Song of the Wind
The wind played upon the reeds, not always knowing the notes. Now in blue, now in red, now in a color that had yet to find its name. The stream went on flowing as though nothing had come undone. Only the reeds knew how much noise the wind can leave behind long after it has passed. I tried to gather every gust into a frame of its own, to give it a color, to draw it a boundary. But the wind knew nothing of boundaries. It spilled from one color into another, unravelled silence into motion, wove yesterday into tomorrow, and what had already settled into what was still beginning to grow. Until nothing remained but to let it pass through. To let the reeds bend, the stream carry what had fallen, the wind scatter the colors. And then, to gather them all into a single frame. Perhaps wholeness is not where everything falls into place, but where even chaos finds a place to rest.
shiri malca
Photography, for me, is never just an image. It is a held breath, the meeting of light and shadow, of water and street, of dream and routine. My name is Shiri, a fine-art photographer whom life also placed behind a lawyer's desk. But behind the lens I am who I truly am: a lover of people, a teller of stories without words. Searching for the tiny moment when the world holds its breath, sometimes in the waves of the sea, sometimes in the coolness of ancient stone, and sometimes in the curling steam rising from a cup of tea in a distant alley. I believe that within the smallest details, a ray of sunlight breaking on the surface of water, steam curling above a cup, a cat crossing a narrow passage, a gaze escaping the frame at the last second, a staircase winding like a story, the soul of people and places lies hidden. I invite you to step in, to see, to breathe, and sometimes, to hear too.
Photography, for me, is never just an image. It is a held breath, the meeting of light and shadow, of water and street, of dream and routine. My name is Shiri, a fine-art photographer whom life also placed behind a lawyer's desk. But behind the lens I am who I truly am: a lover of people, a teller of stories without words. Searching for the tiny moment when the world holds its breath, sometimes in the waves of the sea, sometimes in the coolness of ancient stone, and sometimes in the curling steam rising from a cup of tea in a distant alley. I believe that within the smallest details, a ray of sunlight breaking on the surface of water, steam curling above a cup, a cat crossing a narrow passage, a gaze escaping the frame at the last second, a staircase winding like a story, the soul of people and places lies hidden. I invite you to step in, to see, to breathe, and sometimes, to hear too.
Similar Artworks
