While moving virtual boxes up and down this new blog, I’ve found this. There was very little light, and he suddenly rushed towards the camera. It’s probably my favourite picture of the Beast, still unbeaten.
We were the only tourists, and the men were galloping across the desert with the very same horsewhips they were once payed to use against demonstrators in Tahrir on the Battle of the Camels. I didn’t know how to keep them in the same landscape of the pyramids from four thousand years ago and Agatha Christie walking the same grounds during the excavations. But a small incident in my bag, me unknowing, had turned the film to b&w, so that I’ve come home with a series of pictures that look as if they were taken in the 1920’s. In the last two years the best things have sprung from accidents.
There are wild things that can only grow the way they want to. They take their shape, they follow their own design, they break asphalt and pavements and brick walls to be all they can be and nothing else. And you cannot stop them, nor cut them, nor bend them, nor wear them out, nor help admiring them.
She showed me all of her broken twisted bones, her tattoos, her jewels. We talk, here (en/ita).