These soldiers belong to my father since he was a child. They belonged to someone else , whom I cannot recall, and were offered to him when he was old enough to play with these little toys. They are old and full of scars, they have been kept in a shelter for ages, like if they belonged to a museum, but they are precious and have never been forgotten. At a certain point in life everybody wants to be an astronaut, a fireman, or a doctor. And, at a certain point in life, everybody has to fight, has to be a soldier.

Photos taken by TTC. All rights reserved.

In one of these random walks on the beach, I was photographed.

Thank you for these amazing photo, Tânia Espírito Santo.

THE RICH, THE POOR, AND EVERYONE ELSE

This post could also be called Happiness, Sadness, and everything in between. Or White, Black and all the Grey tones.

I have been told, several times, that money doesn’t buy happiness, but that it helps. My experience tells me that the two things may not be related, or that they may be like flesh and bone.

Some days ago I saw these photos by Jim Goldberg, in Magnum’s archive. The album is called Rich and Poor, and it shows us real stories of American people in the late 70’s and 80’s. In each Polaroid, Jim asked the models to write about their lives, or simply about their thoughts at the time they were seeing the photo.

The photos are naked. And naked are the thoughts.
























































































































Jim Goldberg, 'Rich and Poor', USA

The complete album here:

> http://www.magnumphotos.com

YOUTH IS FREEDOM WHICH, MOST OF TIMES, COMES WITH AGE

Let me discover you.
















































































































































































































These photos belong to Ryan Mcginley

> http://www.ryanmcginley.com/

THE PAST PERFECT, THE PRESENT CONTINUOUS AND THE NEVER WANTED FUTURE

How did you get here? You come every night, without previous notice, without even permission, and you enter. You wait until I’m alone in my bed, my eyes closed and my mind opened, and you stay.

Who are you? Are you my nightmares? Aren’t we supposed to be afraid of them? You come naked, faceless, all covered in smoke and dust. Are you some strange gods, I don’t believe in? Are you the monsters of my past, of the places I have not been yet? Or are you coming to talk about the present, this insensitive vacuum, which is everything that I feel? Even though, I’m not afraid.

What do you want? You don’t speak and it seems you have nothing to say. Do you think I find the silence awkward? Believe me, it is better this way.

Are you those strange creatures, full of habits I do not know, that I like to call myself? Are you my alter-egos, the supreme condemnation of what I believe in? Are you my fears, human specters with no name, no soul and no spirit?

Oh please, do come in! Welcome.








> These photos are part of the work Dust, made by Olivier Valsecchi (http://www.bdejanted.com).