WARSZAWA
Beautiful city. My second home. Whoever speaks of Paris has never seen Warsaw. Whoever yearns for an aristocratic sensibility, let them switch on the great lights of Warsaw.
Beautiful city. My second home. Whoever speaks of Paris has never seen Warsaw. Whoever yearns for an aristocratic sensibility, let them switch on the great lights of Warsaw.
Warsaw rose like a phoenix from the ashes after the Second World War. The semantics of commemoration echo at every turn. Looking back to move forward: Monumental.
Warsaw is known as the city that survived it's own death. But what exactly was the uprising of 1944 and why does it leave such an impenetrable, intangible feeling that still defines this place so many years on?
My brother has by wellbeing at heart. I know that. Lest I become bored in my favourite city, he set me a photographic challenge. Capture nine random subjects on camera. Simples. Challenge accepted.
Warsaw sparkles. A sense of calm comes over me as I walk its streets. Facades crumble, and the wind sweeps around corners. This is a city of pure, undiluted history. This is Warsaw: Silvertone.
Returning to Warsaw after some 18 years, I was filled with an anticipation forged from faded memories. Its people, its places and its ways of being. I love Warsaw... Kocham Warszawę.