Versailles in love.
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Versailles in love.
Paris after dark…
untitled.
A bed is not always a home.
Sharp lines, quiet purpose.
Small details…
Even the most iconic silhouettes feel softer in the fog.
« The Louvre is a morgue; you go there to identify your friends. » - Jean Cocteau
« I knocked at your door, I knocked at your heart, for it to let me in. But beneath your closed eyelids there was the closed door, and when I opened your door, I saw that my heart was not there. » - Paul Éluard
« I carved your name on the stone of Paris, on the walls, in the sky, on life itself, so that all would know that I love you. » - Paul Éluard
“With age comes wisdom, but sometimes age comes alone.” — Oscar Wilde
Painting and photography meet like two mirrors.
One invents light, the other captures it.
In a brushstroke or a shutter click, there’s the same desire — to hold a moment before it disappears.
To paint is to dream the real.
To photograph is to reveal the dream.
Love died quietly, without noise or warning. What once burned bright now lies cold, a shadow of laughter, a ghost of touch, leaving only echoes in empty rooms.
Two strangers, a beer in hand, a fleeting moment frozen. Smiles and stories I’ll never know, but a spark of life caught in the city’s concrete.
lost in the horizon, where the sky meets the sea