Julia Barna and Jesse Somera, styled by Anette Nyseth
as if falling under a spell, a spell I fought to stay under.
that this blue exists makes my life a remarkable one, just to have seen it. to have seen such beautiful things.
bathing in the moonlight
Sailed to Catalina for Memorial Day weekend
I made a series of photos called "Ghosts of Yemen" one November evening in 2013, not realizing that this would be the last time I’d see this place the way it was and always has been to me. Old, vibrant and majorly flawed. Power outages plagued those streets hourly, no water to keep the country or its people clean and hydrated, an immense amount of Qat chewing and backwardness that I could hardly relate to. A country so old, streets and corridors that have remained untouched since the beginnings of time. And I loved it so much.
I look back at these photos and truly feel those ghosts. Some ghosts are less present than others, light and fleeting, just passing through. Others haunt me, eyes that gaze, stinging like a burn that just won’t fade. I imagine these streets destroyed, crawling with fear, paranoia, grief and uncertainty. A feeling of helplessness, praying for these ghosts to move on, to rest in peace.
Journal entry from November 30th, 2014:
"I'm in Paris. It's a Sunday morning, almost noon. I'm waking after my first full night of rest - a result of the absurd amount of work, wine, and freezing scooter rides.
I like Paris. It's playful, sad, childlike, and small. Everything is small. A smallness that yearns to hold you tight. Walls close in on you, as if to warmly embrace your presence. Human need for closeness is an undeniable truth in this city. Yet, people are cold to one another - maybe because their interaction is satisfied by living spaces stacked on top of one another.
The city speaks to you with every step you take. Animated, alive, pulling you closer to notice its beautiful intricacies. The city bleeds, has scars of its past. You breathe memories. You taste sadness, love, death. The gloom makes color more whimsical, gold shines brighter. You understand why dreamers plant their roots here.
Time spent building these walls gave them life, as maybe you'd imagine some higher power did for our kind. A vibrant, unashamed, vulnerable, and sensitive life."