Can we only love
Something created in our own imaginations?
Are we all in fact unloving and unlovable?
Then one is alone, and if one is alone
Then lover and beloved are equally unreal
And the dreamer is no more real than his dreams.
You’re so calm and quiet, you never say. But there are things inside you. I see them sometimes, hiding in your eyes.
Esperando al padrecito
© 1987, Mariana Yampolsky (1925 – 2002)
“Mariana Yampolsky’s great heart beats for the gente—the common people of Mexico. Look at her photographs—look at the four old women chatting as they wait for the priest, look at the mother gently caressing her child—these people have wiggled their toes in the earth—have since time immemorial, suffered a fiery, tortuous history of abuse, poverty, neglect for a thousand years, and yet endured to create a vibrant culture filled with art, music, ritual, and mystery… . Mariana pays them the greatest of tributes: to see them as they are—not as exotic objects for the lens, but as fellow and equal travelers on this spinning globe. And they in turn pay her the greatest of tributes as well: to go on about the business of their daily lives as she photographs. There’s no arranging here, no posing, no invasion, but rather a shared moment in time between kindred spirits—a simpatía.” —Bill Wittliff, ”The Edge of Time: Photographs of Mexico”