Like my own Grandmother in mourning for her mother since 1953, each one is wearing black. They peer from a chair in their doorways during the day but in the early morning or late at night they come out of their cosy seclusion. While the men are down in the bars drinking coffee, they take a chair out onto the street or work in their gardens.
The Greek language is impossible to me, so there’s no hope of a chat and I have to make do with the spell of their shadowy presence. I catch them watching me out of the corner of my eye and so badly want to photograph their faces. Far too wary of the ethics involved, I would never make it as a candid street photographer, and yet I sneak pictures of them when they I think they don’t see me.
In a mountain village I spot one walking towards me and point the camera at her through the windscreen of the car. She catches me at it and let’s out a tirade! The rest of the time I just get lucky now and then and they float into the frame like dark angels!
We have nothing in common and yet we have everything in common. Reading between the lines of our signals and greetings there is a depth of shared experience. We look into each other’s eyes, we smile and one even winks at me! Life is short, love is all and don’t be deceived by appearances…….