566438 - Boris Mikhailov - "...in search of window of Opportunity / Exodus..." 
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Raffaella Arena - La tua forma passò di qui 529195
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NewCondition € 45.00
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The first years after his death she wore a pendant around her neck with a portrait of him and a lock of his hair. How strange these pieces of him surviving time!
I always looked at this almost sacred object thinking about the irony of still be able to look at his face and touch his hair, even though he was gone. I’m nine years old, she’s my mother and he was my father. She didn’t talk much about him but, when she told me their story, she did it with sweet nostalgia and pain, as I listened dreamily and a little distraught. She describes those moments that I imagined stuck in time as in their photos together. I listened to these stories and I knew that I could never see her again as beautiful and happy as at that time. She lost him at the age of 44, but she was filled with grief throughout her life. I learned to know her smile and not forget it through the photographs he took of her.
She was beautiful and had great class, in the photos she seemed to shine with charm and glamour of the movie actresses he photographed. He was a photographer, a photojournalist, that day he left with his crew and never came back. Now that she’s gone too, I’ve kept her manias, her fetishes, her photos, a portrait of her drawn by him, her perfume, that I sometime smell, I close my eyes to fill her presence. I had to clear out and sell the house where we lived our whole lives. Everything inside it. Her belonginess, were separated, divided, distributed, thrown away or hoarded by acquaintances with little tact. I wish I had more time.
What about your memories now? What about your fairy tale? I have only one urgency: to save it, to tell it, and to give it back to time.
My memories, those of her and my family have come to me through the black and white images, of his camera, the magnetic tapes on which our voices are recorded, the 16mm film. My memory of him is in the smell of his darkroom, in the click of the shutter, in the noise of the aperture ring, in the crakle of the movie camera. Everything I know about him was passed through photography.
What about your memories now? What about your fairy tale? I have only one urgency: to save it, to tell it, and to give it back to time.
My memories, those of her and my family have come to me through the black and white images, of his camera, the magnetic tapes on which our voices are recorded, the 16mm film. My memory of him is in the smell of his darkroom, in the click of the shutter, in the noise of the aperture ring, in the crakle of the movie camera. Everything I know about him was passed through photography.
Raffaella Arena
1. Edition 11/2024
Book Design by Raffaella Arena
136 pages
20 x 25 cm
Softcover
Digital print
ISBN 979-12-80423-69-6
Book Design by Raffaella Arena
136 pages
20 x 25 cm
Softcover
Digital print
ISBN 979-12-80423-69-6
