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Tag: Gozo

The sun was still midway through the horizon and the air around was still quite comfortable, brisk but not too much, for I had been walking up a small hill, fully equipped with my 75-300, the smaller 18-55, the flash and the 28-200 Tamron beast of a lens (My fav :-) ).  well by the time I wrote this sentence the sun had risen a little bit more so I had to stop and shoot a good intro for this post.

As the sun appeared to rise skywards the light that reflected on the sea moved further away, slowly fading

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For the past four years I have been thinking about publishing a book, which related a story and which offered food for thought. During these years I always produced excuses not to accomplish what I really wanted (probably due to fear of failure).  Thanks to a simple pebble now my dream came to reality and what was imaginary has now become physical.

In this book I expressed my feelings in duo through images and thoughts all created in the same instance on a tranquil sandy beach in Gozo.  Here I found the inspiration needed to push me over to doing rather than just dreaming.

The sea, the breeze, the sand so clean, the serenity around was just incredible.  It was almost impossible not to write something.  Reading and viewing my thoughts I can almost feel the same sensation I felt when I was there, so I hope it will have the same energising effect on you who will go through the passage and the images.

The link below will take you to an online preview of the book and should you like it, you can purchase online and it will be delivered directly to your address.

Please feel free to send me any comments on the following address.

info@rchircop.com

Thank you.

Lost into the depths of alienation, wondering from one place to another, venturing into places I have never been before, lost.  For so long I have not seen my reflection, I have not heard my voice anywhere, my Qi wondering off like a dandelion carried by the winds of society.

Searching through the clouds

Searching through the clouds

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In pairs we walk through the tunnel, contained through a rusting fence, prohibited from moving around within a diameter of a maximum of 5, maybe 7 meters. The wooden benches carved and tattered, aged through the passage of time and the weathering of this anguished environment, dirty, filthy, unwelcoming. The walls, dug out by the blowing winds of winter and scraped by the scorching rays of summer, a process recalled by these walls for ages. The obscene frescoes on these walls are the only most recent addition which contrary to the rest seem to increase as more of us pass by through the years. Graffiti that display history, nationality and maybe even state of mind.

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Listening to the ticking sound of an old clock, resting on a table now empty, wondering on thy past. Sensing the smell of a pie who’s creator rests within the world of dreams. Beside me on this table, carved with with a knife called time, rests a bunch of apples, as small as a bunch of wild berries, which in Maltese we call a “Merh”.

The window, wide open letting the cool breeze inside, helping my pencil through its scribbling symphony, wondering what else to draw, wishing no end for this timeless moment.

Rabat Or Citadella in Gozo

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