Ansel Adams, the song of the clouds

Once upon a time, when you were a boy, an enormous cloud rising behind the sharp monolith of the Half Dome – so wide, clear and shining – made you understand the important things resting inside you. For the first time you understood meaning of art: as a union of love, friendship and comprehension: the desire to donate. Together the gesture of giving and taking beauty, the revealing of light in the conscience of the spirit. The tragic and wonderful reality of earth and man. So, with a pure photographic gesture – to this moment considered little less than a simple mechanical means – at the beginning of the great artistic season in the United States, you knew how to testimony the gift, the revelation of Nature. Like Caspar David Friedrich, in a fully resonance with the infinite, in a microscopic and macroscopic at the same time – so keen about the minimum detail, wide open to the prodigy of immense – you managed to gift us again with the miracle of life, the breath of plants, the purity of snow, the frailty of grass, the wisdom of water, the sacredness of mountains, the singing of clouds.

Text by Paolo Repetto

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