I unexpectedly saw a friend the other day after many years of distance, and all the while we were catching up, I began to appreciate how even the simplest relationships carry with them countless layers. And just like that I found myself immersed in what once was, what is, and what could have been. -tM
When architects began to design homes and spaces with large windows, curtains became an important element of interior design and architecture.
However, lately there has been a shift away (at least here in N. America) from curtains and a push toward blinds. I miss the romance and ritual of drawing the curtains closed. I miss the sensuality of the sun peaking through mid day; curtains swaying in wind, encouraging the merging two worlds.
Another time and place, saw me draw the sheers open and closed, depending on the sun, and often of the positioning of the moon, as this became standard, so did the stories of disillusion, fear, promise, and hope. There were always lessons to be learned at the edge of the window sill and in the rustling of the curtains. —tM
I don’t remember much as I was only a child of 11 at the time, but there are certain details of that trip that became important to me; sewn into the fabric of my being. Like the fresco faded walls of my grandmothers house in Serbia, the wall details and decorations that despite poverty, made a home more then just a place to rest your head. The plates, the cutlery, and the food that sustained and gave life.
There was strength built into both of my grandmothers homes. I felt it, even as a young child. Perhaps that is why I chose to remember these very specific details, because against all odds, they were survivors of a life that was difficult, and they did the best they could, making the most of what they were given. -tM
Inspired by what surrounds me, the simplicity and quiet of the moment, I stopped to take the photo above.
It captures a feeling of universality and nostalgia, for who hasn't (living in a city) spent days as a child playing in empty parking lots (learning how to ride a bicycle), hanging out by the local gas and sip as a young teen, wrestling with parking as an adult, and on occasion even baring witness to its demolition only to have another condo go up.
Parking lots are full of memories for me. I have an affinity toward the vintage ones. -tM
I have two great seductresses in my life, Beauty and Nostalgia.
Nostalgia's capacity for seduction rests in the power of our memory versus experience, a looking back with longing, a desire to linger in a moment or person that is now nothing more then an apparition.
While Nostalgia may be a temptress, Beauty can be said to be our raison d'etre. Without its grace, its harmony of purpose and form, life as we know it would cease to exist, no reason for living, nothing to inspire and fuel the soul. Beauty is grace, and grace is life.
Beauty if sought after can be found everywhere, there is no escaping its allure, as it holds within its core the ecstasy of life.
I should know, because for good or bad there have been times where Beauty has kept me there. -tM
Write me a letter that reads like an old-fashioned novel so that I can fall right into us. -tM
The still moments of life captured in the cinematography of "Call Me By Your Name." -tM
The older you become the more you tend to revisit places that were once living breathing points in time.
As we age, nostalgia takes up more space in our life then anyone would care to admit. -tM
I equate this feeling to firsts and new beginnings; when kissing your lover makes time stand still, dissolving the world around you.
Or to that of nostalgia; when so much time has passed that all that is left is the beauty of what once was.
Either way, sometimes all that matters is the way we choose to remember things, don't you agree? -tM
Universality vs. Locality.
He was a pioneer in removing these geographical and psychological barriers. His photography speaks to the universality of the human life lived and his control of colour awakens a feeling of nostalgia; urging it to take root in becoming part of our story, it’s a world where the present & past collide.
Total genius. -tM
...we were young and beautiful and still making our way, the world still had magic and we had more time to create.
I once read somewhere on a plaque in a garden: “Ce qui sera, c’est ce qui fut”- “what will be, is what was," and this day was perfect. (Paraphrased from something I read long ago.)
What ever happened to the art of seduction?
In this instant gratification of the take me here and now, and throw away culture, there is little room or time left for enticing someone into sexual activity.
A proper seduction needs obstacles, it needs resistance, it cannot proceed without them.
It's about engagement and feeling emotionally alive. Things have become too easy.
The creativity, mystery, and intellect of the art and maneuver have been lost.
A sign of the times? I certainly hope not.
What do you think? Is seduction a thing of the past, lost on the generations to come? -tM
Photography: Helmut Newton | Polariod's, 1970's
As we age, anything in particular can usher in the feeling of nostalgia.
This piece of furniture, aside from its fantastic design, does just that for me.
This is how my family lounged on our concrete deck in the hot and bothered city in the 70's and 80's. Surrounded by potted tomatoes, like any good immigrant family, eating watermelon and finding relief from the summer heat became synonymous with family gatherings and simpler times.
It's a reminder to find your tribe (whoever they may be) and love them well. Make that connection, it's an important one. -tM
This is really beautiful.
Nostalgia: It's delicate but potent, perhaps at times, even a seductive liar. In Greek, "nostalgia" literally means "the pain from an old wound." It's a throbbing in your heart far more potent then memory alone - a feeling of a place where we ache to go again.
The older you grow the more you become philosophical about such things. -tM
Some day's I really miss smoking.
I miss the beauty of the unpredictable patterns the smoke creates, the crackle and burn of the tobacco. Its scent has become a living reminder of moments celebrated, moments lost, and the growing pains of my youth.
I miss the first inhale and exhale, the weight of the cigarette between my fingers and the caress of the filter against my lips. It was a secret romance, nothing short of a wild passionate love affair, until it wasn't.
In private, and on occasion I wish I could go back. -tM
The place of cool. That was my dad's shop. It wasn't just a place of business but also a place of gatherings. This photograph reminded me of just that. Friday nights, and Saturday mornings, his small shop in the hood, turned locale, openly became a place where friends would assemble, talk politics, life, and women. It became their version of the lounge about town, immigrants welcome, no VIP status required.
The tunes were always spinning, the air was full of smoke, and the coffee was the elixir of choice.
It was definitely no meeting of the minds, but it was a place where everyone knew your name and welcomed your voice, well, until they didn't. People were shoved out just like in any good lounge and told never to come back if they overstepped certain boundaries.
It was an easy like Sunday morning kind of a vibe until it wasn't.
I feel like places and gatherings like that in our society are very far and few between these days as are small businesses.
The photograph is a reminder of simpler days. Nostalgia always has a way of slipping in. -tM
Nostalgia sets in when I look at this photograph. It reminds me of simpler days, probably because I was a lot younger and was fortunate enough not to have had the knowledge or forethought of what the future may bring.
When you are young, you dwell in the "what might be," you are not acutely aware of the present, or the past, the future is where you exist. You are always looking forward. That is the beauty of youth. There is so much life in that hope.
As you progress in age you become nostalgic, more philosophical about existence, and even the commute home becomes a place where you observe faces, hands, mannerisms; reflective moments find there way into even the mundane moments in ones life.
I always go back to a poignant moment in my life when riding the subway between these two particular stops. It was something I gave no thought to many years ago, and now it has become a place I visit Monday-Friday.
Even in the remembrance and the philosophical meanderings there is now presence of mind. It is no wonder that as time passes the more beautiful life becomes. -tM
"Aging is an extraordinary process where you become the person you always should have been." -David Bowie
(only if you continue to evolve, grow from the lessons, and continue to work on yourself, then yes, I totally agree with Mr. Bowie).