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Foto van rechtsachter de schilder, met de zon in mijn rug. Letterlijk over de schouder meekijken. Gezicht en hand in de schaduw. De schilder legt de Waalkade van Nijmegen-kant vast. Ik zie als achtergrond juist de overkant: oud-Lent.
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Photo taken from just behind and to the right of the painter, with the sun at my back. A literal over-the-shoulder view. His face and hand are in shadow. The painter is capturing the Waalkade from the Nijmegen side. In my view, the background is actually the opposite bank: old Lent.
some stories don’t unfold—they simply pause.
a man resting on the stone steps of the torres de serranos in valencia, perfectly caught in a triangle of sunlight. behind him, the carved crown and angels seem to watch over his stillness.
he’s not performing, he’s just being.
and the light, almost reverently, seems to choose him.
this wasn’t staged. it was a fleeting moment of peace in a city always moving.
the red scarf, the shadow crown, the sun’s blade—everything in quiet alignment.
portals nous. the sun cuts through the terrace of french coffee like a blade. he sits motionless, sunglasses on, beard trimmed, a stillness that feels intentional. the plant, just out of reach, throws a shadow that grows louder by the second. between them, a cup of coffee. itâs not about who he is. itâs about who gets seen.