The eye of love, by René Groebli.
In 1953, in a cheap hotel in Paris, the Swiss Groebli, who was 26, gave one of the most beautiful photography lessons of history. He was not designer models, nor attributed the lofty role of voyeur person entitled to joy. Groebli, discreet but ignited, armed with invincible austerity of any love, portrayed the honeymoon with his wife, Rita.
They were married in 1951 but the lack of money and the tyranny of work had prevented the celebration of the rite private honeymoon. Two years later they could go to Paris and staying in a cheap accommodation, loved like boyfriends.
Groebli, which was then engaged in industrial and advertising photography, decided to document the honeymoon. The result, ‘The Eye of Love’.
Groebli did not want to vilify with guesswork or figurations those honeymoon photos. He has merely confirm what the images mean whisper-voice, whispering, is the primary condition for-love: “I tried to portray the atmosphere of French hotels. There were so many feelings!: Old furniture cheap, love embroidered curtains… And I was in love with the girl, my wife. The photos are like a novel. Best, like a poem. Let them speak!”.
Rene, Rita, a hotel room, the neck, the stockings, the profile of abandonment, treasure hunting, looting seabed, living with a time expired, muted by the wrinkles in the sheets… Never elements as dumb made up a language as hot.
sext: i want to pay bills and share household duties and approach our late 20’s in a financially and emotionally stable way with you
this is the most relatable thing i’ve ever seen in my life.
"I don’t give a damn what men find attractive. It’s unfortunate what we find pleasing to the touch and pleasing to the eye is seldom the same"
Pulp Fiction, 1994