The Architecture of Silence
We often mistake the horizon for a boundary, a line drawn in the sand to tell us where the world ends and our own smallness begins. But the tide has a different language; it does not recognize edges. It pulls the salt into the stone and the…
We´ll Always Have Paris by Ana Sylvia Encinas
Paris at night, is there anything more romantic? I took this photo from Alexander III bridge, by the way, a beautiful bridge in Paris. Aiming at the Eiffer Tower with a bridge before, I liked the view, because it offered more points of light,…
The Weight of the Whiteout
In the deepest part of winter, the world loses its edges. The horizon, usually a sharp line of demarcation between the earth and the heavens, dissolves into a singular, suffocating gray. It is a strange kind of erasure. When the air itself…