From childhood into my teens, every time I’d see a headless male torso, I would grant it an imaginary head of my heart throb.
Continue reading Headless Male Torsos
Whilst blooms are the zenith of a plant, seeds for me are a symbol of death and harbingers of life.
Couch Surfing has had its blossoms and now has gone to seed. Its concept was introduced to me by a stranger in the seat beside me, on a flight back to London from Delhi in 2008. Simple principle, if you have a couch to spare, and you feel a connection with the shared interests of a traveller, you become their host or guest. Continue reading Seeds of Couch Surfing
Little did I know in the start of that summer it was my last one in Lahore. By the fall of same year I was 6,300 km away on British Council fellowship at Chelsea School of Arts. Then I was teaching photography at NCA. Most afternoons,after college, I would traipse the city to discover new places, sample food, drink copious quantities of sugarcane juice with lemon and ginger, and to photograph people.
Continue reading Summer of ’88
If you have stored your treasures of archived negatives and slides like I have, hung systematically in a filing cabinet, I dare you to lift them out. Even a cursory glance using your naked eyes, will bring you face to face with those captured moments. Be prepared for a time travel ride in a golden carriage; the images have that magic.
Continue reading Filing cabinet pet-named Gold
A conversation between Anotnio Pizzo and me (the self-confessed Scheherazade) in 2006, formerly published by Antonio as Identity, Transformation, and Digital Languages.
Continue reading Between Antonio and me; the digital Scheherazade