Le Noir et Blanc

Paya Shwezigon , Bagan

Taungby Village Bagan

pour uh amoutrux du n et b:je me régale encore et encore à découvrir toutes les beautés cachées dans ce travail; voila merveilleux moment???MERCI

Documenting The Hilltribes of North Western Vietnam In Sa Pa And Bac Ha.

Still Photographs Made With Leica M9, Canon 5D Mark II & Fuji X Pro-1. Audio Recorded On Tascam DR-40. Alien Skin Software.

http://ricardmn-photography.artistwebsites.com/

Il y a un an, le cessez-le-feu qui tenait depuis 17 ans entre l'Armée Indépendantiste Kachin et les forces gouvernementales a été rompu. Ah Ki a dû alors quitter son village natal de Shadanpa pour fuir les combats. Elle vit aujourd'hui dans un camp de déplacés à Laïza, une ville située dans l'État de Kachin, dans le nord de Myanmar (Birmanie). Elle s'efforce depuis de vivre une vie normale…

Reportage à voir ici :
http://www.parismatch.com/L-instant/Videos/Birmanie-refugiee-en-son-propre-pays-Un-film-photographique-d-Arturo-Rodriguez-448312/

Thailande + Japon

This is a multimedia focussing on the way of life in a small town , Nyuang Shwe on Inle Lake, in Burma. Below is an exert from my Journal while i was there. Enjoy. gb
“ A dog’s bark and echoes of a foreign language break the silence and force my eyes open. I rise. The sun is still on snooze when I leave the hotel on my first morning in Nyuang Shwe, a one horse town on Inle lake in the Shan State of Burma. The mist of the lake is trapped and trickling in and around the shadows that are people on the move before day break. With no map or any idea of where I really I am, I follow the noise that accompanies the shadows. The sound carries through the wet air and across the water like a magic trick and my sense of direction is thrown off. The sun breaks and I decide to chase the light instead. The sun bursts through an avenue of trees on a dusty road and the shadows become faces, hands, dogs, horses and carriages, chickens, bicycles and dilapidated trucks that need no words to personify them as old bastards and warriors. They trudge along carrying the shadows, faces and hands, they hack and hawk from their exposed internal workings, and in the distance a motor from one of the boats speeding along the lake spits gruffs of thunder into the open air. It echoes in the hills and jungle, and is put on repeat over and over as it skids along the mist carpet that gives rise to silhouettes of stilted villages that appear to be the foundation of the hills and jungle that rise and climb from their villages roofs. The marriage of mist and smoke from the villages in the distance throw images of pencil sketches all over the landscape. The sun crawls and more light seeps through the avenue of trees. More light means more details and before I know it, I feel like I am in a story one would hear as a child on a grandfather’s lap, stories of a time and place that seem to be long gone and stolen by “progression and development”. Everywhere I look scenes reminiscent of Turner paintings arise, and I am tripping my shutter with almost each step I make. Sights and sounds combine and become feelings and photographs. A man carrying his fowl, a strong face on a bicycle, a chicken crossing the road. I am happy here. The dirt road and people on their way somewhere offer up moments equating to a clear conscience. Then I remember where I am, Burma, a place stunted by years of oppression, violence and Military rule. A place that is opening up to development, progression and tourism at an alarming rate and even though internal conflicts are still being fought, there is no sign of Myanmar, the new Burma, slowing down.
Will this progression and influx in tourism and foreign investment affect these scenes? Will they still be here when the Coca Cola signs come? Will these faces and hands still be as welcoming? Is this the end or the beginning? I am not sure of the answers to any of these questions, but I am happy to be here now and to and explore what there is to see, so that one day I may offer the children that pass along my lap enchanting stories of a place and time that I never thought I would have the honour of visiting.”