queen.
(Source: saintsandperdition, via 20minsl8isstill10minsearly)
If grandmothers around the world had a rallying cry, it would probably sound something like “You need to eat!”
Photographer Gabriele Galimberti’s grandmother said something similar to him before one of his many globetrotting work trips. To ensure he had at least one good meal, she prepared for him a dish of ravioli before he departed on one of his adventures.
“In that occasion I said to my grandma ‘You know, Grandma, there are many other grandmas around the world and most of them are really good cooks,” Galimberti wrote via email. “I’m going to meet them and ask them to cook for me so I can show you that you don’t have to be worried for me and the food that I will eat!’ This is the way my project was born!”
The project, “Delicatessen With Love”, took Galimberti to 58 countries where he photographed grandmothers with both the ingredients and finished signature dishes.
Galimberti said many of the subjects for the project were selected serendipitously, picked while he was working on a project about couch surfing that explored the global phenomenon of staying in other people’s houses. Since Galimberti never slept in hotels while working on the project, he was able to come into contact with people who introduced him to grandmothers in the area.
Galimberti acted as photographer and stylist during each shoot with the grandmothers, taking a portrait of both the women and the food they made for him.
From top to bottom:
Inara Runtule, 68, Kekava, Latvia. Silke (herring with potatoes and cottage cheese).
Grace Estibero, 82, Mumbai, India. Chicken vindaloo.Susann Soresen, 81, Homer, Alaska. Moose steak.
Serette Charles, 63, Saint-Jean du Sud, Haiti. Lambi in creole sauce.
The photographer’s grandmother Marisa Batini, 80, Castiglion Fiorentino, Italy. Swiss chard and ricotta Ravioli with meat sauce.
Normita Sambu Arap, 65, Oltepessi (Masaai Mara), Kenya. Mboga and orgali (white corn polenta with vegetables and goat).
Julia Enaigua, 71, La Paz, Bolivia. Queso Humacha (vegetables and fresh cheese soup).
Fifi Makhmer, 62, Cairo, Egypt. Kuoshry (pasta, rice and legumes pie).
Isolina Perez De Vargas, 83, Mendoza, Argentina. Asado criollo (mixed meats barbecue).
Bisrat Melake, 60, Addis Ababa, Ethiopia. Enjera with curry and vegetables.
yeah, this brought me all the joy.
miss my amachi (grandma), rip.
(via lioninzion)
i may just try saying this some time, cos it’s really how i feel a lot of the time…
(Source: charmsilver, via 20minsl8isstill10minsearly)
"Shyness has a strange element of narcissism, a belief that how we look, how we perform, is truly important to other people."
-
Andre Dubus (via tat-art)
this struck a chord..
(Source: tranquillamente, via quintessentiallycapetown)
I call this photo: “Despite the fact that I look chunky, I received what may be great news. Down but not out!”
i don’t understand why you’re so beautiful though, brandi.
(Source: savedbymercyandgrace, via inkdroptheory)
(via bunandcheeeese)
Matt Molloy | on Tumblr (Canada)
Art, music and travel are three favorite things of Matt Molloy, an Ontario-based photographer. He explores them in all kinds of different ways and has begun a experiment with timelapse sequences. By merging 100 to 400 photographs into one, Matt Molloy reveals the different colours of the sky and creates the painting-like photographs. Please visit artist’s Flickr or follow his Tumblr for more work.
[more Matt Molloy | artists found at never]
incredible. “the heavens are telling…”
Bald Eagles fighting over fish
(photos via funbaz and frierworks.com)
i dunno…i looked at these pics for a while.
nuthatch bokeh (explored) by gypsymarestudios (thank you!) on Flickr.
Taking the Plunge by raptor wack on Flickr.
“When we were on the beach we shopped at Carolina Beach. It had an amusement park, but of course Black people were not permitted to go in. Every time we passed it i looked at the merry-go-round and the Ferris wheel and the little cars and airplanes and my heart would just long to ride them. But my favorite forbidden ride had little boats in a pool of water, and every time i passed them i felt frustrated and deprived. Of course, persistent creature that i am, i always asked to be taken on the rides, knowing full well what the answer would be. One summer my mother and sister and i were walking down the boardwalk. My mother was spending part of her summer helping my grandparents in the business. As soon as we neared the rides, i went into my usual act. I continued, ad nauseum, until my mother, grinning, said. “All right now, I’m gonna try to get us in. When we get over there, I don’t want to hear one word out of either of you. Just let me do the talking. And if they ask you anything, don’t answer. Okay? Okay!” My mother went over to the ticket booth and began talking. I didn’t understand a word she was saying. The lady at the ticket window kept telling my mother that she couldn’t sell her any tickets. My mother kept talking, very fast, and waving her hands. The manager came over and told my mother she couldn’t buy any tickets and that we couldn’t go into the park. My mother kept talking and waving her hands and soon she was screaming this foreign language. I didn’t know if she was speaking a play language or a real one. Several other men came over. They talked to my mother. She continued. After the men went to one side and had a conference, they returned and told the ticket seller to give my mother the tickets. I couldn’t believe it. All at once we were laughing and giggling and riding the rides. All the white people were staring at us, but we didn’t care. We were busy having a ball. When i got into one of those little boats, my mother practically had to drag me out. I was in my glory. When we finished the rides we went to the Dairy Queen for ice cream. We sang and laughed all the way home. When we got home my mother explained that she had been speaking Spanish and had told the manager that she was from a Spanish country and that if he didn’t let us in she would call the embassy and the United Nations and i didn’t know who all else. We laughed and talked about it for days. But it was a lesson i never forgot. Anybody, no matter who they were, could come right off the boat and get more rights and respect than amerikan-born Blacks.”— Assata Shakur. 1987. Assata: An Autobiography. Lawrence Hill Books: p. 27-28. (via so-treu)
