Week 20 — dreams of lavender

Week 20/52

This week is a comeback, of sorts, to the days of my 365 and the hand shots that I took when I was working on that project. There are several reasons for this week's photo to come out like this, but the first of them is the absolute lack of time. I had an amazing week, don't get me wrong. But it was busy and I didn't have much time to put together the shot I had conceived, so that one shall be saved for next week.

I went to Dublin on Wednesday morning, and returned at 3am, Thursday. I went there for the final of the Europa League, which my glorious team, F. C. Porto, was playing — and won.

It was one of the best days ever. Even the plane rides couldn't put a stain on it, they were so peaceful and I wasn't nervou at all. I took about 800 pictures, sang my throat out (I'm actually voiceless now), walked the streets of Dublin for hours, with my cousin pretending to be a guide and failing, caught up with an old friend who came with along with us, and that was lovely; partied like there was no tomorrow, was there to celebrate the goal with Falcao, right in front of him, jumped and sang and waved my scarf, and basically, had the time of my life.

One of my closest friends texted me in the afternoon to ask if everything was alright, and I think I said something along the lines of: I found out that happiness is Dublin, a Starbucks latte and a whole lot of 'portistas'. And it's true. It was complete, pure, utter bliss.

So I wanted to photograph something related to that, so I used the Starbucks mug I bought as a souvenir. The thing is, the session evolved and I ended up preferring this shot. The starbucks mug is in the comment, along with another shot. More shots of the mug (MUG SHOTS, LOL) will come in the next few days.

I hope you guys had a week as glorious as mine. And that the next one is even better!

Week 19 — In Red

Week 19/52

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.]

Week 18 — Marvelous

Week 18/52

Oh well. I guess this was channeling every person who's ever done a levitation shot. Which means... everyone.

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I like female writers, when they're serious. I like Virginia Woolf, I like the Brontë sisters, I like 20th century writers, who transformed the way people see women, going from pretty-pieces-of-furniture-slash-sexual-toys to full on, thinking human beings. I am immensely grateful to all of them. But there's one who seems to get to me in a very particular way: Anaïs Nin. I read the compilation of her diaries ('Henry and June') for the first time when I was 15. It was life changing, as is everything at that age, but it's one of the books I keep in my nightstand. So when i read this quote of hers, earlier this week, I knew I had to work my photo of the week around it:

“I am an excitable person who only understands life lyrically, musically, in whom feelings are much stronger as reason. I am so thirsty for the marvelous that only the marvelous has power over me. Anything I can not transform into something marvelous, I let go. Reality doesn’t impress me.”

I'm constantly told, in my life, that I can't just do the things I like, that I have to do everything, because that's life and life is hard and yadda yadda. I know. I recognize and accept that kind of thinking, that kind of paradigm. But the truth is, if it doesn't make me smile in wonder, if it doesn't make my heart flutter with emotion, then I probably won't care much about what happens. And this is what the shot is about.

I spent most of my week writing, which gives me an immense sense of freedom, but also drains me. Writing takes so much more out of me than photography does. But the truth is, it makes me feel alive. Photography makes me feel alive through physical pain, through adrenaline, through putting myself in danger to get a cool shot; writing does that to me simply by pulling on my heart strings and allowing my fingers to run through the keyboard, through taking me by the hand and showing me that it could be like this and not like that. The muse was kind this week, and she lead me wisely through both fiction and photography.

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Week 17 — Like a Butterfly

Week 17/52

This isn't normal: I have 28 possible shots for this week. You know what that makes? A WHOLE lot of outtakes. So you get SEVEN of them with this shot. And you'll be getting outtakes every day or so for the next week. I'm sorry about that.

I wanted to do something joyful this week. I finally got my butterflies in the mail, and I instantly knew I wanted to use them; they're probably my favorite prop. And I wish you guys could see them for real, because they're so delicate and beautifully made. They're gorgeous.

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There were butterflies all around us. We had walked into a meadow and a swarm of butterflies had surrounded us, flying all around, landing on our faces, our hair, our hands. I looked at James and saw him close his eyes in delight, letting his head fall back, while David looked at him with adoration in his eyes. I remember smiling at the love my little brother had found in that writer I had introduced him to in one of our nights in town; it was a strange feeling of accomplishment, like I had intervened and changed his fate. I guess that's what we all do to each other, right? We change each other's paths, we form our lives around what people bring to us.

I remember feeling your arms snaking around my waist, and whispering to you "Don't kill any butterflies."

You whispered back "Don't worry, I didn't" and l felt your lips on my neck. It was always like that, the small intimate gestures I avoided in front of everyone else, which you gently forced into me until they didn't bother me anymore.

Ruth was walking silently behind us, as usual, her camera pointed at the beautiful colors around us. At that time, when we were twenty-one or twenty-two, she was obsessed with it, she'd take the old Hasselblad everywhere — even to the bathroom with her, which granted her a few jokes on how she would eventually drop it on the toilet or the sink, and which ended invariably with her hitting Jamie or David or me or you.

This moment, when Ruth took the pictures and you held me against your chest is the only thing that comes to mind now, in this field in Italy, so many thousand miles away from that first afternoon. And while you are the one to turn the camera on me now, I'm not as self-conscious as I was back then.

They're soft, the butterflies; you can barely feel them against your skin. I slowly raise my hand and bring the one that is resting on my index finger closer to my face; she's orange, a Monarch, and it's like she can read me. She jumps and places herself on my nose, and that's when I hear the shutter of your camera.

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One more outtake from the stupid lent novel to try to kill you all from the sheer boredom of it.

I hope you all have a wonderful weekend, and that you forgive me for the spam that will happen in the comments and in the next few days. :)

Week 16 — The Sacrifice and the Sin

Week 16/52

Today is Good Friday, which for us Catholics — and Christians in general, I believe — celebrates the death of Christ in the cross, to save us all from sin. It's also the 'ohmygodtwomoredaysuntilIgetchocolate' day. But I digress.

I've been thinking about this photo for a while, been working on the concept and the execution, getting my studio lights to work again, and right now I'm not incredibly happy with the result, but I'm not pissed about it either. I like it. I don't love it, but I might be suffering from sleep deprivation — my insomnia is back in full-force — and from that Virgina Woolf syndrome that said that the book in our head is always better than the book in our hands. Well, in this case, photograph.

But still, I wanted to make an allusion to sacrifice.

Every year, I give up the foods that I like the most during Lent. It's forty-seven days (no, not forty like they want us to believe, because apparently Sundays don't count as Lent, but I counted them anyway) of living without chocolate, McDonald's and Francesinhas. Last year it wasn't so hard; I had a ton of emotional problems to work through, so I kind of forgot about the food, but this year? This year was hell. I've been dreaming about eating chocolate for the past three weeks, and having my family own a bakery above which I live doesn't help. But still, I'm here and I'm alive and I didn't break my lent, which makes me feel good.

I don't do Lent for the purpose most Christians do, which s the purification of the soul and the riddance of sins. I don't believe in sin as the church puts it; I believe the sin is the act you commit while knowing you're causing harm to someone, and you're doing it on purpose, so while I do have some of those, I don't think every side step I take is a sin. So I never feel the need to cleanse myself of those, since I can pretty much do it on my own through prayer or meditation — or better, by apologizing. But at the same time, doing Lent gives me this spiritual rush, as if I was proving to myself how strong I can be when I put my mind into it. I'm flaky most of the time, and I don't have any self-control or discipline when it comes to the trivial things in life, like food or exercise or other small habits. But this was proof that I could do it. And I'm very, very glad I did it.

If I don't talk to you guys before sunday, I hope you have a blessed Easter. I'll be sitting on the corner courting a three-layer-chocolate cake.

Week 15 — The Girl who Fell

Week 15/52

While I had wanted to take a different photograph for the weekly shot, I ended up using my favourite out of the Sanatorium ones. It happened mostly for two reasons, the first of which is that my grip-with-a-remote-control-included seems to be taking forever to do the 5km between the customs office and my place, so I'm remoteless; the second reason is that I sort of fell in love with this photo as soon as I finished it. There, I said it. For once, I like the weekly shot.

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"What if we fall", Clarissa asked with the rise of an eyebrow. It seemed almost as if she didn't mind the fall or the aftermath of it; as if she didn't have anything better to do with her time than to risk to die in a gruesome way.

Matthew shrugged, looking through the well.

"Back in the day, we wouldn't have thought about it twice."

She rolled her eyes but couldn't keep a smile from showing up on her face. "We were young. And stupid. We're neither now."

"I think we're still pretty..."

"If you say 'stupid', I swear to God I'll throw you down the well myself."

"I was going to say 'young'."

She smiled. "Good. Good boy."

They were silent for a minute or two, each contemplating the square windows that covered the dark pit.

"So?"

Clarissa pulled the cover over it again and turned around.

"Come on, stupid. I'm not going to kill myself when there's a chocolate cake in the oven."

"As simple as that, huh?"

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Again, letting you in on the outtakes of my very tiny and very bad Lent novel. OH, there's only a week and two days left! CHOCOLATE! Please come my way! :D

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Week #14 — Underneath the Fall

Week 14/52

I almost didn't post this week. I'm not at all satisfied with how this shot came out, but I made a commitment, right? So here it is. And I just remembered I'll have to sing (alone) in public next Monday. OH GOD. I'm so screwed.

I'm in a very strange place, art-wise. And in the past few days, I have been giving a lot of thought to the concept of artistic integrity. It's been on my mind, especially because of this project, because I am so often torn between posting a photo that I truly love or posting another that I know will be popular, that will give me reviews and recognition.

Lately, I've been leaning more and more towards posting the works that I love instead of the ones I know will get more comments or favorites or notes; that usually ends up with me depressed and pissed at myself when I don't get the kind of reception I had expected. And I'm not blaming you, my darling viewers, because I know that if something is strange enough, it will keep you from saying something. It keeps ME from saying something. I am, however, blaming myself for caving, most times, and for posting the one I know will be loved and seen.

And now I'm calling it 'caving'. Really? Just because you post a photo you know will be popular instead of an artistic one, does it mean you lose your integrity? Does it mean you give up on what you believe? It's an incredibly complicated choice to make, and I usually go with the compromise: an artsy shot with a pretty outtake, or the other way around. That's how it's going to work this week. But I'm still not satisfied.

To think that I had to climb onto a waterfall and nearly killed myself, and now I don't even like the shot.

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On a different subject, I found this site that allows you to write an email to the future and receive it on a date you set yourself. I wrote my email today, and while I was expecting to write a couple of lines, I ended up with three pages and a smile on my face. I wonder how I'll be in a year and a half. I wonder if New York will work out, I wonder if it'll change me. I wonder if I'll still be alone or if I'll find someone to recreate that 'For Lovers Only' teaser with me. I wonder if I'll still be me.

Note: If anyone knows who this texture belongs to, please let me know through PM? I can't find the source. I had never used it, so I didn't take note at the time I downloaded it and now I don't know who it belongs to. :/

Oh, and please press 'L'?

And don't forget to follow me on twitter!

Week #13 — The Invisible Girl

Week 13/52

Despite the fact that I took another 'photo of the week' yesterday, I couldn't help myself. I had to post my favourite shot out of the Sanatorium series, because I love it so darn much, and I thought it was better than anything else I might have taken this week. So here it is.

This is dark. The whole series is, but this photo and the two others that compose this moment within the series (which can be seen in the comments), are darker than anything else. I think it's because it coincides with the first time that afternoon that I felt like I was shooting completely alone. Luís and Diego were on the other side of the building with my teacher and I was finally on my own, in that terrifying place, and I finally allowed myself to breathe. Before that, I'd been shooting near them, but this time I was on my own. So I just took a moment and saw that light and put myself in the middle of it.

The weather is absolutely marvelous here; it's warm and sunny, so I'm just a couple of minutes away from moving this party to my rooftop, along with my guitar and a cold lemonade, and just enjoy an afternoon of fun and music. The mood right now is very different from that of the picture, so I hope you all have the most lovely weekend, and that your lives are filled with joy!

OH, and in case you want to see the rest of the series, it's here!

Week #12 — Clarissa's Breakdown

Week 12/52

I remember Jamie’s look as he stopped the car and turned it off. He didn’t look straight at me, looking outside his window first, as if he was gathering up the courage to say something. The words died in his mouth, though, when I opened my own door and stepped out.

I walked for a couple of seconds, and then I ran. It was a very large piece of land, so I ran for a minute or two, feeling the two of them not too far behind me. I brought my hand up to my face as I started to feel the moisture, and realized I was actually crying. Finally.

What I remember the most about the time this picture was taken was the mixture of feelings, the sense of grief and relief at the same time. I hadn’t cried yet. Not when Matthew had left, not when I was at the hospital and the doctor had told me the fetus didn’t have a heartbeat. Something inside of me had hardened the night Matthew and I had fought and he had slammed the door on my face, and as I ran down that field, I could feel that same hardness melting away, dissolving into the tears that were streaming down my face. I know I stopped, I let my head fall back and I took a deep breath. That’s when I heard the click. The shot was taken.

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Again, I'm flooding you with bits and parts of the novel I'm writing, parts that are being cut or heavily edited, so there's no harm in showing them off. Please bear in mind that these are first drafts. If you care to read the rest of the scene, you can do it in my writing blog.

I'm taking a huge risk here, because I'm well aware that this is not the commercial 'oh everybody likes it' kind of shot. The thing is, I'm sort of in love with it. Batshit, crazy in love with the damn shot and with the fact that I hadn't been able to make something like... this in a while. And the best part is that I don't need to be in that dark place to do it, now. This was supposed to be a light photoshoot. I laughed like a maniac as I rolled around in the grass, alone, as I twirled with my arms spread wide. It was an unbelievably joyful afternoon. But then for a couple of minutes, I got serious. Not sad, not desperate, just serious. And this came out.

Week #11 — The Occasional Sleepover

Week 11/52

This is the perfect example of the shot that looked so much better in my mind, but with the tiny window of time I had to actually shoot, and with the crappy sunlight (this was supposed to be shot at sunset or dawn) and everything going wrong, this ended up being the result. Blah.

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"I keep having this dream" Clarissa's words were soft, almost inaudible against the sounds of the morning in the Piazza. He briefly considered getting up and closing the window, but he threw that thought aside as he turned on his side and watched her face. "That I wake up in a rooftop, as if it were my bed."

"Which rooftop?"

"New York. Your old apartment in the Village." she smiles a little, but he still senses the tension, the trouble she has sharing these kinds of things. "And around me there's a bunch of lamps. Old, oily lamps, all hanging from nowhere."

She turns slightly, laying on her side with her face to him. Clarissa tries to hide her embarrassment by hiding part of her face in the pillow, but she knows he can read through her. He always could. "It's almost like an urban fairytale."

Matthew laughs softly, in the same way he'd laugh at a child's idle joke.

"Aren't you quite the urban princess."

"I am."

So, this is a scene I cut from the Lent Novel. It's lousy, but it's what inspired me in the first place, so it deserves to be here.

I have a hard time with dreams, most of the time. I dream every night, I don't know what it's like to sleep dreamlessly, and the dreams are usually either immensely funny or incredibly upsetting. It's not uncommon for me to wake up crying or laughing like a maniac, but I have learned how to deal and push them aside when they're bad, and to find strength in them when they're good. It's just that quirky, silly fact about me. I will always dream, and I will always feel like everything is going wrong when I wake up, but that's a part of who I am and it's not about to change. :)

I hope you all have a truly wonderful weekend, and that all your dreams are as fairytale-like as mine. :)