The house of the sea wind, photo essay by Julia Borissova
If one day you ask me to name just one thing,
something that I could look at all the time
or that I need most of all
where I would like to be right now,
I would call the sea.
The Baltic Sea
on the shores of which I was born one day.
It is said that the first breath that a man takes,
the air that gets into his lungs,
binds him with his birthplace forever.
Probably that’s why I love the sea wind so much
and inhaling this salty air
I watch the water is changing its color
and listen to music of masts.
The sea like the organ music
sweeps over and fills me
leaving traces in the memory
that always lead me back
to my first house built of wind.
In The house of the sea wind I return to my birthday place in search of clues to my own identity. For me it is like a poetic archeology, I’m looking for some signs around me for creating patterns that can reflect my mind at the intersection of my imagination and the visible world.
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