Brûlure
On this day, we had planned to spend a quiet morning, not venturing anywhere, to enjoy the tranquility of our temporary refuge hidden in the woods amidst the Sicilian mountains.
Our plans were abruptly interrupted by a piercing scream that echoed from the kitchen. The Moka coffee pot had exploded, spraying scalding drops all over the walls and people. Cléa was the closest to it, and the scalding liquid left a large, searing mark on her skin.
Upon returning from the local pharmacy, she cut an aloe leaf from the garden to soothe her burned skin, while I grabbed my camera. I couldn't explain this reflex in myself. After all, what man would photograph a horrible burn on his companion’s body?
My eyes saw the burn on her skin, but I saw her. At that moment, as she sat in front of the mirror, applying aloe to her wound and getting acquainted with this new part of herself, her character surfaced. Cléa was lost in her thoughts, and my camera attempted to capture the real her, visible only in moments of intense feelings.
Of course, these were staged shots, but I feel that with this portrait, I discovered a new dimension in my photography.
As the days passed, the mark on Cléa's skin began to fade, but the photograph remained, a lasting testament not just to beauty, but to a 'beauty in spite of'.
Also on this day:
