When the house exploded everything around seemed to have stopped.
seemed that the air was empty, suspended between nothingness and nothingness.
Steeped as never before the emptiness of the province.
It was 14:32 and the world there was no more than one frame captured and propagated in the adjacent minute.
The explosion was epic.
The landscape of the flames and took the colors of the walls crumbled white powder, raising as smearing twisted. The reflections of the glass and the play of light and shadows as if the sun stumble from time to time. Much. Time.
seemed to be noon.
It was 14:32 instead and the world was a beautiful brightly colored frame.
The explosion was epic.
The epic screams and cries and cries of burning bodies, nothing but rubble of society. Everything was white as if a dirty snow had invaded in August in the province.
seemed to be in January.
January.
It was 14:32.
The epic was an explosion.
When the house exploded,
put his sunglasses and lit a cigarette,
lost in the grandeur of this painting alive.
Text: Mattia Barro
Pic: Clare Edwards
0 comments:
Post a Comment