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The Andes of Pablo Corral |
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Written by Mario Vargas Llosa
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When we close our eyes and think of the distant Andes, the first image
that usually comes to mind is that of a panorama devoid of human life.
Cordilleras with jutting, snowy peaks, dizzying abysses, and vast
solitudes where occasionally a condor may soar, or deep valleys where
we see the timid faces, the large frightened eyes, of flocks of llamas,
alpacas, and delicate vicuñas organized in family groups in which each
male is surrounded by his three or four concubines.
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Written by Pablo Corral Vega
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Life is not life without poetry. I'm talking about the license we give
the world to touch us, change us, wound us, carry us away, lift us up,
drag us down, save us, expose us, wrap us in warmth, strip us naked.
Uno,
Enrique Santos Discépolo's beloved tango, says, "Filled with hope, we
seek the path our dreams have promised our desires. . . The struggle is
hard, and it is long, but struggle anyway, and bleed for the faith that
drives you on. Through the thorns we crawl, and in our thirst to give
our love, we suffer and destroy until at last we see that we've no
heart anymore - the price of a punishment we undergo, a kiss we never
receive, a love that left us low. . .
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Written by Pablo Corral Vega
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Photography has the unique ability to call up our past. Its
journalistic, scientific, and commercial uses represent just a tiny
percentage of the images captured around the world each day. The vast
majority of people take photographs simply to remember.
When we press the shutter, we are saying Here I am; This moment
matters, I matter; These are the people I love; I wish this moment
would last. When we take photographs, we are rebelling against death,
rebelling against the passing of time. This subversive act is the human
act par excellence
- only we humans are conscious of the passing of
time, so only we humans can conceive the impossible: stopping it,
freezing it.
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