The long corridor and all alone in it

I was asked to go to a test: do I have cancer?

Alone, I knew, they will put me in a tube. And had to go there under the hospital through a long corridor.

No one was there.

Other then me, and... my camera!

With my camera, I felt a lot better. Taking the long corridor, instead of thinking what is there, after the door opens.

They did not find cancer, but the noise inside the tube was very disturbing.

After a while, I made a black and white variation of the picture "in gray" as it seemed more "in the mood" I had that time.

Not only it is one of my favorites, but also those of many photographers.

Somehow, without words even, it tells a story.

Not giving up!

1st May in France, Argentuil. Festivities organized by the town hall near the Seine river. It goes on, whatever the weather. 

That day, I walked to the Seine, not realizing it will rain. A small drizzle come, but as I arrived to the Can Can dancers the rain begun stronger and stronger. The dancers did not stop! 

The audience took out their umbrella. I asked one with umbrella to let me go under it so I could take a few pictures of the proud young women who did not stop dancing with rain pouring on their shoulder and imbibing even the podium. 

This girl held her head high and proud and continued as the others, but even prouder as the rain come down on her. This picture spoke so much to me! I made a big copy and put in my living room to remember. To give me courage, each time I needed. 

She tells me "do not let the circumstances forbid what you want to do", do int anyway. What does it tell to you?

Finding love, no more feeling alone

After 50 years, back to my childhood town and street. From the bridge over the small river, looking back to my old appartement window, I felt alone and sad.

Suddenly, my eyes felt on these. All changed in me. They kissed and kissed and kissed.

Relativity in life and photography too

It was at the beginning of my photography passion that I entered in a courtyard nearby. I looked at this rose, almost finished still so beautiful. Went near it and then, got stunned!

The camera showed me not the reality, that I have seen and knew for true! 

I always thought, the "camera does not lie" but tells the truth... well, look at this! The rose, as I was very near it is bigger the house behind it! It changed my world again.  

It depends on me what I show and how I show it! 

That is true also in a story: what and how I look at it. How near I get to one moment, how far I let the other "facts" from the story. How I approach it. 

With the young dancers from Hunedoara

Going to show Paris to young Romanian Dancers arrived from Hunedoara, from where the Corvin familly castle is: place of childhood of Mathias Rex, biggest Hungarian king. We were waiting for the bus to arrive. There where 10 dancers and their teacher. All posed there as if they also used an iPod, new at that time. 

And then, me too. At 70. So? I love these pictures and so many more I do not show here I took of these girls visiting Paris for the first time and enjoying every minute of it. The Paris visit was their biggest gift in their journey. The dance was in Argenteuil, city who was twin to Hunedoara at the time.

I was the "photographer" of the city Twin committee and those who invited them for the festivities to dance. I did not get paid either? Yes, I did. Once I was invited and we went to Hunedoara as their guests. End of October we were taken also to the mountains to visit a Monastery and up there it begun to snow!

This is between my hundred pictures of people, city, castle, festival there my preferred one. It was such a surprise! In the city, down it was mild weather and even no pullover required yet at that time.

Breakfast in bed

This is the only picture I exposed, I sold. It had a story under it. The story of my grand mother.

I was 6 or 7 when one day, my parents left me sleep at my grand parents house. Early morning, my grand-mother went out of the house, as the kitchen entrance was outside, and wind or shine, rain or sun, she was the one preparing the breakfast for his husband. When someone else did, and they had a cook, the eggs where not "so" and the toast not of his taste either. Of course, sometimes, he objected also to something she did.

"I want also breakfast in bed !" I decided there and then. 

"It is only for grand-father" I was told. "He was wounded in the war (WW1) needs it".

Later, I asked my mother, she also objected. "You will not dirty your bed. Eat at table." Once a year, she did offer me breakfast in bed, at my anniversary. With a fruit near the breakfast! A joy, but only once a year.

My grand parents were taken to Baden Baden Concentration camp, but in a special, "better" section. They stayed there for six month and then escaped with a special group. 

During their stay, my grand mother continued to write her journal, even when paper was very rare. She wrote how each morning, she went to stand in queue in two places, as my grand father was in the hospital tent, and her with many many other women. She took both breakfasts, very small bred for a whole week at once, and coffee, with nothing in it. Seldom, they had something to put on the slice of bred and toward the end of week no bred remained. 

They did had breakfast together after she did bring it to my grandfather.

Here is her journal translated to French.

Sometime later, a lot later, when I was 50 year old, I lived three years with someone I believed wonderful. (No that was no more under the photo in the exhibition.) He did bring me breakfast in bed, every morning. He called it "full breakfast". Only later did I realize, how much it cost me.

Around the time I got 66, I realized, I can prepare and then bring breakfast in bed to myself! 

Above is the picture shows one such breakfast, while I were loosing weight. Beginning in bed, even if it was me preparing it, felt wonderful! I still feel as a big joy to eat in my bed, does not matter that I prepare it every morning!

Lately, sometimes i take my breakfast on the table of the living room near my computer... and write blogs. No, it is not better on the table! 

Mme Filipetto no more here!

This photo shows my feelings and sorrow for her no more present. 

My elderly Italian born neighbor worked often in her small garden to which her window opened. After years, and years in France, she still felt Italian. Told me lots of stories from her life when young girl in the Italian mountain.

She told me a lot about her life. When young, in a house up the mountain in Italy, she had to sell her hair so they could buy tissue from which make dress to be able to go to school. Later, a young man working in France come to ask for her hand. She had to learn French to work.

She used to come and knock at my window : are you there? 

And true, sometime, I did not felt like chatting. Most of time, I did go out in the garden between us, sit down and chatted or went to her house. When she come inside my small house, it seemed the visit never ended. 

Every year, in November she asked me to take her with my car to the cemetery adding flowers to her husband tomb, who left her early.   

Alas, one day, I had to go and add flowers for her. And the garden, even with a new owner, remained neglected.

But a year after I have taken the sad picture, with the neglected garden, I looked along the wall, to the other flowers she had put on. They thrived and vent almost to the sky! For years!

Here is the exit from our common garden, you see the flowers? 

Higher then the wall with the other house. 

Then one day, my grand children where with me and I asked them to stay near the flowers.

Bellow is the picture I took from them. One generation goes away, the other comes. And that was many years ago. Now, my dears are 19 and 18!

And Madame Filipetto? I looked up to the Hollyhocks. She must be looking down to us from the sky, they did grow so high! Again, I learned: it depends only to what I look. And what we choose to remember. 

And when I looked very near of of them, I see her there too.

I have left that place, ten years ago, but these pictures bring me back instantly.

What is after the corner when we finally up?

I took a lot of photos but this one is only a photo of a photo I had so many years on my wall. That is why I show it smaller.

I fall for it, and the pal I visited in Woods Hole, offered it to me. He told me a student of his took it. 

It speaks so much to me!

Not easy to go up those stairs, not easy to go farther a lot of time in our life. And, once up there, we see not from down what is visible, now, what awaits me around the corner?

From this photo on, I went and did take a lot of different stairs, but none of them spoke as much to me as this one. 

Where I am going? Anyway, I do not stop, I am going, I am trying. 

This blog has begun. 

All my favorite photos have a story

Here is a collage of some of them. All this 9 were taken by me before I moved to London and also seen by many many other photographers or non photographers. All of this taken in Paris, except the 6th which is from Marrakech. 

I will show in this blog the pictures I prefer, that speak to me a lot still today, one by one, and tell the story behind them. And what they do tell me. A new blog, a new adventure I hope to  have with you, my dear readers, followers. 

Will show this pictures too one by one and tell the whole story around them. Just fast now from the first row on, very shortly : 
(1) in middle of the road near Paris with my grand-daughter. She wanted to stop the car and take photo with her new camera of the flowers. We went together and I took a lot of pictures... of her. Then a car passed bye on the empty road. (2) waiting before the Argenteuil townhouse, I noticed the old woman same stance as Nicole on the wall. (3) 23 years lived on Montmartre, but went back and found fog on its stairs later

Second row. 
(4) My grand daughter out of school with her best friend : both missing teeth! 
(5) In the hospital, so afraid of coming examination, my camera with me helped. 
(6) In visit in Marrakesh, a friendly interaction taken from far away.

Third row.
(7) 1 May, Argenteuil sur Seine festival. They continued dancing Can Can in the pouring rain while the audience remained around under umbrella.
(8) The daughter of a pal come to visit, helped in the garden, then come in
(9) Waiting on the street outside the caffee, point shoot on the pot

Those are not stories, but all of photos taken bring back lots of memories around them that I could tell and bring them to life - hopefully. I will begin tomorrow!