Give sorrow words.

 “I just feel like all the sand is at the bottom of the hour glass or something.”  ― Adam

 

“Give sorrow words; the grief that does not speak knits up the o-er wrought heart and bids it break.”  ― William Shakespeare, Macbeth

“Now something so sad has hold of us that the breath leaves and we can't even cry.” ― Charles Bukowski

“And then it was, that grief and pain made themselves known to me as never before. Note this, because I knew the full absurdity of Fate and Fortune. And perhaps the description of this, brief as it is, may give consolation to another. The worst takes its time to come, and then to pass. The truth is, you cannot prepare anyone for this, nor convey an understanding of it through language. It must be known. And this I would wish on no one in the world.” ― Anne Rice, Pandora

    The words and images above are just an expression of what I'm feeling these days. I could have used my own words, what I've been writing, but some of the lines are too personal and in order to share or publish something I need to feel a little detached from it. Something that the passing of time provides. But I feel that sharing these emotions with the help of images and words is liberating and keeps my mind busy. I think it also comes from my love for cinema and literature, 'cause re-watching films about loss and grief, or reading about it, makes me feel that someone else understands what I'm going through right now. Feel united to those characters, to those writers, other people that has lost someone or are enduring with a relative's severe disease, also helps. Besides I've discovered, thanks to a friend, this amazing blog: 'Ekphora: The Grief Project'. And all this made me think that someone else has been there before and that this too shall pass. Positive thinking is the only way to cope with all this bad fate or fortune I'm having, as good old Shakespeare would put it.

― Still Life, The Horrors

Ph.: Marine Vacth by Paolo Roversi for Vogue Italia (Jan. 2014), The Tree of Life, 2011; Jane Eyre, 2011; Virginia Woolf in Venice, Lupe Jelena, Only Lovers Left Alive, 2013; last-half-moon, Cría cuervos..., 1975; adessive, Misma Andrews, Skammen, 1968; Persona, 1966; À coeur joie, 1967; To the Wonder, 2012; Zerkalo, 1975, Trois couleurs: Bleu, 1993.

Last days of summer

 El atardecer del verano empezaba a envolver al mundo en su misterioso abrazo. El sol descendía a lo lejos, hacia el oeste, lanzando los últimos destellos de un día fugaz, destellos que se detenían amorosamente en el mar y la playa, sobre las rocas cubiertas de vegetación que contornean la costa. 

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 The summer evening had begun to fold the world in its mysterious embrace. Far away in the west the sun was setting and the last glow of all too fleeting day lingered lovingly on sea and strand, on the weedgrown rocks along shore.

—James Joyce, Ulysses.

Summer is fading away and while I read James Joyce's Ulysses and listen to Dustin O'Halloran and Frank Sinatra's Summer Wind, I feel transported to those beaches that Joyce talks about. I feel like listening to the sound of the waves, enjoying the last days of summer under the sun and strolling the white sand at sunset. 

Ph.: La piscine (1969), Georgia May Jagger by venetia scott, David Hamilton, Stealing Beauty (1996), François Halard, Jane Birkin, Kate Moss, Leroy Grannis, Grace Kelly by Howell Conant, Persona (1966), Summer Interlude (1951), Quentin De Briey