London: Architects: Richard Rogers “Lloyds…” and Norman Foster: Gherkin and more
The romance of being a photographer has vanished: Today and every day I say hello to my hundreds of thousands: They are my DNA-pause-friendships in celluloid and more: It is a kiss to my past and tomorrow: I identify real places in real times: I dream again.
I do not need any validation today: Maybe tomorrow or another day will do: I would assume it is natural. Moments are precious: I have no time to listen to my mind>Today is tomorrow: Tomorrow will be in the present and then again the cycle continues: I walk streets at dusk and dawn. I memorized my moments that have not occurred. My mind rehearses the reels of movies and literary pages: I walk with those imageries/words lens in hand: Galaxy’s stars play visual tricks: Carnival barkers are seen and heard: I search for my Vanilla Sky:
London: Architect: Amanda Levete: Detail
I stand in front of the Eiffel: I stand next to city halls: I land in real airports and stand upright with unique whispers, whispering.
I often drown my eyes in an onslaught of visual brilliance: My eyes meld into Pieter Bruegel’s hyper-hyperbolic “The Tower of Babel.” My eyes meld into Claude Monet‘s atmospheric view of “The Seine at Argenteuil,” A collective of noises are heard dancing with serenity: Somewhere in between lives my Vanilla Sky:
I am passengered into the Chicago’s 1893 White City Worlds’ Fair. The movie “Vanilla Sky” plays forward: I sit in a faux Ferrari 250 GTO: Times’ Square is naked and soulless: Time travel is real: Tom Cruise sits near: I imagined with innocent verve anything can be believed. I gaze into the mirrors of my past and present.
My pictures are not mine: The traces of my days making architecture and portraits become my palimpsest: Remains: Traces of the past before me: Memories ahead: Shaped by alchemy and prophecy: Narratives are formed: Photographs shaped then and now offer glimpses into what may become my Vanilla Sky: It is what takes place in every footprint I leave behind and every footprint to be seen. The game of dream versus reality is always alive.
Tokyo: Architect: Kisho Kurokawa: Nakagin Capsule Tower
Urban discoveries are my equal to Thoreau’s pastoral wildings: Excited like a prairie dog rising in the midst of the morning sun: Things seen but not seen. I gaze into my archives chasing not memories, but occurrences: I have witnessed decades alone-with my camera: Maybe I dream of finally seeing my “Vanilla Sky.” Maybe I wish for too much. I try to make sense of the traffic of imagery: Everyday and my every night I awaken with a penchant to pursue the thrill of my “snaps.”
There is nothing hallucinatory about the experience: I merely need to remind myself of the experience…sort of subscribing to an idea as those may do in church: I mention in every piece I write about the cities; The cities I have walked through and across- but mostly that I gallivanted around: I have run into darkness: I have run into light: Run, walk and gallivant: All are familiar:
I listen to the sounds in London: I pause: I listen to the sounds in Barcelona: I pause: I listen to the sounds in Tokyo: I pause: The architecture of cities I share refer to not merely a capture but a singular experience that is caught with bated breath: I can never repeat the moments because… Then I confess: Somewhere is all I need: Knowing that Bruegel and Monet complicate and equally are a balm for my mind’s eyes is absurd: Yet, sit alongside my lens for a mere snippety-snap-snap and see what is seen but not yet seen: Time is precious: Days pass- light passes-moments are lost: Monet wrote, ”The light constantly changes, and that alters the atmosphere and beauty of things every minute.”
If I could only find the beauty once: If I could only capture the atmosphere once: If I could merely slow the entire experience into a lonely minute; I will have discovered my “Vanilla Sky.”
Barcelona: Architect: Jean Nouvel: