I'm not your usual kind of romantic. I will probably laugh at flowers and a teddy bear, or at a chocolate box on Valentine's. Hell, I'll laugh at Valentine's itself, because I firmly believe that if I need a day in a year to show someone how much I love them, then there's something wrong with the relationship. I'm not up for grand gestures; I prefer the small, intimate ones.
People keep telling me that love isn't what I think it is, that it isn't about passion or about that teenage-like euphoria; that it's about building it up from the ground, from finding a partnership to starting a family. And I do agree that there's a measure of effort and of work in a relationship; anything that doesn't take work is unworthy of our time. But at the same time, I want the fireworks, you know? I want that blinding, mad, fiery passion that makes you forget everything else. I want that certainty, that firm belief that the person you're with is the person who's right for you. I don't believe in shutting everyone out simply because it's easier, because it's cleaner or safer. And I see so many people around me doing it, keeping people at bay when they should be embracing their presence. I don't want to be like that, not even if the world forces it on me. That's one of the reasons I love photographing weddings; they remind me that people still fall madly in love. I don't know. I don't even know why I'm writing this, I just woke up with this idea a couple of days ago and haven't been able to let it go. I want to be anything but bitter. I want to have an open heart, and that's a bit what this is about: a love that is fiery red, flowing in the wind.
[Many, many thanks to my darling Bé, who helped me with this shot. She's such a darling.]