The magic elves are protruding from the dark corners, through the shadows. Light and darkness, building an dancing illusion of playing…
Powerful, eloquent, noisy…
The illusion spreads like a carpet of painted reality, making in the hand of weavers with love, tightened around tiny corners, correcting invisible creases.
The reality of the black-and-white photographs by Branislav Strugar, gives us as a simplified, clarified but still in myriad mysterious ways…
Such as Riman’s continuous straight parallel lines, intersecting somewhere in the distance…
Faceless naked body, so alien…The velvet before in front of our eyes, we almost can touch it.
There are many stairs, draining and bringing back the weary steps. Some steps from our homes, leading to stars
in our awaking dreams.
The soldier of these altitudes, quietly, determined to jump into the unknown. Maybe he is afraid, and fear washes his face…
So many impressions on the photographs of Mr. Branislav Strugar.
His photographs have been tireless speakers, talking, talking and talking again…
Listen to them … Shh!
