Ruins of the Late Autumn Table

December and the air is luminous orange, perpetual sunset, deceitfully warm… I watch from the window, huddled blue figures on the geometry of paths below.  Rain and the urge to cook something rustic and hearty. Pour another cup of tea and dream of velvet, fur, peacock feathers and the glowing skins of fruit… bathed in the last light that lasts and lasts…

Morning light on the ruins…

Morning light on the ruins…

And after so much tea-drunk dreaming, I careened into the tripod and ruined the 50mm lens. So the shoot was shot with 35mm and the Pentax 67, whose tank-like heartiness fit the season and has never failed me.

Much like when I was a child, I burrowed into the bread. And so many cheeses filled the studio with their campaigne sweetness. Memories of Paris, the Loire, summer on Lake Como and long train rides… another life. So many nostalgias and so many cups of tea...

The flowers, ironically, were an afterthought. What December offered in the market and the field. But together with the last produce from a greying tree, they made of our table again a portal to another memory, another world...