Thursday 30 December 2010

Little red berries






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4 comments:

  1. ah, ce titlu modest, little red berries, pentru o asa explozie de viata, dorinta, asteptare, invitatie, pasiune, sfasiere intre rosu si albastru, senzualitate si vis - ce infinita dulceata si tristete in aceste degete deschise, urmarind bland caderea fructelor rosii in noapte, in departare, in neatins, degete facute sa cheme, sa mangaie, sa patrunda, sa aline - aici mute, suspendate intr-un timp care nu mai este al lor...
    si nu stiu daca sanul a inflorit ca un fruct rosu, sau fructul rosu a chemat sanul sa i se alature in arderea fara sfarsit...

    minunat!

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  2. cat imi amintesc toate astea de gesturile pur umane,proaspete,simple,desavarsite,iscate din alb,colorate neasteptat,in fiecare clipa altfel,mii de posibilitati isca gesturile,mii de impliniri sorbirea avida din fruct,numai iubirea...

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  3. Dearest Cris,
    Though responding so late (which I apologize for)I have been feasting my eyes on your post for days, basking in the feminine glory it creates. Wow! Eglantine fruit and feminine nipples! The woman and nature, two roses! Beautiful, inspirational! Thorny, too! Then the rustic plate full of nature's nipples, generous offer or spoils, who can tell conqueror from victim! It all looks like a pagan ritual, in which nude women, bare branches and ever-red fruit celebrate the power of femininity. Overwhelming!
    I loved the way you associated the female body to the sweetbriar. First, prickly stems against tender flesh, the woman's body caught in the thorny grasp of desire/its physiological limitations/ perhaps telling of a female Christ who offers not His Head but her body for a thorny wreath, who knows? Then rosehips tended by beautiful female fingers, with an open reference in the background: that's where you should go for the post's glossary. Followed by the rosehip harvest, brutal, savage, yet so sweet and loving, fruit by fruit. The berries are falling like blood drops, a gently controlled hemorrhage. And the plate is getting richer and richer with jocund nipples everywhere, some young and succulent, others fading, changing colour, and others clearly old, dry, soured and vain. Women of all ages! Discarded! What a waste! And the empty branch so pitiful, so lifeless, crying over its spilled berries!
    But there is ONE berry left, atop of one stem, small and ridiculous, isolated, misshapen, but it is THERE, one with the body, both exhausted in their ritualistic waste. And here, dear Cris, you change reference, for this berry is obviously looking for a womb! Or IS a womb! Ready to resume its splendour next spring!
    The moral lies divided on a piece of white cloth and on the cobalt blue rustic plate. A handful of rosehips, some protected, others randomly scattered, who cares, flushing or withered. Splendid symbols of femininity... just as I asked you, dear Cris!
    Thank you for your post! For your talent! For you!

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  4. Dragele mele,
    frumos ati mai scris despre postarea mea.
    Va multumesc, va asigur ca nu merit atata pretuire.
    Imi cer iertare pentru intarziere, timpul nu imi mai apartine acum, dupa cum stiti.


    Roxana, titlul meu modest a fost astfel pentru ca... :-) acum nu mai stiu de ce, dar asa a fost ales. :-) tu cum l-ai fi numit?

    Ceraselami,
    multumesc. Cred ca pe tine ar trebui sa te rog sa alegi titluri potrivite pentru postarile mele. In fond, tu esti atat de priceputa la cuvinte.


    Dearest Anonymous Woman,
    it is I who responds so late to your comment. I am so sorry for keeping you waiting.
    I am so glad you've liked this post, I was anxious and terrified that you wouldn't. After reading your comment I found myself in love with these images, with the woman picking red berries, with her gentle hands and hesitant gestures. You give so much meaning to my images - a real reader and a precious critic.
    And it is you I need to thank for taking these photos, I wouldn't have taken them if it wasn't for your comment at one of my previous posts: 'as long as I have little red berries at my feet'. So you made me dream and you made me photograph. Not many have succeeded. :-)
    c.

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