Two things happened when I recently met a great photographer. Let's call him El Fotografo.
The first one was between him and me and we'll keep it this way. The second one was the answer to the question of the public: "Did you stage your iconic picture?"
He said: "How can someone think that I was able of ever imagining such a composition, setting or subjects?"
And yet, it is possible! You can have a dream and transpose it, to share it. You can have a nightmare and picture it, to transcend it. You can simply know what reality will look like after "visiting" it through a bi-dimensional rectangle. It's called vision, talent. And only a few possess it.
Most of us are only here to appreciate, analyse and understand these visual representations of screams, whispers, monologues and autistic gestures of triggering the diaphragm blades; of cutting the world, cutting the self. A blade cut will always bleed and the scar will persist long after the shutter release. Do you still call photography a mechanical process?
And do you still look for a subjective description of the present picture? No words will ever explain the author's skill to suspend reality and to abolish the invasive wealth of technology by simply ignoring it. If any of the shapes, subjects or objects would have offered their sharp details, we would have been probably missed the timid endeavour of the girl to step ahead, to free themselves and the observer at the same time.
Diane Arbus's twins, just left the scene still holding hands and Corneliu can project them to the present time with admirable dexterity.
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