© Manjari Sharma, 2016, All Rights Reserved
Cosimo Galluzzi
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
will byers stan first human second

if i look back, i am lost
d e v o n
🪼

blake kathryn
RMH

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h

pixel skylines
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"
styofa doing anything
todays bird
Monterey Bay Aquarium
$LAYYYTER

★
Keni
Sweet Seals For You, Always

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@manj
© Manjari Sharma, 2016, All Rights Reserved
You know you are a photographer when your fear of not making a picture is greater than your fear of making a picture.
Greg Miller (via gregmiller)
Mom and Dad, 2016 © Manjari Sharma, All rights reserved.
Thanks @instagram for adding my image to your weekly highlights. The image of the flying sari above is by yours truly. It's a new project I'm working on and you can see more images from this series by following me on Instagram - my handle is @manjee and the project's hash is as follows : #howtowearasari #lookmaimoninstagram !
On the corner of my street is Peewee’s Playhouse, where people have been generationally coming for haircuts and shaves. Apart from being the cornerstone of my block, it has become a place of undeniable interest for me. Conversations unfold, I meet real people ... people of Bed-Stuy, people who are Bed-Stuy, who have been here long before this gentrified boom. I know one thing I’ll keep going back, until Peewee can’t stand it anymore.
Untitled. New Work. © Manjari Sharma, 2015 All rights reserved.
Soiti
© Manjari Sharma, 2015, All Right Reserved
Soiti who I recently had a major art crush on.
© Manjari Sharma, 2015 All Rights Reserved
A rickshaw driver takes a break in the middle of the day in Mumbai, India
© Manjari Sharma, 2015 All Rights Reserved
New Image
© Manjari Sharma, 2015 All Rights Reserved
New Image
© Manjari Sharma, 2015 All Rights Reserved
New Image.
All rights Reserved © Manjari Sharma, 2015
Air is everywhere
I have lost three friends in the last few months ....all gone too soon.. 35, 40 and 48. Dealing with ill parents and the loss of loved ones is a part of growing up; a chapter in everyone's book as they say. It's weird though that when you plunge in to the perfect water or feel a baby's pillow soft skin, the joy you unlock from that moment is so complete in itself. We are so bound by each other, so dependent, so fragile. Our little bodies just break apart, melt and vaporize. Solid turns to liquid turns to air. Maybe that's why we feel a relief like no other when a breeze wraps around us unexpectedly. May be what a breeze really is, is our gone-too-soon friends coming back to give us a hug, just one more time.
Janiella
© Manjari Sharma 2015, All Rights Reserved
I have waited this whole summer (maybe my whole life) to have my studio practice in a space of my own, a place with a large white wall, lots of glass, a place where work in progress can live, where I can read, muse, stare, edit. It gives me so much joy to share this photo of my backyard studio shed with you all. I am beyond happy to call this construction complete and move in ready!
You and me
The moment is a translucent fish,
A firefly sailing in the fog of a smoky moat
She glows and then she doesn’t but there she glows again
Sparking back at me telling me she sees me too.
Proof positive you say. Locked in.
An ember holds my hand.
The vows deeper set.
Lurk for a moment please. Hear the fog’s whisper.
Watch it’s waves grow in ambition and sway.
See its crystals, smell it’s earth. But she lights you up again
And you leave your fog in the dust.
The dust settles, the fog clears.
And the firefly dances for another.
- Manjari Sharma
I am sharing with you a poem that has moved me. It is by Wislawa Szymborska, A polish poet, who shot to international recognition with her 1996 Nobel Prize in Literature.
LIFE WHILE-YOU-WAIT
Performance without rehearsal.
Body without alterations.
Head without premeditation.
I know nothing of the role I play.
I only know it's mine. I can't exchange it.
I have to guess on the spot
just what this play's all about.
Ill-prepared for the privilege of living,
I can barely keep up with the pace that the action demands.
I improvise, although I loathe improvisation.
I trip at every step over my own ignorance.
I can't conceal my hayseed manners.
My instincts are for happy histrionics.
Stage fright makes excuses for me, which humiliate me more.
Extenuating circumstances strike me as cruel.
Words and impulses you can't take back,
stars you'll never get counted,
your character like a raincoat you button on the run –
the pitiful results of all this unexpectedness.
If only I could just rehearse one Wednesday in advance,
or repeat a single Thursday that has passed!
But here comes Friday with a script I haven't seen.
Is it fair, I ask
(my voice a little hoarse,
since I couldn't even clear my throat offstage).
You'd be wrong to think that it's just a slapdash quiz
taken in makeshift accommodations. Oh no.
I'm standing on the set and I see how strong it is.
The props are surprisingly precise.
The machine rotating the stage has been around even longer.
The farthest galaxies have been turned on.
Oh no, there's no question, this must be the premiere.
And whatever I do
will become forever what I've done.