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Its funny. When I was a child, the little library in our home was the room I feared the most. Not because of what it contained with all the rows of books, but because of a table that stood in the middle of it. It had, and has, legs that
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About the Project”Was It All a Fleeting Dream?” is a meditation in written and photographic form upon existence, photography, and the fragility of life. It is published on viktoraron.com, will be exhibited with Fria Fotografers Filial at Kulturhuset Stadsteatern Stockholm January 26 – February 17, and published and exhibited
Our cloth's feathers fluttered in the wind as though it was a bird's fragile wings being freed from the fishing line that held them sewn together. The bird shouting freedom, freedom! with our every step, as it fluttered its wings free of that line; as we ran out of the
There it stood. With its arms reaching out to the sky, the heaven, above, and with people surrounding its shiny bark, hard as metal, firm as metal, unbreakable as if it was a samurai’s sword, forged from the hardest of ores. The tree’s foundation as that of glue
Photographs from this summer: Öland, Sverige. Summer of 2016, post 3 of 3. The Sun's and Winds' Island Where the winds are eternal, and the sun almost too. Where I spend my summer, since I was two years old.
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Its funny. When I was a child, the little library in our home was the room I feared the most. Not because of what it contained with all the rows of books, but because of a table that stood in the middle of it. It had, and has, legs that
Last week... my high-school class went on a journey to Germany. Primarily to visit the IFA (Consumer Electronics Unlimited) convention for two days in Berlin, but we did a lot of other things too. Among those were: a guide history tour through Berlin, a guided tour through Sachsenhausen Concentration Camp
The sun just peeked over the horizon and set it afire whole. At the table a young man sat with his arms reached out in front of him, and with the sun casting light all over them and his pale, pale face; as pale as that of a ghost risen