Soliloquies of a Photographer — Blog RSS


It's the way this city of mine fills my lungs and pores with the hymns of love, life and longing. I stride between this world of iridescent textures and the ephemeral plain of a wordless commune littered by flickering stars.And I think I can be of this world even as I am without.

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Torn Pages

I am raw today.My book is open and exposed. Embedded in the thin bent spine are the jagged torn edges of missing pages. Words that worried upon my skin like a prickly woolly sweater. It dug into my armpits and crush my chest ruthlessly. No matter how much I pulled and stretched, it refused to fit. Even as I tear it off, its serrated rip-rip-rip accused me of cowardice, failure and defeat.There are dog eared corners left by a past self for this future me. Reminding her to come to it again on these hard days.

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Don't let go

It was our last day in Port Macquarie. We had driven to Tacking Point to see Australia's 13th oldest lighthouse. It was also our last holiday together. A memory of the extraordinary moments in our ordinary days  with the people who would go on to leave such lasting images of love in our lives.

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