And the ocean churned her soul,
There is no world left.



"Let's not do anything. It's safer."

"I want to engulf you and insulate you from the storm."



Home : A Tropical Paradise

Some pictures that I took in our garden when I was home on holiday for two months this summer. 


Solitary Transmission Vol. 2

"We live as we dream alone..."

— Joseph Conrad, Heart Of Darkness


05 | 06 | 2013

 June 5th, 2013. Yup. That was a good day.


A Cold Dead Place

The reality I we prepared for, and the reality that we are made to face; the chasm between is too great. It is proper that we weep. But who has time enough to listen to our moans? 

It is a moribund world.


A Cold Lonely Place

I haven't done this in quite a while - storytelling through a series of photographs. A professor of mine once told me : There is no other way of understanding poetry except by spending time with it. Never rush in. Linger in every word. Slow down. Slow down, he would say, every time we tried rushing through what we thought were unimportant or insignificant lines while reading Wordsworth. I think this technique of reading and understanding by lingering over the semi tangible medium can be applied in the cases of photographs and paintings as well, or in a broader sense 'art' in general. Of course the best part is always the open endedness, the ambiguity and the possibility of limitless interpretations that the 'forms' allow. 



I loved you when you opened 
Like a lily to the heat

Leonard Cohen


A Riddle Under The Stars

"he sank into the warmth of her and himself, when the nerves of his tongue passed over the invisible down of her skin, the different, goose-fleshed texture of her buttocks, when her weight was on the pelt of his chest, blinded and choked they were flung together, curved round each other like mythical creatures fixed in a medallion of the zodiac."

— Nadine Gordimer, My Son's Story