Bissera Videnova

Photographer
       
The Speed of My Life III part
Location: Tampa, Fl
Nationality: bulgarian
Biography: Bissera Videnova is a Bulgarian born poet, writer, editor, and translator in her native tongue. She has published a collection of poems in her country (2017), many translated lyrics in English, French, Italian, Korean, Romanian; Holds a prize for... read on
This series of photos is inspired by one of my poems with the same title.
The project was realized entirely by phone (iPhone 8). I started shooting with the camera a few times, but it was as if I was at work - I felt a distance between me and it. These photos are de-Profundis personal and emotional -I needed something close to me. The phone connects me with my son. I wanted to involve my parents in as in a conference call. The photos I took were to show them something I liked, was excited about, or reminded me of them. Much later, the idea for a project was formed. The photos' format is 1:1 because the square's shape tends to stop the movement, the speed, to seal it at a standstill. To limit the experience, take me out of the deep emotionality that sometimes threatens to suck me.
The Speed of My Life
To my parents
who had left me so early
I couldn’t see them clearly 
Some day, evening or
all of a sudden
you will meet me
at the end of the tunnel
(as the ones returning from there had told).
And then you’ll ask me
if I’m sure
I’ve been happy?
I say,
no, you can’t talk there,
but I feel the hesitating “yes.”
The pain is there
as a sin, which I didn’t succeed to overlive.
I speak fast
(actually, I couldn’t talk, I think intensively)
to fit into the few minutes earthly time
before you push me towards the light,
I get confused 
I recall small things, 
the big ones
shove out to the end
for unforgiven
clay prints of occurrences and people,
close and not so close,
about unwashed wine stains
drunk with pity.
I complete
the left unfinished sentences,
the left unfinished knitted shawls,
It’s paid for
the lost loves,
debts
and other debts,
I even skip the sea.
The roads remain
I walk
to look for the childhood of my child
at your Sahara
at mine Sahara
sand in-between my teeth
I tell him about his taste
I’m a ramshackle bridge
His fronts are high
Your edges are far
So far away 
I believe 
You both hear the music
that he lives with
I search
new words
new definitions
to translate my digital life
of our family slang from the times
of our horizontal conceptions.
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