EN LA SOMBRA DEL TIEMPO DANIEL MALKA PHOTO

PHOTO DOCUMENTARY FOTO DOCUMENTAL ON MEXICO BY DANIEL MALKA

GEORGINA AVILA Y AMIGOS EN MEXICO GRACIAS

 

 

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georgina avila © 2010 daniel malka

 

georgina avila fotografia by daniel malka

foto de Georgina Avila by Daniel Malka


It was a beautiful spring day.
We spoke the same language, shared the same vision, passion and light.
Her bright green eyes staring at me through a made up lens.
Separated by so much time, but yet united, in an instant that would last forever.
She had written, to me this phrase by Pablo Neruda “Para que nada nos separe que nada nos una”
We would become inseparable, in time, and in thoughts.

 

 

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fotos georgina avila by  ©daniel malka foto Georgina Avila foto by Daniel Malka

The colors of spring lights danced around us, just as if time had stopped and music could go on forever.
This photogram came from a movie that was left undone, a story that had to be written.
As much as I thought never again, I was falling in love.
She had brought to me “La puertita de la luz y de la felicidad”.
We began our fragile flight in our Paper Aeroplane.
 

 

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She could climb like a monkey.
She climbed to the alcove, opened the window and called me.
That much love and beauty became frightening. Only I knew how fragile it can be.
I was standing in the shadow of my past, as much as she stood and waved at the light of her future.
And I wondered, how much time could I steal from my own future to make this present last forever.
Could she ever understand. I will never forget the scent of those days, the scent of her hands.

 

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She stood still, camera in hand, like a bronze statue capturing light and defying time.
I stood behind her, capturing the passage of history, the passage of my own time, convinced that together we could withstand as many wars, storms, suns and moons, as these ruins ever had.
Drinking anew, this would become my first photograph of La Sombra Del Tiempo.

 

georgina avila ©daniel malka foto

foto de Georgina Avila by Daniel Malka

georgina avila fotografias por ©daniel malka

Georgina Avila by Daniel Malka bliss (manianera)


We had spent our first night on the beach.
We went for a swim, and she lied there, swaying in the sun,.
I stared at her smile, grabbed the camera, and captured our first moment of bliss, but not without fear.
We both knew that no matter how much we wanted, eventually time or the absurd would tear us apart.

 

now we rise
Fading slowly in its own shadow.
The symbol of a forgotten and forbidden culture.
It is forbidden to teach or to learn Maya in Mexican schools.
How ironic and contradictory, when genetics and physionomy tell such a different story.
In the eyes of the observers, they proudly stand tall.However, stone by stone, they are so fragile in the hands of humanity.
In its deepest shadows, rest the remains of an absurd lack of humanism, greed, all disguised as colonisation.

 

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How many times did the clock go around her ?
When will the shadow reach her for a last time?

 

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Carrying a subconcsious cross on his back, he is praying.
Next to him burns a candle of hope.
Perhaps we can share it.

 

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Tme moves on, a thousand faces as well, staring straight into the eyes of survival.
His days are counted, the passerby thinks.
So are his, I think to myself.
A thousand faces deep, where is our true sense of humanism ?

 

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From the beginning, from the first morning, from my small bedroom door to the Cathedral of Mexico,
shines the light that she has brought into my life.
Although I am standing deep into the shadow,
I know that this brightness will follow me, until my last breath.

 

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Her sihouette standing in the doorway, in front of wrapped statues, talking to the past, her past.
As if I didn’t know.
Right after that, it started raining.
We went to an old cantina and had the best mole and beer in town.
At that moment, I knew that it was only a question of time before I became a silhouette as well.
How absurd can it be to be so convinced that one can steal anything from time.

 

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georgina avila ©daniel malka foto

From above, she is digging for a glimpse at his soul.
I admire the scene, we walked around holding hands all day,
I am teaching, she is learning, and the yellow circles go on and on , as much as our love.


 

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He appeared on this dirt road, walking with a bag in one hand and a cane in the other.
He sat down to rest. I walked up to him, he only spoke Mixe, I asked him if I could do his portrait.
I would never get that old I thought to myself.
How many stories could this man tell me ?
If only, we both had enough time left.

 

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tapestry - Oaxaca mountains
Dignity, pride, faith and the infinite will to survive.
Every two months, they come walking from the hills. They pick up provisions, from a private charity.,
and see a doctor. They are the forgotten Mixes.
They walk back to their mountains with their heavy baskets.
The kindness of the indigenous people, runs through the veins of the Mexican people.
I wish we could all learn from them, that, often poverty carries virtues that could never be bought.

 

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hunger - Mexico D.F.
She is not on the list for free provisions, she tells me.
As if her traits didn’t tell the truth.
Remember that we are in the city where the richest man in the world resides.
Welcome to La Sombra Del Tiempo.

 

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odyssey
He is me.
I am him.
We have been each other since the beginning.

 

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new heroes
As I traveled to Oaxaca, my first encounter was this Abuelita.
She is a hundred years old.
She can’t talk anymore, she sat in the kitchen pealing her cocoa beans.
I was invited for lunch, we became friends.
How absurd and meaningless time is.

 

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She opened her humble home to us.
She introduced me to her children and grandchildren.
We didn’t speak the same language, but it wasn’t necessary to speak.
The greatest words are often spoken in silence.

 

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they are us
I walked into this room full of objects, dust, memories, laughs and tears.
Here we are, upon this wall, united forever, separated by the present. How absurd.
I stare at the faded image, mirror of our union immortalized on faded paper.
I can here the music from another generation, perhaps mine.
I have found the shadow of time, or, it has found me.
From where I’m standing, my life and my heart, will never be the same again.

 

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In the same room, the end lies, wrapped in a spiderman blanket.
She is ninety years old, blind, deaf, alone, and very ill.
Her clock has ticked away, as she waits peacefully for the end, or is it the end ?
She sits up, and although she can’t see me, she raises her head, and projects all of her dignity.
Many children, grandchildren and friends have passed through her life. Does it really matter now.
She is my shadow, I am hers. United by light and defying time for a fraction of a second.

 

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Dignity
She is seventy three, full of life, faith and compassion.
In her humble home, she takes care and feeds the two ill ladies here above.
When I ask her, where does she get her resources, she answers, friends and God.
She loves life, her life as well as humanity. No sadness, no regrets, only a smile on her face.
She offers me bananas and, thanks me. I still don’t know for what.
I thank you, Madame.

 

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She is an eighty four year old Mixe with severe Parkinson’s.
She stares at me really hard, knowing by now that a photograph is her only chance to be immortalized.
People who suffer from Parkinson’s can’t keep their eyes straight.
In this case, she stares at me so hard, that her eyes stop shaking but her face can’t.
So much beauty, courage and dignity, all dressed in white, defying the bad, as all Mixes have done through time

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stairway to hope
In the mountains of Oaxaca.
She sat on these steps, staring at me, while her mother lined up for free provisions.
All I could see in her eyes was a glow of hope.
The hope that maybe one day, we would all be equal.

 

 

tears - Juchitan
The third sex. They are not transvestites or trans genders. They speak Zapoteco.
Their existence and culture goes back at least two hundred years, in the town of Juchitan.
Most dress as women in order to attract men.
They are an active part of their town, accepted by the church, and executing women’s tasks often better than women.
Rare are the ones that have long term relationships. They remain very close and take care of their mother,
who often protects them from abusive fathers.

 

sweet mother
Estrellita lives at home. with her parents. She is an artist of all trades.
She supports her family, since her alcoholic father, disappears for days at a time.
Estrellita tells us that she would have rather wanted to play with dolls, than cars, since her early childhood.
When the father realized that he had a son Muxe, he started beating him on a regular basis.
Estrellita remains very close to her mother and protector, that she adores and spoils.

 

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©daniel malka foto

 

©daniel malka foto

 

©daniel malka foto

 

la isla de las munecas ( The Island Of The Dolls).
In the heart of Mexico City, in Xochimilco, right in the swamps, there is a tiny Island called Santa Barrera’s chiampa.. About fifty years ago, a man lived on this island with his daughter.

She was seven when he found her drowned.
He buried her on the island. At night he heard strande noises.

He was conviced that bad spirits came to haunt her grave.
He proceeded to hang her dolls in order to chase them away.

During many years, he collected dolls and scattered them all around.
He has now passed away, but the dolls remain, hanging, onto, as well as defying time.

 

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©daniel malka foto

 

©daniel malka foto

 

©daniel malka foto

 

©daniel malka foto

new light

 

© all rights reserved on all texts and photographs, daniel malka 2010