This is my studio for exploring my work. Consider these drafts.

Beautiful feelings

I make landscapes out of what I feel. I make a holiday of sensation.
— Fernando Pessoa, The Book of Disquiet

Recently I've been revisiting shoots I did long ago (if a few years can be considered long ago). It's an exploration of memory, but memory is really about the present. I see the photos differently now; how I saw them before is lost. So I build a new structure out of the feelings that I have when I look at these photos taken by a faraway self in a faraway place.

These truly are different photos then they were four years ago. They look like they were taken in a quiet alley in old Europe and maybe they were. It feels like they were. I never share so many photos at once, but sometimes memory is exuberant and you have to know when to say yes. 

Do you want to know a secret? I still don't know what I'm doing and I certainly didn't when I took these photos. I just had a beautiful feeling.

Categories: Tags: ,
by Balthazar Simões


But really, wouldn’t the story make more sense the other way around? Man, a part of a woman instead of woman, a part of a man?

You can’t divide a smaller number and get a larger number in return (or maybe you can, I don’t know how). You can’t divide a man and get a woman. Only women can divide. 

Division instead of addition or subtraction. 

Categories: Tags: , , , ,
by Balthazar Simões

It's just a picnic

I don't usually shoot in black and white. It's too hard for me to understand anything without colors. But, it's the film I had and you should always eat such things as are set before you.

The photos lack some perfection. I couldn't hold the camera straight, or still, or skillfully. 

It's been months since I looked at them, but I'm finally seeing them for what they are and they are pretty special to me. It's all crooked and alive and smirking at judgment. A picnic.

I think we oughta take some o’ these people
And put ’em on a boat, send ’em up to Bear Mountain . . .

For a picnic
— Bob Dylan, "Talkin’ Bear Mountain Picnic Massacre Blues"
Categories: Tags: , ,
by Balthazar Simões

To know both

They are tactics of imagination, which sometimes turn upon enhancing the beloved, sometimes upon reconceiving the lover, but which are all aimed at defining one certain edge or difference: an edge between two images that cannot merge in a single focus because they do not derrive from the same level of reality—one is actual, one is possible. To know both, keeping the difference visible, is the subterfuge called eros.
— Anne Carson, Eros the Bittersweet


Categories: Tags: , , , ,
by Balthazar Simões

This was my chance

It feels like New Orleans has settled over New York for the past week. The languorous, swampy heat. The other night I was listening to The Last Waltz and "Such a Night" with Dr. John came on. He's a national treasure, music personified, and you should listen to this song and see what happens to you.

And while you're listening and giving thanks for these sounds, I'd like to show you another treasure, someone else with a New Orleans soul, someone else who can conjure a kind of magic, someone else you'll give thanks for. He's a doctor, she's royalty, and they both can heal us in ways that we need.

This is your chance.

Such a Night
It’s such a night
Sweet confusion under the moonlight.

Such a night
Such a night
To steal away, the time is right.

Your eyes met mine
At a glance
You let me know
This was my chance.
— Dr. John
Categories: , Tags: , ,
by Balthazar Simões