednesday, August 29, 2018

The last days of summer (my dreams from this room)

                          Mileticova       Bratislava     Summer     2018
























Evenings with the sound of buzzing mosquitos and memories flowing through my mind. Cool mornings awakening to the blue light and birdsong of the dawn chorus. A distant church bell and the voices of children clattering against each other like bright colours splashed across a grey wall. Trying in vain to hold on to the fading edges of a dream that briefly became a reality and that will one day sink into the deep ocean of subconscious. To be fully aware of the infinite pleasure and great cost of a single kiss. To watch shadows grow longer until they eventually expire as the magic hour draws to its conclusion. To love with my eyes and heart your clouds and trees, your old staircases and narrow streets and the light as it catches in the long grass that dances in the breeze. To walk slowly and talk quietly and spend these moments collecting memories, brief snatches of time that fill me with joy. To be awakened from the slumber and numbness of loss with the feeling that I can continue this journey knowing that it is possible to learn as much from failure as it is from success and to know the similarities as well as the differences.

Thank you Bratislava for these years of learning and growing.




















Saturday, August 25, 2018

Journeys


























From here to there -
fifteen years gone

To watch the suns faded glow reflected on the ocean
and sift the sand in search of a pearl
to let regret dissolve
and be released from the chains of unfulfilled memories
to throw the shreds of negativity into the air
and watch it all wash away with the tide

Tuesday, August 14, 2018

life in the palm of your hand




A poem to the heart of the one who gets tired too early
tenderness craves one more kiss before it learns to regret
all of the time we can fit through the eye of a needle
measured out lines that we draw up and let out the door
offering kindness as if it were your last day
suffering will free you enough to suffer some more
sitting here early not wanting to miss the transport
take me away to the place I used to call home
back to a memory 
something that no longer exists.

Sunday, August 12, 2018

The weaker hand holds the truth.

























We followed the silver lake out beyond the edge of town, 
I tried to teach my tongue to talk of the sacred heart, and of a bitterness that hopefully dissolves over time. 

Friday, July 13, 2018

All the tall buildings

   
                              Ema      Bratislava    summer        2011

Sunday, May 27, 2018

A sense of freedom


                                                                     Nate              Summer            2018

Saturday, May 19, 2018

for jm

bratislava        2018


























 I was an Indiana kid, gettin no one in my bed I had your sweet tunes to play I was staring at the map, feeling fire in my head I had your sweet tunes to play I was mean to my dad, cause I was mean to myself I had your sweet tunes to play Stealing smokes in my car, with the windows way down I had your sweet tunes to play I was sittin in the bath, cleaning off the ash But I had your sweet tunes to play And I hated all my friends, I wouldn’t let them in I had your sweet tunes to play On a long desert train, and a knife in my bag I had your sweet tunes to play Under the Market Street Bridge, burning one in my hand I had your sweet tunes to play Your sweet tunes to play Now it’s hard to hear you sing, the crow has lost its wings I got your sweet tunes to play I’m getting older every day, still making the same mistakes I got your sweet tunes to play Either get out or stay in, I won’t let these dark times win We got your sweet tuens to play Your sweet tunes to play

Strand of oaks 'JM'

Monday, May 7, 2018

sleeping under the stars

                                                                  Vojka                Spring             2018

Tuesday, April 24, 2018

Being Human

                                                                         Bratislava 2018

























How do we define our humanity?
By a definition we create for ourselves,
or how others define us?

Saturday, April 21, 2018

untitled #4&5

                                                       Bratislava                   2018

Tuesday, April 17, 2018

untitled #3

                                                                 Bratislava            2018

Thursday, April 5, 2018

untitled #2

                                                                 Bratislava          2018

untitled

                                                               Bratislava             2018