Posts Tagged: sofia

La vie est un long fleuve tranquille

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Into the playground (smartphone photo)

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Lost in translation

A victory for lonely hearts

Lost in Translation revels in contradictions. It’s a comedy about melancholy, a romance without consummation, a travelogue that rarely hits the road. A relationship picture with elegant connective tissue; it’s brittle and real, focused on the nuances of body language and unspoken desire, while indulging in a cheeky bit of knowing absurdity when the mood strikes.

Telephone everyone in the place, taking off all that ever remains of you now.
There it is in the one that you know, any face that he lost in between the new low you’re all eyes.
All that she is holding, is nothing. fall, then you keep falling, until you learn to lose.
On the bed that was already made, he was all that would ever be left of you now.
Didn’t think you would know what to say, in a time that he’s taking it all away from you now.
All that she’s holding, is nothing. fall, then you keep falling, until you learn to lose.
fall. not far.
When you fall, you fall.

Welcome to the Machine

Welcome to the MachineWhat did you dream?
It’s alright, we told you what to dream.
You dreamed of a big star,
He played a mean guitar,
He always ate in the Steak Bar.
He loved to drive in his Jaguar.
So welcome to the Machine.

The secret life of Sofia S

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Ground Control to Major Tom
Ground Control to Major Tom
Take your protein pills
and put your helmet on

Ground Control to Major Tom
Commencing countdown,
engines on
Check ignition
and may God’s love be with you

[spoken]
Ten, Nine, Eight, Seven, Six, Five, Four, Three, Two, One, Liftoff

This is Ground Control
to Major Tom
You’ve really made the grade
And the papers want to know whose shirts you wear
Now it’s time to leave the capsule
if you dare

This is Major Tom to Ground Control
I’m stepping through the door
And I’m floating
in a most peculiar way
And the stars look very different today

For here
Am I sitting in a tin can
Far above the world
Planet Earth is blue
And there’s nothing I can do

Though I’m past
one hundred thousand miles
I’m feeling very still
And I think my spaceship knows which way to go
Tell my wife I love her very much
she knows

Ground Control to Major Tom
Your circuit’s dead,
there’s something wrong
Can you hear me, Major Tom?
Can you hear me, Major Tom?
Can you hear me, Major Tom?
Can you….

Here am I floating
round my tin can
Far above the Moon
Planet Earth is blue
And there’s nothing I can do.

A poem, twice

A poem, twice

“When people look at my pictures I want them to feel the way they do when they want to read a poem twice”.
– Robert Frank

Angels above us

Angels above us“Photography is not about the thing photographed. It is about how that thing looks photographed.”
– Gary Winogrand

In hoc mundo inconstante

in hoc mundo inconstante“In a photo there are always too many things, except when it’s a good photo. To speak specifically of my own work I believe that, from the very beginning, I managed to make photos where there was nothing more than what was needed”.
– Edouard Boubat

În unghi ascuțit

În unghi ascuțit“I am not very interested in extraordinary angles. They can be effective on certain occasions, but I do not feel the necessity for them in my own work. Indeed, I feel the simplest approach can often be most effective. A subject placed squarely in the centre of the frame, if attention is not distracted from it by fussy surroundings, has a simple dignity which makes it all the more impressive.”
– Bill Brandt

The Carnival is over

Sofia_acadea_apr2013 09_resizeSo I make myself the measure of photographic “knowledge.” What does my body know of Photography?

I observed that a photograph can be the object of three practices (or of three emotions, or of three intentions): to do, to undergo, to look. The Operator is the Photographer. The Spectator is ourselves, all of us who glance through collections of photographs – in magazines and newspapers, in books, albums, archives…

And the person or thing photographed is the target, the referent, a kind of little simulacrum, any eidolon emitted by the object, which I should like to call the Spectrum of the Photograph, because this word retains, through its root, a relation to “spectacle” and adds to it that rather terrible thing which is there in every photograph: the return of the dead.

– Roland Barthes – Camera Lucida. Reflections on Photography