Ello

In the very end of winter, we followed young and promising director of so called (not so) Bollywood movies, on his way to the National Park of Calanques, on the Coast of Mediterranean Sea near Marseille. On his way we came across some brainstorming ideas, swam in the freezing of turquoise, danced to the random music playing in the background of some uncroyable dreamscapes, listened to multiple spontaneous lessons about the turbulent history of Marseille, profoundly inscribed into the stones of this city taken as a place of big cultural encounters, divides and transit that stays in between, imitated the sound of seagulls, drown ourselves in the caramelized sugar, at least once looked at our own shadow, visited Le Corbusier and encountered few dogs and one neurotic cat.

Even thought it’s very hard for me to confirm the order and authenticity of events noted above, isn’t the vivid imagination of a traveler place where the fragments of illusions and dreams are intertwining and deeply transcribing into the realm of real, creating the never ending game of time-space coordinates, wherein only thing that remains stable is the fragment caught through the lenses of an old analogue camera, who stays to resist time even when the memory starts to fade and mix things?