I was request to do an assignment: read and review a book. It wasn't a long book, but my mind wasn't into it. I keep rereading the same line over and over while my thoughts escape to other place and time far away from that story printed in those pages. I decided to go outside and read under the big tree where an old park bench invited me to relax beside the murmuring of the lake. Sitting there I could feel the calming breeze and the beautiful twinkling of the water under the sun of the spring. I decided to start my task with a big breath. I looked for that elusive line hoping to find its meaning when I noticed that the words moved, subtle, but they moved with the breeze.
Friday, 31 January 2014
Zilia Castrillon is a journalist and photographer from Colombia who lives in Toronto. Her photography illustrates compelling stories of complex events of social processes and multiple resistance struggles. Aspects of community life and people’s deep psychological traits and identity are revealed in these images.
Zilia have visited various Eco-regions in Colombia, remote zones such as the Orinoquía and the Pacific Rainforest to document the Afro descendants and indigenous brave act of resistance against land grabs and poverty. She witnessed interesting developments on community-based conflict resolution and peace building.
Posted by vv at 16:32
Tuesday, 28 January 2014
Tuesday, 7 May 2013
Poem and illustration by Viviana Gomez - May 07, 2013
Picture by Viviana Gomez
Que el viento intente detenernos de los cabellos,
que los dientes de león nos hagan zancadillas,
que el sol quiera cegarnos el camino.
No importa si estamos juntos.
huyamos hacia el borde rugiente,
Posted by vv at 14:19
Friday, 4 January 2013
Sunday, 2 September 2012
Story by Ivanna Lopez Gomez,12, based on the painting by Chris Van Allsburg, for a project in her school.TITLE: The Seven Chairs CAPTION: “The fifth one ended up in France.” From the book: “ The Mysteries of Harris Burdick”
“It’s the fifth floating chair!” – said a man running out of the church. You could tell that he was traumatized just by looking at his face. It was all dirty as if he fell in dirt when he was running. He looked like he was crying out. He was too weak to make a tear. As he ran past me I could smell his sweat from running so fast. I went inside to see what was going on.
It was 1809. There had been a floating chair in 5 countries now. First was England. Then Spain. Then Germany. Then the United Stated. Now France.
As I was running inside the church, I heard millions of screams. I saw people running as if there was a horrible creature chasing them. I smelled the delicious food people dropped in fight. I tasted people anticipation to get out and mine to see what’s going on. I felt the wind coming from the church windows.
I stopped. I saw 2 men simply standing peacefully. Other then those 2 no one was there. I looked up. I saw a floating chair. But for the first time ever someone was sitting on the floating chair.
Posted by vv at 11:58
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