5 works that explain me

There is no direct explanation of myself through this first piece, but more of a feeling this artist conveys to me. Alberto Giacometti's sculptures give me a sense of sadness and the grinding of time on the body. I can stare at his work for hours, every bump, curve of the this long, stretched figure, i find to be fascinating. Giacometti's ability to convey time and strain of life on an individual is comforting, i look at his work and find myself giving my stress and anxieties to the piece, alleviating some of the burden.

Rodin is one of my favorite artists, of all his works "The

Kiss" (shown here) is my favorite. I think of myself as a romantic, i find this work to be the closest to real genuine love, true romance soft and caring, untainted by greed or jealousy. As silly as it sounds, i strive for what those figures have in my own relationships.

I have been a photographer since the age of seven. All my life I have been inspired by two photographers, Sebastian Salgado (shown above) and Robert Capa (shown below). Salgado one, if not the best portrait photographer, has gone around the world taking photos of starving people in Africa and Asia, and Capa, the best war photographer. Both of these photographers have taught me a lot, though looking at their pictures I have trained my eye to what is a good shot and what's not. Salgado's use of light on his subjects still amazes me.Capa's ability to be at the right place at the right time, i guess is just luck but somehow in all his photographs something amazing is always happening. for example, the photo on the left the man has just been shot.

Tonight I Can Write... By Pablo Neruda

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.

Write, for example, 'The night is shattered

and the blue stars shiver in the distance.'

The night wind revolves in the sky and sings.

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.

I love her, and sometimes she loved me too.

Through nights like this one I held her in my arms.

I kissed her again and again under the endless sky.

She loved me, sometimes I loved her too.

How could one not have loved her great still eyes.

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.

To think that i do not have her. To feel that I have lost her.

To hear the immense night, still more immense without her.

And the verse falls to the soul like dew to the pasture.

What does it matter that my love could not keep her.

The night is shattered and she is not with me.

This is all. In the distance someone is singing. In the distance.

My soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.

My sight searches for her as though to go to her.

My heart looks for her, and she is not with me.

The same night whitening the same trees.

We, of that time, are no longer the same.

I no longer love her, that's certain. but how I loved her.

My voice tried to find the wind to touch her hearing.

Another's. She will be another's. Like my kisses before.

Her voice. Her bright body. Her infinite eyes.

I no longer love her, that's certain, but maybe I love her.

Love is so short, forgetting is so long.

Because through nights like this one I held her in my arms

my soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.

Though this be the last pain that she makes me suffer

and these the last verses that I write for her.

(taken from Love Ten poems By Pablo Neruda)

Pablo Neruda is my favorite poet, his magical ability to turn ordinary words into strings of verbal pearls astounds me. This poem in particular evokes a sense of true love. I automatically look at The Kiss and this poem runs in my head as the inner monologue.