“I’m not interested in a Who’s Who of photography or who anybody is talking about,” says Artur Walther, a longtime board member of the International Center of Photography who has assembled his own collection of more than 1,200 photographs and videos.
Letizia Battaglia began to photograph the Sicilian Mafia in 1974, long before it was popular, chic, convenient or particularly safe to do so. As the photography director of L’Ora, Palermo’s left-wing daily newspaper, she or one of her assistants was present at the scene of every major…
I woke up super early today and did all the things I usually don’t do on Monday mornings in order to make time go by faster… I took an extra long shower, I straighten my hair, painted my toe nails orange… and the list goes on.
It is part of my routine to wake up early during week days, but it is not part of my routine to wake up sitting up straight in bed with my arms extended forming an invisible hug… I was dreaming. A dream so realistic that my sleep was knocked out of me at 4:30 am swearing to do not return until nightfall. The details of my dream are considerably irrelevant at the moment, however its recurrence couldn’t be ignored, nor the fact that someone who in my head used to be one of my best friends was playing a leading role. I reached for my phone, counted the hours of difference in between our time zones and was determined to place that phone call, then I remembered, the number is no longer his. Full of anxiety I got up and got busy, after all the “girly” pampering and the clock showing 10 past 6 I brewed myself some coffee and decided to read the news… Not only the regular news, but my friend’s news as well.
25 open tabs later, while reading an interview full of “ass-kissing”, with a head taken by racing thoughts and a heart full inquietude I grabbed my loaner camera, a Leica which vehemently insists in not adapting itself to my ways, and hit the road. Another non-routinely happening.
I started off by taking my usual work-bound route, then I made a few turns into industrial areas, dead end streets and tiny alley ways by freeway walls. I got out of my car and started photographing as hoards of people drove by me on their way to work. It almost felt like I was doing something illegal judging by the looks on the rearview mirrors and the sudden breaking lights, but it did feel good…
Everything else disappeared, the anxiety, the frustration; and the recurrent dream, well, it served as propeller by disturbing me and making me break my routine, converting itself into inspiration. That “old” friend, did get a message from me; one of many which will remain unanswered.
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