#pradip malde

[images-that-inspire]

© Pradip Malde - from his photobook, From Where Loss Comes

Cutting trees, under which genital cutting procedure and ceremonies were performed.

[plaidbird]

NEVER ANY CLOUDS 14 Trees. Shadow. Fog. Sewanee, TN. December, 2007. Palladium-platinum print on vellum from 11×14 negative. by Pradip Malde

[ortodelmondo]

Retired ngariba Amina Hadiya and anti-FGM activist Christowaja Japhet © Pradip Malde 'From Where Loss Comes' published by Charcoal Press

[ortodelmondo]

Carolina Francis Kalungwama, behind her aunt, Julia Kalungwama. Both were cut as children. Julia is a former ngariba (cutter) and was assisted by Carolina. Mbalawala, near Dodoma, Tanzania. 2017 © Pradip Malde 'From Where Loss Comes' published by Charcoal Press

[creativespark]

Pradip Malde, Banana Trees, Saut Maturin, Haiti 2007. From the series "The Third Heaven", 2006–2012

[morethan50shadesofgrey]

Pradip Malde

[lightdarkroom]

to move in the wind

The past few days have been days where I have felt a choking stillness around me. My personal air has been hot and oppressive - and when I feel this way, I do silly things, like withdraw into myself and set off walking with no destination, contemplating not returning to the trappings around me. But would my nomadic whim carry me anywhere better? Not likely - because it's the air inside of me and not around me that is the oppressive one.

Many years ago now, a good friend and teacher told me that the reasons for unhappiness in my life could be considered this way: I had closed my fist to the wind, for inner safety; to be truly happy, I must be more open to sadness and to the whims of the wind. This is the way of being human. I needed to be a hand open in the wind, come what may.

So this morning, I rose early to look at his work, and to review my own work from years past. And I feel a little more like I can breathe again. I consider the texture of linen paper between my fingertips, the velvet shadows of a platinum-palladium print, the folded-silk highlights of sun on paper - and I can feel a path (beaten dirt but certain as stone) forming beneath my feet.

Even when the wind isn't blowing, we can remember it: the way it carries the scent of the autumn forest floor past us, how we cling to each other when it flurries snow around us in winter. If we do not forget the wind, we will not forget ourselves. This is the way of being human: remembering a fleeting thing and letting it move us, even years after it has passed. Do not forget.

[itsthegoodthings]

Tasveer Online | Pradip Malde | portraits Interview with my most favorite photographer (professor, mentor, friend), Pradip Malde, on the amazing portraits from his collection of photographs, "Prayer & Despair."

India, November, 1995. It is midweek, and there are priests, pilgrims and worshippers milling around us. Religion does not abide by the seven day cycle here. My parents are unusually quiet as we stand amid the bustle, gazing out at a tiered stretch of river. Damodarkund. They explain that this is where the ashes of my ancestors have been released over the centuries, into the still waters, along with flowers, prayers, tears, memories. Like smoke. I feel a lightness, something lifting. This is where I came from, this is where I am going. My hand is in the water, a conduit  and a key…

…Acceptance of anything can bring despair, and anything unbearable can inspire prayer. Kneeling down on the river bank, my hand in the clear water, I felt both.

photo:

Shiva, Jodhpur.

India, 1995. platinum-palladium print. 8x10 inches