Posted on August 31, 2013
This image manipulation originated in a fresco by Andrea Mantegna, a section of the Camera degli Sposi: The Meeting Scene.
I used a picture of Notre Dame from my collection, a Thames tugboat, Westminster in profile and a number of textures, brushes, layers and masks.
The characters in front will be substituted at some point by real people.
You can view more of these Photoshop manipulations here: https://molinabarrios.wordpress.com/photos/ideas/
Posted on August 27, 2013
“The events of the waking world are forced upon us and the narrative is the unguessed axis along which they must be strung. It falls to us to weigh and sort and order these events. It is we who assemble them into the story which is us. Each man is the bard of his own existence. This is how he is joined to the world.”
Posted on August 23, 2013
For all of you who like black and white photographs, well, here are some. Landscapes that I took some time ago. It is difficult (not impossible) to go back to seeing the world with a new eye…
A photograph acquires it’s identity when stripped of colour. Similar to the concept ‘chair’, for example, which can be applied to an infinite number of objects that might have the qualities of a chair, the concept encompasses all of them in abstraction.
Para todos aquellos que gusten de l blanco y negro, aquí tienen algunas. Paisajes que tomé hace un buen tiempo.
Me parece hoy difícil (no imposible) regresar a ver el mundo con un nuevo ojo.
Una foto adquiere su identidad cuando se le quita el color. De la misma manera que el concepto “silla”, por ejemplo, puede aplicarse a un sin número de objetos que puedan tener los específicos de una silla, el concepto los incluye a todos.
…Holding himself close that he not escape from himself for he felt it over and over, that lightness that he took for his soul and which stood so tentatively at the door of his corporeal self. Like some light-footed animal that stood testing the air at an open door of a cage. He heard the distant toll of bells from the cathedral in the city and he heard his own breath soft and uncertain in the cold and dark of the child’s playhouse in that alien land where he lay in his blood. Help me, he said. If you think I’m worth it. Amen.