Tag Archives: photography

Sur Round, surround!

When the crowd is overwhelming with its conformity and closing in on you. This gorgeous monster knows how to deal with such a (minuscule) blender…

Or, maybe it tried blending in and munching on every thing flowing by – alas, everybody freaked out.

But seriously – my first experience with underwater photography was majestic and tiring. Fish are very impatient models. Who knew?

  • Eilat Coral Beach Nature Reserve
  • The main character her is, if I’m correct, common lionfish?

Deserts, theatre and silence.

Today I’m going to tell you about the play I saw some time ago. 

4.48 Psychosis is not really a play, though – a suicide note, left by a young woman suffering from a severe case of depression. She keeps a diary of mental chaos unravelling in her mind, her consciousness stream sinking in pills, dreams and loosing touch with reality. Because this “diary” is in abstract form, there are myriad interpretations and concepts of staging it.

Honestly, I hesitated a lot before going to see the play. I was quite afraid how it would affect me afterwards, considering depression is not something I’m not familiar with myself. One thing is to read it, another to observe and re-live it (if the performance allows it).

The performance left a very light feeling. Not a feeling of death and hopelessness of dead-end, but rather a blanketing feeling of relief and hope, which is so rare these days and which I treasure always. Suicide is a very sensitive subject and, unfortunately, taboo among many but it is vital one to talk about. How do you interpret respectively someone’s suicide note on stage? I felt that why this directing was especially successful, it is because it brought out different layers and it was not afraid to bring out even humour. Of course, they made us laugh intentionally, yet it was not about digging out of the text a comedy genre, neither it was about finding a dark humour. The written piece is heavy and intimate – it felt like shouting in silence when I was reading it. Not sure how else to put this into words. As for the stage performance, all these hidden layers I might have subconsciously erased while reading came onto surface, the author’s mind’s catastrophe and decomposition was right in front of us. It was frightening and magnificent. Even when being in state of sanity, our thoughts are never going through at the same frequency: they can laugh, they can shout, the thoughts can cry and plead. They can be silent.

The stage was set up in several rows of wooden long benches descending like stairs, and three characters constantly found themselves on different levels, reminding me of thoughts jumping from stair to stair, of different realities and dreams the author must have been travelling through.

The stairs of the consciousness. Sometimes ascending, sometimes descending – could be both, depending on the angle from which you look. Anyway, it’s all illusion, no?

Like in desert – the concepts of time, space and energy are all intertwined and blended, and distorted if I may say.

Turning Pages of History: Dersane Mikael

Dersane Mikael [17th century]

This manuscript of Ethiopian Orthodox Church includes tales and miracles of Archangel Michael – one of those popular figures omnipresent in different religions and communions – framed by brilliant illustrations. I’m neither versed nor even slightly interested in religious texts usually, but illuminated manuscripts and such treasures as this one fascinate me with their simple yet stunning beauty.

Let me walk you through the old church in the heart of Jerusalem, and let’s turn the pages of this history together.

Sur Round, surround!

When the crowd is overwhelming with its conformity and closing in on you. This gorgeous monster knows how to deal with such a (minuscule) blender… Or, maybe it tried blending in and munching on every thing flowing by – alas, everybody freaked out. But seriously – my first experience with underwater photography was majestic and […]

Deserts, theatre and silence.

Today I’m going to tell you about the play I saw some time ago.  4.48 Psychosis is not really a play, though – a suicide note, left by a young woman suffering from a severe case of depression. She keeps a diary of mental chaos unravelling in her mind, her consciousness stream sinking in pills, […]

My first photo exhibit in the library

I was laying on my back basking in sun, disappearing in breeze and drowning in the intoxicating aroma of flowers.  I rolled over, pushing hands into the water and looked – expecting to see the reflection of mine,  the reflection of sky, striped in white and blue, the reflection of quietly shushing trees high above,  […]

On Help.

With his left hand he pushes the wheel forward, at the same time stepping hard with his left leg on the ground. The wheelchair tends to move not forward but slightly to the left, so he constantly needs to readjust the direction. I cannot see his face, but his hair is long and greyish white. Yellow sweater. It’s […]

White Spring

Without knock, Without warrant, White Spring threw doors wide open, Bursting into sudden silver flames..

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My first photo exhibit in the library

I was laying on my back basking in sun, disappearing in breeze and drowning in the intoxicating aroma of flowers. 
I rolled over, pushing hands into the water and looked –
expecting to see the reflection of mine, 
the reflection of sky, striped in white and blue,
the reflection of quietly shushing trees high above, 
the reflection of tiny plane-bug buzzing in the air, maybe. 
But instead I saw reflection of nothing. Nothing, as whiteness?
Or nothing, as darkness?
Neither. Just nothing. White blackness. 

For the first exhibit I chose the theme “Reflections”, as this is one of my favourite consistent photography subjects. Be it mirror reflections, sunshine reflected on the water surface or musing looking at a photo – I love discovering those moments, saving them in time and so far collected quite a lot in my archives.

Sometimes, the distorted reflection reveals more about the subject than its own original state. Sometimes, there is no reflection, neither distorted nor straight mirroring – just emptiness and white blackness. Often, the reflection is only what we want to see.

These are the prints that I selected for the exhibit.

Red Beak
Print 15

STARRY NIGHT REFLECTIONS

Print 19

WATER LILIES

CHICAGO

Print 17 copy

KALEIDOSKOPIC FLOW

Print 1 copy

GOBLETS

Print 10 copy

CANAL

Print 9 copy

THE POND

Print 13 copy

MEMORIES

Print 11 copy

A TREE

Print 12 copy

RADIANT SNOW

Print 7 copy

BLAZING SUNSET

Print 6 copy

ICICLE

Print 5 copy

CRYSTAL WAVES

Print 3 copy

GOLDEN CANAL

Print 14 copy

REFLECTED IN NEW

Print 18 copy

ENTERTAINMENT DISTRICT

Print 2 copy

… of The Holy Land in America

Can you copy the heritage? I’d rephrase: for example, can you bring home replica of certain historical site and claim that this replica holds onto the same historical importance?

During my most recent stay in Washington, DC I visited its very own Franciscan monastery. I’m not a religious person, and Christianity is quite far from my spiritual journey, so to say. Yet I enjoy visiting temples and cathedrals, synagogues and mosques, as many of them capture that moment of unity with oneself and divine – whatever the divinity itself means to you. To my surprise, the fact of visiting the monastery, even the mere desire of doing so, left most people shrugging shoulders. “Why bother,” – They say, – “It is not a real Franciscan hermitage, it does not have the history.”

For me this is quite a surprising assumption. Even if it was built just a century ago and its beautiful shrines are mere replicas, even if it shines with clean, crisp golden paint, even it does not smell of mold and 800 centuries, this monastery has all the right to arouse interest not only among historians and religion scholars, but among simple tourists as well. At least that what I thought before my visit, and it proved me right. Mind you, this friary is not just a museum, it is a functioning monastery.

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Located in Brookland, relatively diverse neighbourhood, The Franciscan Monastery was built in late 1890’s, but the plans of “Holy Land in America” started way before. The monastery architecture is a beautiful design, in Byzantium style with slight Romanesque influences and inspired by basilicas in Jerusalem and two cloisters in Rome.

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The monastery is surrounded by Rosary portico, decorated with early Christian symbols. The whole landscape is exact replica of holy sites that were photographed meticulously for the construction.

All the details, small and tiny, on the entering the church, are worth attention.

This is the inside of the church, look at the colours of the dome!

Interestingly enough, the main altar is located right in the center of the church, just beneath the central dome.

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However, the main treat is not even the main hall but rather the “catacombs.” One has to descend just few stairs and enter miniature door (one of many in monastery, which is the height of child of 6 years old: sometimes I felt like Alice in Wonderland wishing for cookie that would make me tiny and fit comfortably into the door space) — and voila, one find themselves inside the shrine of Bethlehem, which is the replica of Grotto of Nativity form the 4th century Church of Nativity.

 

Through the long tunnels, dimly lit by electrical candles, you touch the rough walls while passing by the shrines and bones of different saints and for a moment you feel that heavy history of medieval ages.

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At the end of the tunnels and various hallways you enter the Catacombs, which are the copy of early Christian catacombs of Rome. The wall decorations are copies of original frescoes.

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As I strolled through the land, lost within infinite silent gardens and captured by various solemn statues of St. Francis, I was immersed in the whole replica of history. It was replica from outside, but to me it succeeded in preserving the whole period of history, its essence and meaning.

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Momentum

Single work of art – be it a visual piece like painting or sculpture, or rather physical like dance or theatre – is not alive till the viewer sees it and, by analysing (often unconsciously) starts interpreting it. The painter might have a certain meaning for his entire work, however, as an audience, we usually only take small, separate details out of it. The more we analyze the painting, the less it stays the whole for us — the more it breaks into pieces, each having its own meaning and interpretation. One could say that a viewer develops the work of art further, into its “life.”

These details and tiny moments worth of second that we notice, sometimes can be discovered in newer works and can show the whole piece in completely new light..

The following represents one such intimate experience of mine with works of art, particularly Henry Moore sculptures and dancer Benjamin Kamino performance of Nudity. Desire – long drawn.

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Floating in the Air.

Floating in the Air..  The enormous while balloon slowly raised into the night sky above the grasping crowd, dragging behind a tiny delicate figurine.

Floating in the air.. I thought it would be interesting to visualize the acrobat not hanging under the balloon’s bottom, but rather playfully kicking the ball in front of her, both floating in darkness nowhere and in no time.

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They were clowns in blistering, silky unappealing costumes– rather resembling medusas than snowflakes (which, I’m quite sure, was the intention at the Winter Festival)..

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These snowflakes, or whoever they were, had apparently very difficult relationship– sort of expressing the same old swings “push-pull”. Well, what you can say, flaky creatures, flaky feelings.. ))