When I was a child I spent hours playing and reading next to an old tree of my parents’ garden. That place had something magic for me; the shadow cast by the leaves in those summery afternoons felt me protected. It was like being embraced by a grandfather, and I did not know any of my grandfathers. That’s why trees are an essential presence in my photographs. Here again I want to celebrate their strong and protecting beauty.
Model: Anna Wrobel
©2015 Flavia Catena
She was walking on a silent path, in the forest. Spring still looked so far from there. Arid bushes, bare trees; a thorn hunted her hand as she tried to pick a blossom up from a branch. The light of the clouds made her eyes almost cry, and yet it was close to rain. When the wind raised and everything around started to shake and swing, she stopped for a moment. There were rabbits running to their burrows, birds flying to their high builded nests; she looked at them and smiled. It was the time to take a breath and to wait for the end of the storm.
Thanks a lot to my model Irma Benitez.
©2015 Flavia Catena
I could never have dreamt that there were such goings-on
in the world between the covers of books,
such sandstorms and ice blasts of words,
such staggering peace, such enormous laughter,
such and so many blinding bright lights,
splashing all over the pages
in a million bits and pieces
all of which were words, words, words,
and each of which were alive forever
in its own delight and glory and oddity and light.
Note on the Art of Poetry, by Dylan Thomas
Model and make up: Thu-Linh N.
“Il piatto è vuoto: l’anima non sa di che nutrirsi. Mente a sé stessa chiamando il corpo a vivere per lei.”
Many thanks to Indroneel Chatterjee to work with me on this series, helping with advices and real emotions.
©2015 Flavia Catena
Here a few kind words written by Indroneel on the work done together: “It was one of those phases when all I wanted to do was to lie in bed with a tub of icecream. Shooting with Flavia was perhaps more relaxing than that. Flavia made me feel comfortable enough to be myself that day – bare and exposed, a bit retrospective and a bit melancholy.”
Colorblind 