A leisurely tapping of several dozen shoes on the floor. Dozens of different of voices. Most of these people I've seen today for the first time. At times someone greets me cheerfully with a handshake, and it's often the first time I look into their eyes.
Going several months back, I can't recollect how many times I repeated that my photos were not for the exhibition. I had been running around the city like crazy, taking pictures of everything and everyone around me. Sometimes without looking at the lens. Hoping that the pictures of someone else's ordinary life would have filled my mind. And then there would have been no more room for memories about the past. In no case did I want to see the results of my attempts. Sort of contradictory, isn't it? Perhaps I was just afraid to descry something that I had been running from.
'Don't you understand? These photos are too bad. They have no-,' I was searching for excuses.
'They have no colour. They are black and white. I got you,' George was stubborn and persistent. 'Relax. People will like them.'
'But I don't care so much what they-'
'We need to choose a place.'
'But-'
'And time.'
George was the only person to whom I voluntarily showed the photos. If voluntarily was a right word. He once climbed to my attic and found that box. He was walking around the living room waving with the photocards in front of my face. George was my brother, I couldn't forbid him anything. And even if I could, he would ignore my prohibitions.
'They are not for prying eyes. I took them not because I wanted to show them to anyone,' in no way was I going to retreat.
'What for, then?' inquired my brother. My unsuccessful attempts to stop this outrage, this impending disaster seemed funny to him.
After a moment's thought, I answered him as confidently as possible, 'For myself. Yes, exactly,' I only needed to nod confidently, 'I've made these photos for myself. Period.'
'Very good. Others should also take a look,' as I said, he didn't care. My words fell into emptiness and the situation worked against my plans.
I said goodbye to George pretty late. He left and slammed the door behind him.
That night, I hardly slept. I sat on the edge of the bed in the dark and looked at the strip of light coming from the window. I made several attempts to fall asleep. However, every time my mind was playing images and thoughts from the past. Meanwhile, the clock on the wall showed half past six.
[To be continued...]
Photo by insta/daversamarco