Roma at night!

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Does anyone know what building this is (photo: pictured above)?

Rome at night, as pictured above (see: photo) is a spectacular sight. A bright, white moon hangs alone in a dark blue night sky, illuminating the iconic Colosseum where so much blood was shed on a night like tonight and Rome would wake to a blood red sky, reddened by the blood shed the night before as the gladiators fought under the dark blue sky (like tonight’s sky) and moon, making the sky red with blood in the morning.
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My lens, you are my Colosseum, where I go to battle light and glass. And as this Colosseum reflects on the mirror in my camera and reaches the sensor (or film) may I please reflect on… the lens? I think I lost the metaphor. Anyway, it was too dark to get a clear shot of the Colosseum without a tripod.

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PhotoJournalism:
(To become a good photojournalist, I’m going to start telling stories about my photos.)

This is Camelia, she is a flow’r delivery person who starts her route at 3am each morning and doesn’t return home until long after dark. All she has is her bicycle and an arm to carry her flow’rs (I tried to teach her to ride with no hands, but she was having none of it). She travels from flow’r shop to store or house delivering these precious petaled presents.

I took this picture admiring the beauty of the flow’rs shining from the trees in the night. Camelia told me that she doesn’t find this place beautiful. You see, this was where her father Antonio was killed. Like her, Antonio was a flow’r delivery person. He was also the lover to Camelia’s moth’r. When an ex lov’r of Camelia’s moth’r  heard of this, he followed Antonio. Assuming he was bringing flow’rs to Camelia’s moth’r, the ex lov’r shot and kill’d Antonio right at this spot. Antonio never knew his lov’r was pregnant with Camelia.

This truth haunts Camelia ev’ryday she cycles past this place (three or four times), but she must deliver h’r flow’rs to honour her fath’r. What does the name “Camelia” mean? “Of a flow’r”.

Pow’rful.

rome26Iacopo was never very good at art in school, but he loved it. It was hard to understand his broken English, but when he spoke to me, I understood that, to him, art was the creative expression of a free soul or spirit. It was a moment of existential clarity that only occurs when leaving yourself behind and simply BEING in a moment of stream of conscious. At least, that’s what I think he meant.

As a child, Iacopo didn’t feel as though he could be free since every day before and after school, he was treated like an animal: forced to wear a muzzle, slept on straw, had to crawl on all fours naked and ate mashed up food from the floor. He was also an only child, which he felt made things difficult as he didn’t have any siblings to play with.

Now grown, our dear friend has taken to selling the art he loves so much and truly believes he knows great art when he sees it and that his art is the finest art and you can’t go wrong buying some of his art and please take some of the art, it’s great art. And I dare say, this beautiful man who overcame adversity and now gets to work with the art he’s always loved is a piece of art himself.

If anyone sees Iacopo near the Colosseum, Rome, please give him a hug from me. Although his taste in art is clearly garbage, he was inspiring in another way.

And that’s Roma at Night.