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Wrinkles in Time

What started as a simple observation followed by a few dozens of photographs, was carried on by my childish curiosity and intervention. They eventually made a personal trip led by two poems that were inspired by these photographs. The result was a solo exhibition that put the two poems together with 21 photographs, and described how my personal and physical pains were unexpectedly mixed with my photography and with the annual cycle of nature along a river bank. The number of photographs, like the number of lines in the two poems, marked my birthday.

My full story of this show has been written already in two languages. Given time, It will be uploaded here.

Wrinkles in Time

The big bang is flattened on a cutting board.
Wave after wave after wave,
Like my life, like my love, like my grave,
Bursting, ripped, decaying,
The singularity had been long forgotten.
It was spring then. Is it autumn?
This is not a game, children,
It’s real skin on that wall.
Waves on concrete, alive,
Dry wrinkles carved with knives.
Flashing. swaying in disbelief.
Refuse all there, refuse all there, as if
Love is already here.
− It is always here.
Always?
− Yes.
Am I?

My Eyes

Blue-green,
A two-way mirror.
Cloudy on the outside,
Rainbowed inside.

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