tea coffee and something else
From: Ana Carvalho
To: Maria Kapajeva
i’ve been so busy these days… sorry for not talking to you yesterday…
how about to set a new theme for our blog? and start inviting people?
you said you have some ideias.
these days i can only think about loneliness. not related to sadness… but with the daily life, tasks, hurry… all these things related to our days and cities…. maybe we could explore this… but you said something about tea. and tea remembers me meetings. so it would be much happier to talk about it instead of loneliness…
well, let’s talk and see what we decide for next topic.
i’m looking forward to it!!!
i have got this email from you today.
i am dreaming about tea or coffee alone.
just me, coffee/tea and book.
but i have no time for it.
so should we invite other women then?
*Arunima Singh, photographer from India
I used to think that I had never been in love, or even that I was incapable of falling in love. I asked my newfound lover how one could be sure if one was in love. (I believed him to be somewhat of an expert on the field) He could not give me the answer I wanted; he said it was all about feeling, and thinking and feeling for the other. Then I asked him if one could ever get so close to another person that one could feel where he or she itched when he or she itched. He did not believe so.
This morning my lover said that he wanted to drink tea more often. I had a cup of earl grey with my müsli; he had a glass of orange juice. Later I asked him why he wanted to drink tea more often. He replied that he had never said such a thing, but that some mornings he had tea, other mornings coffee and yet other mornings juice.
I guess maybe it is like this: I have left him, and I am alone, but still it feels like he is touching me, or a memory of him is touching me, like my body needs for the touch telling me that I need to be with him again. As I walk, the parts that were latest connected to his parts lean in the direction he would have been in. Like a man who has lost his arm and compensates by leaning in the direction of the lost limb. When we are apart, he is my lost limb. I guess that this could be the explanation I was searching for; this is how I could know.
*Kirsti Taylor Bye, photographer from Norway
Coffee bewilders me when somebody invites me for a cup of coffee. I can still enjoy this distraction again and again.
I do not know when the words were lost, but it was in the end of winter. These days, I’ve planned a strategy – a strategy of writing or an image. I thought to invite myself to a cup of tea – after the end of writing, I started living things rather than writing them. It was a little disturbing. The word love, for example, existed only in writing. Outside, the word is more simple and quotidian. I can not write about a tea unless I take it. Soon, I will have a cup of tea in a place I like near my house. I will sit, ask for the flavors, and make from this rough writing, my wordless moment.
[Today I saw the first autumm pink Ipê tree – I thought it was worthy to note.]
Carolina Junqueira likes photography and notebooks
Coffee time on the 53 floor
*Ko Sakauchi, photographer from Japan
Sorry for not answering your emails and skype calls. Life sometimes can be very tricky. We never know what comes next. I’m back to my hometown after six years. I think it is time to stay close to my beloved ones, at least for now. It’s Fall here and the sky is so blue that is almost impossible not to feel touched by it. I feel deeply touched by ipê trees outside. From my window I can see a pink one. They remember me my mom, she loves them, mostly the yellow ones. Unfortunately I didn’t bring my camera with me, otherwise I would send you a picture of it. It’s funny, don’t’ you think so? A photographer without a camera. It happens sometimes. So I write instead of shot. Let’s start all over again? I can invite you for a cup of tea and we will talk about love, photography, gardens and the days for come.
It has been for a while…
I have skipped some coffees. Time is rich in the mid-summer and ice seems to be melted.
Krista Mölder, photographer from Estonia