Porto and the hands.
In the silence of the early morning, the rhythmic beat of a hammer can be heard. It is then joined by the shrill cry of a saw cutting wood and the rough scraping of a trowel plastering a wall. These are the sounds of tools, in the hands that rehabilitate the city. Slowly, the hands […]
Porto and the people.
There’s always an old woman who lives on the top floor of the city’s empty buildings. On the last flight of stairs, potted plants are scattered across the wooden landing, climbing up benches, and colorful plastic basins catch the water from the rain and the drying laundry. Because at the top of the stairs, beneath […]
Porto and the houses.
Motionless. Real estate assets that generate profit or income, are sold or leased. Standing still, on the sidewalk, watching the cars, people, and dogs go by. Motionless throughout the days, months, and years. Motionless, under the morning, midday, and afternoon sun, rotating above them. Motionless under the moonlight, peeking from behind their roofs. Motionless in […]
Porto and the tower.
Lost in the middle of a giant’s vegetable garden are thirteen dolls with laughing faces. It was the giant’s daughter who once placed them along the turnip walk, seated on tiny benches, as if waiting for a parade that was about to pass by. Then she forgot about them, and there they stayed, abandoned, in […]
Porto and the sounds.
When you stroll through the city, early in the morning, you wonder why the crowing of roosters echoes through the streets and squares you pass by. Here, vegetation is scarce; it’s rare to even come across a tree on the stone sidewalks you step on. The solidity of the granite, that holds you to the […]
Porto and the new beginnings.
Across from your door, there’s an old, abandoned house. On a full moon night, go down the stairs, cross the street, and peek through the broken windowpane. You’ll see a large, empty room. The black holes in the high stucco ceilings are all that remain of the starstorms that ceased shining there long ago. Now […]