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oil on canvas, 50x70 cm
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"Alba oltre il tramonto" è un'espressione poetica che evoca un senso di passaggio, di transizione dalla fine di un ciclo (il tramonto) a un nuovo inizio (l'alba).
Passaggio da uno stato all'altro:
L'espressione può anche riferirsi a un cambiamento interiore, a una trasformazione personale, in cui si supera una condizione precedente per approdare a una nuova consapevolezza o a una nuova fase della propria esistenza.
In sintesi, "alba oltre il tramonto" è un'immagine potente che suggerisce la resilienza, la capacità di adattamento e la bellezza che si può trovare nella transizione e nel cambiamento.
caught between ancient stone and the soft watch of a saint, a boy descends into silence. the columns frame him like the pages of a forgotten prayer, while her eyes—giant, serene—hold more questions than answers. time, faith, and childhood intersect in a single, passing moment.
in the blazing light of palmaâs streets, a single figure walks through a river of brightness. her shadow stretches forward, a quiet companion marking time, while the vast darkness behind her swallows every distraction. this is not just movement, but a fragment of solitude captured in rhythm with the city.
the light hangs low like a decision no one wanted to make. yellow, red, blue — not colors, but commands. people appear like memories, vanish into the track like sentences without a period. westfriedhof. not a place, a condition. nothing ends, everything departs.
(Reflections go on #6 / Abstract #13)
Basile Pesso - Ostende (Belgium)
© September 2 011
First broadcast 2 012
I am not Iban by heritage, but the longhouse has long been woven into the fabric of my childhood. I never lived in one, yet I grew up with its presence—playing in its corridors, watching life unfold beneath its towering stilts, and soaking in its warmth and rhythm during visits to nearby Dayak communities. For me, the longhouse was more than a structure; it was a living memory—a backdrop to laughter, discovery, and cultural richness.
Now, decades later, I return as a visitor—not just to a place, but to a feeling that never truly left me.
“The Iban Longhouse Soul” is a merged image, carefully crafted in Lightroom using two separate exposures. One captures me in stillness—contemplative, present—while the other is a motion-blurred echo of myself, walking through the very same space. This layering of images reflects the layers of time within me: the adult revisiting a place that once held the child, the present walking through the corridors of memory.
The blurred figure represents the soul in motion—a longing spirit caught between past and present, drawn to the familiarity of woven mats, vibrant buntings, and the hanging ornaments that still breathe tradition into the wooden beams of the Iban longhouse.
Though these longhouses are becoming part of history, fading into stories and photographs, they remain alive in the memories of those who once walked their length—even if only as children.
This photo is not just documentation; it is remembrance. It is my quiet tribute to the soul of the longhouse, and the soul it left in me.
a figure moves through the frame. above and below, the same world. a reflection so perfect it could be real. maybe it is.
architecture, silence, and a single step.
Shot on a short sunset trip on a rather windy (and quite cold) night at Toftum north of Struer, Denmark - March 07, 2021.
30x30cm lith print on old Ilford paper. Executed in May 2021. Photo taken with Hasselblad 500 c/m + 150mm Sonnar in 2013]
My weekly AI post. This time generated with chatGPT. if you’re interested how to do and want to know more, let me know in the comments! hen light cuts the world into shapes and shadows, all that remains is a man in motion — a silhouette framed by fate, disappearing into stillness.
Rising sun seen from our garden on the morning of our golden anniversary. Vejrumstad, Denmark - October 31, 2020.
the tree has no opinion about time. it grows in both directions through both moments - roots down into what we call future, branches up into what we call past, or perhaps the reverse. we are the ones who need sequence, who need to know which way time flows. but the water holds no such certainty. it reflects without interpretation, showing that warm and cool, ending and beginning, memory and anticipation exist in the same instant. perhaps this is what stillness teaches: that time is not a line we travel but a point we occupy, that every moment contains all moments, that the only direction is now. the tree already knows this. it has always known.
From a week's family vacation in a rented house in Skagen, Denmark - April 04, 2021.
The photo is taken at Grenen - The Northern Tip of Denmark.
i stood below as three dark figures crossed the sky like notes on a staff, drawn by a hand i couldn’t see.
the city fell away. the world reduced itself to line, contrast, and a quiet sense of motion.
in that moment, it felt like the weight of the day — the push, the pull, the climb — had been distilled into a single curve of steel.
nothing left but forward.
a city doesn’t speak in sentences. it speaks in echoes, reflections, crossing lines. one image shows people walking past themselves — not metaphorically, but literally. another captures motion and pause in one stroke: a rider, a stripe, a blur. these aren’t grand moments. they’re structure and breath. geometry with pulse.
Faces aligned like whispers across time, each profile carrying forward a trace of the last — a silent dialogue between generations.
Olympus OM-D E-M5 Mk.II
M.Zuiko 45mm/f1.8
in the hush of a rainy afternoon, two umbrellas form a quiet cathedral. beneath one, a man gazes sideways—his white hair tracing the years, his silence louder than the crowd beyond. in this brief frame, time bends inward, and all that matters is the shelter we find in each other, spoken or not.
in the cool shadows of plaza de españa, she sat on the edge of movement.
a figure wrapped in stillness, framed by tiled rhythm and filtered light.
time passed slowly around her, like dust settling on carved railings.
i circled quietly, letting her silence unfold into two perspectives—
above and beside, architecture and emotion, waiting and wondering.
The morning had barely begun when the sky decided to put on a show.
Dramatic clouds rose above the still waters of Lake Krickenbeck, and for a moment, the world stood still. The silence was broken only by birdsong and the distant ripple of reeds in the wind.
This is one of those scenes where light, form, and feeling align. A quiet moment from a recent photohike in western Germany – captured with care and a sense of presence.
️ If you’re curious about the full story behind this image – and the route that led to it – I’ve shared the background in this blog post: