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| "The light, the stones and the modernity" photo by Joao Lamares Photography |
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| "They're good old times" Photo by Joao Lamares Photography |
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| "Pieces of a man" Photo by Joao Lamares photography |
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| "No, I'm not going there!" Photo by Joao Lamares Photography |
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| "I'm depressingly curious!" Photo by Joao Lamares Photography |
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| "This is was not made by me... but I would like it was!" Photo by Joao Lamares Photography |
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| "Between the little square light and the rough wall" Photo by Joao Lamares Photography |
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| Trees, rail and barbed wire |
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| "I don't believe in witches but... they are truly real!" Photo by Joao Lamares Photography |
It was a day stuck in a puddle, and a man was floating in the marsh as an empty shell, without conscience. The man didn’t know the reason for this non-day was born, he only was able to feel the anguish like a thin plastic film wrapped him from head to toe. He felt he was that dented packing, tossing as useless garbage to pollute the mud, the mud of impure thoughts. He knew he had to make a bid to look beyond the muddy ground, and he couldn’t fall down in that deafening silence of the quiet day-no. A man is free only when he feels free, regardless of the rough walls, the square light or the fact that he doesn't want going there! The man is free only when he can decide where to go ... or not to go.
A man apart is a too easy target for a non-day, even if he felt himself a depressingly curious. So the man decided he had no way out, it was needed to look at where the birds hover and the clouds, full of gray light, were pretty like witches mounted on broomstick spells. And click click click click click click… the man fired. The man fired with the most compelling weapon in the world tuned by the skills and art of the gifted sniper. The man came back to shoot again and again… click click click ...He looked again, hitting the target, tuning the iris, imagining the perfect target in the brain and returned to shoot over and over again click click click.
The next day, and if there was a newspaper where fiction does not overtake reality, if there had been a serious journalist who objectified the facts without opinions and political-subjective arguments, it had been written "Man fires several times against the non-day with his camera… and killed it. "
(Portuguese version)
Era um dia metido numa poça de água, e um homem a flutuar no pântano como uma embalagem vazia, sem consciência. Não sabia a razão daquele ser um dia-não, só era capaz de sentir essa angústia que como uma película de plástico finíssima o envolvia dos pés à cabeça. Era essa embalagem amolgada, arremessada e inútil, lixo a poluir a lama, a lama dos pensamentos impuros. Sabia que tinha de fazer um esforço para elevar o olhar para além do chão lamacento, não se deixar cair nessa inquietação quieta do silêncio ensurdecedor dos dias-não. Um homem só é livre quando se sente livre, independentemente das paredes rugosas, da luz aos quadradinhos ou do facto de não querer ir por ali! O homem só é livre quando pode decidir por onde ir... ou não ir.
Um homem aos pedaços é um alvo demasiado fácil para um dia-não, ainda que o homem se sinta depressivamente curioso! Assim, o homem decidiu que não tinha saída, era mesmo preciso colocar o olhar onde os pássaros pairam e as nuvens baixas carregadas de cinza e luz se parecem com bruxas montadas em vassouras mágicas. E clic clic clic… clic clic clic… o homem disparou. A arma mais convincente do mundo afiada pelo engenho e arte do atirador. O homem voltou a disparar clic clic clic… olhou de novo, acertou a mira, afinou a íris, imaginou no cérebro o alvo perfeito e voltou a disparar clic clic clic.
No dia seguinte e se houvesse um jornal onde a ficção não se sobrepusesse à realidade, se tivesse havido um jornalista sério que objectivasse os factos sem opiniões e acervos politico-subjectivos teria sido escrito "Homem dispara várias vezes contra o Dia-Não com a sua máquina fotográfica e mata-o. “
Text by Paula Lamares
Photography by Joao Lamares (http://www.joaolamares.com/ )
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