Sujith Nambiar: Mumbai-Doha-Mumbai

A user experience/product designer by trade, I am a self-taught contemporary Indian artist and photographer, actively seeking multi-dimensional conditions and emotions through my photographs. Initially photography was a newfound medium into which to channel my creative energy alongside painting. I have been engaged in street photography since 2013, capturing moments from the streets without any predefined purpose or set agenda.

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“Photography Is My Therapist”: the iPhone Photo World of Ornella Mignella

“I am not a photographer,” says the Italy-based Ornella Mignella, known on Instagram as @miss_golightly_the_cat and otherwise very reticent about herself. “Photography is my therapist. It helps me to accept myself and what happens to me. Acceptance is not resignation but a form of consciousness raising, an instantaneous clarity of thought captured in a picture. I use my iPhone 5 and some apps to edit my photos.”


Peter never came back

I play the role of Wendy, who waits for Peter Pan until her death. She lies on the floor, we don’t know if she tries to fly to reach Peter or dies of missing him. Her death is every existential failure, it is my generation’s failure, our broken dreams. Peter is everything we can’t reach, something we lost forever.
We only know that he flew away with Tinker Bell. Wendy flew away too.

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Cairo in Indigo: the Photo Poem (without the Photos)

Hipstamatic makes no sense.
In the idle grip of suspended motion—
endless traffic in stasis,
prosthetic limbs scratching against car doors—
what’s the use of predefined filters pretending to be the aesthetic technology of not much earlier times?
You want to play with the beasts.
Soul splashed on the asphalt, to dream your own dreams,
imagination feeding like ruminants.

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Shebin and its People: Mini Exhibition by Shereen Muhamed (@cheiroche)

Follow @cheiroche on Instagram; see cheiroche.tumblr.com

الجنازة العسكرية

كان الأمن يطهّر البؤر الإرهابية بالشباشب فيما التيار مقطوع والإعلام يتحدث عن نصر تاريخي لاعناً المتقاعسين ظهر الشعب العظيم من خلف قواد آخر في بدلة كاملة على الشاشة يجري كقطعان الفرائس في الفلوات ولم يكن الناشط السياسي قد كف عن الصراخ ثورة أو في مشهد آخر كثلل الجرذان عبر مقالب الزبالة بعد مليون حمل من جهاد النكاح في الحرب الأهلية لازال المسئولون يسجدون ظهر الجمعة والأزهر الشريف حيث سماحة الإسلام امرأة تقول إن صوتاً لا يعلو على صوت البطولة والناس جائعة والمرور معطّل ولا نامت أعين الجبناء

… behemoth beards bereft of all mustachios

And then the baby begins to sway. The ghost whirr of the AC dying hard in our ears, we’ve grown paralytically hot in the living room, some whiff of something gunpowder-like coming through the window, and all of life suddenly, wrongfully without power. Somewhere not far mephitic men with weapons must be raising those black flags marked with the statement of the faith in white rudimentary abjad, behemoth beards bereft of all mustachios, shrieking their support for the President of the Second Republic. Before long, enraged guevaras will be heading straight for the fuckers.

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