Silence and solitude. Only those who truly care about you can hear you when you're quiet.
Learning to shut out the world took time. Only when I understood that I had a primal need for silence was I able to begin my search for it. Silence is about rediscovering, through pausing, the things that bring us joy. It draws upon achieving nearness to what we hope to learn, our relationship with nature, with those we love, the time we spend, the energy that we consume. Deep beneath a cacophony of noises and thoughts, visuals and vocals, modern technologies and modern ideologies, it lays in wait. Silence. Today, being able to mindfully create it for yourself is more important than ever.
Byzantine church of Saint George, Madaba, Jordan, 2010.
158km from Iraq. When you are constantly on the move, serendipity can easily be taken for granted and belittled. We were strangers who caught sight of each other in the middle of a vast unpunctuated desert, who stood divided by an interminable train track that ran from one side of the horizon to another, and whose intentions were to see the next train from Homs pass between us. That train never came. He stood vigilant and hopeful, while I left to continue my journey. Only smiles and nods exchanged, mutually understanding we would never see each other again. He was, to me, that forlorn stranger in the sand; I was, to him, that strange girl in the sand who stole a picture of him.
Hamad, Syria, 2010.
I am curious about the people we meet daily, but who we don't know. The extras. The passersby. The creepers. The neighbours and the baristas. I wonder about their lives; I wonder if anyone is feeling the same way I'm feeling at any particular moment. I ponder about their experiences that combine to form a kaleidoscope of narratives, a theatre of humanity in my mind.
Amman, Jordan, 2010.
The beauty of film photography is beyond the obvious aesthetics. A forgotten roll that yields enigmatic scenes - part blurred by chemistry, part blurred by fading memory - often becomes a surprise gift to self after years have elapsed.
Jerash, Jordan, 2010.
The last days of the year had arrived with the biting cold of winter being imminent. Every opportunity to bathe in sunshine was treasured, and every chance to marvel at the azure skies, taken. An empty theatre. 2nd century, Roman, black basalt, seats 15,000. A stranger pulled out a flute spontaneously from inside his bag, jumped onto stage and delivered a standing-ovation worthy piece. I clapped in appreciation and the applause amplified in echoes. He looked at me and bowed; I smiled. Dude sat behind him remained indifferent all this time, resolute in getting that one thing: warmth. That was the last tolerable winter before the Arab Spring proliferated.
Bosra, Syria, 2010.