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Click to preview When light loves the darkness photo book

[En]
Only the image lacking of color, created through a pure and essential look, allows us to enter in a mystical world where the emotions can dance between lights and shadows. This book collects the vision and personality of three of those looks in a collection of ninety black and white photographs that inmortalize the beauty of that mystical world.

[Fr]
Juste l’image dépourvue de couleur, créée par un regard pur et essentiel, permet de pénétrer dans un monde mystique où les émotions dansent entre ombre et lumière. Ce livre reflète la vision et la personnalité de trois de ces regards dans une collection de quatre-vingt dix photos en noir et blanc qui immortalisent la beauté de son monde mystique.

[Es]
Sólo la imagen carente de color, creada a través de una mirada pura y esencial, permite adentrarnos en un mundo místico en el que las emociones danzan entre luces y sombras. Este libro recoge la visión y personalidad de tres de esas miradas en una colección de noventa fotografías en blanco y negro que inmortalizan la belleza de ese mundo místico.

EAlmeida

About the Author

Eduardo Almeida
EAlmeida Zamora, Zamora, Spain

Lost in the mountains latent echo, in its overwhelming vastness and on the cold peaks covered by ice and snow, where the spirit flows like water into the rocks and releases from the imposed prison... It is maybe there where we revive and where our smallness to the world make us remember what is our real place and that things we are an immanent part of. It is in the journey to the clouds, on its ephemeral beauty, on its forms and elegance where I find the harmony that caresses the hills, plays with textures on the stone, with light on valleys and lakes reflections. It is in the lush woods and its paths, it’s in its darkness, where I find the mystery that fuels my curiosity. In the freefall of a cascade, in its sober roar turned into white silk....It is there where I find the real silence, where I find the everlasting truth. It is in the twisted trunk of a tree asleep in the middle of a steppe, in its centenary loneliness, it is in memory of a thousand twilights where I find wisdom.

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