If light's stronger or more diffuse intensities paint reality, then how do the shadows cast on stage help us shape characters and emotional narratives?
Stand still! Breathe in! Watch! What does the shadow whisper? Stillness happens in the in-between, in the invisible bond between your gaze and every image that catches the very instance, the very essence, the very emotion of movement. n the space-between—which the festival creates without us noticing—we find ourselves connecting differently to places, to sound, to light and movement, in ways that go beyond what we can merely see or touch.
In the blink of an eye, time stands still. It is this very stillness that transfers movement and energy to a dimension not yet reality—a promise that reality will last and shape itself in the future: as reality, not as imagination. And when reversed, the future becomes real, the past is just a dream. Space dissolves into the greater realm of imagination that can take you a long way to the mysteries of the heart. To peace. Stillness.
The camera holds its breath. It waits in the same stillness, the same threshold where stage meets audience, where actor meets spect-actor. Light spills through the lens as it spills across the boards—painting, always painting. The shutter clicks. Another kind of curtain falls. What remains? Not the movement, but the blueprint of movement. Not the colour, but its memory.
Black and white is an act of gift-giving; it is the open door to the story where you attribute all the colours you wish for.
Black and white is the beginning of a prayer, where all emotion is still, until you see in colour. Your colours. So the photograph becomes more permanent than the moment it captured. Forever? No. But longer than memory, longer than flesh, longer than the festival grounds where I took the shots.
