Journal
Fragments of a creative life
A moveable feast
“If you are lucky enough to have lived in Paris as a young man, then wherever you go for the rest of your life, it stays with you…”
Ernest Hemingway
“If you are lucky enough to have lived in Paris as a young man, then wherever you go for the rest of your life, it stays with you…”
Ernest Hemingway
I travelled widely in my younger years, living in different cities, each leaving their own trace. Later, more mature, I arrived in Paris.
It didn’t feel like a beginning. More like a place where everything I had lived before could finally converge.
The city works for me as a container for memory and experience, quietly stirring them, letting them collide and evolve.
From that mixture, something beautiful sometimes emerges.
Fog
For me, fog feeds the imagination. It refuses to reveal the landscape all at once, asking you to trust that what has disappeared from view is still there.
For me, fog feeds the imagination. It refuses to reveal the landscape all at once, asking you to trust that what has disappeared from view is still there.
In a way, if you think about it, fog doesn't add anything to the world, it takes things away.
And, much like the finest paintings, it is through that absence that what truly matters begins to emerge…
Veils of Istanbul
Beautiful old corners bathed in sunset light, night-time shopfronts glowing softly in the dark
There is a very interesting concept called hüzün, introduced by Orhan Pamuk in his beautiful book Istanbul: Memories and the City.
It is not easy to translate, but it can be described as a kind of shared melancholy, almost a poetic sadness that seems to permeate the very walls of Istanbul.
I think it takes living there for a long time, and perhaps also the sensitivity of a master like Pamuk, to truly understand it, and probably feel it.
I cannot say I do. But during my visit there was definitely something special: an atmosphere, an energy that I still remember clearly, beautiful old corners bathed in sunset light, night-time shopfronts glowing softly in the dark… i do still miss it just by writing about it
This mood surrounded the city’s beautiful, timeworn architecture, buildings that have witnessed centuries of change and history.
I just love Istanbul.
True North
Glimpses of Canada's breathtaking wilderness, where black and white transforms the landscape into something timeless.
I still vividly remember a long walk along an old trail with my other half.
Glimpses of Canada's breathtaking wilderness, where black and white transforms the landscape into something timeless.
I still vividly remember a long walk along an old trail with my other half.
Surrounded by the silence of those vast landscapes, we followed abandoned railway tracks as a gentle rain began to fall.
The atmosphere was impossible to recreate, something quietly magical,
revealed only to those willing to slow down, to truly see, and to deeply feel.
Storm
From “ The Soul’s Storm “ by Emily Dickinson
It struck me every day
The lightning was as new
As if the cloud that instant slit
And let the fire through.
I thought that storm was brief,
The maddest, quickest by;
But Nature lost the date of this,
And left it in the sky
From “ The Soul’s Storm “ by Emily Dickinson