Stories within Stories

November 26, 2017

 – Memoirs of Africa – 


I’m from a family of explorers.

It’s been like that for centuries. My great grandmother was born in the hot sun of Africa in a place with a different name now than what was back then, where the troubles of the world didn’t reach besides a note on the local newspaper.

I’ve never been to Africa, and I am today, the first generation of my family to have never explored the deep savannahs, travelled with old tribes and speak their native languages.

I’ve grown listening to stories on Sundays, around the family table, a costume that endured no matter the place. And from time to time I can close my eyes and travel through memories stolen from a scene. I can feel the sun burn my face and the soft touch of a white linen dress, while Fred Astaire echoed through the rooms reaching the porch and fade into the vast barren land.

How simpler life must have been. Those long balmy nights over cigarettes and port wine, surrounded by books, records and old letters recited every night in a seemingly social life.

I often find myself drifting through memories of that time, like a part of me wants to belong to a time and place not my own. I go through old photographs and find evanesce notations on the back, unravelling stories I do not yet comprehend. Clippings left inside a worn out book, forgotten love letters and trifles of an unpretentious way of life. Narratives of Africa, my Africa. In a black and white canvas, like stories within stories.


I look at my watch, hours gone by and outside the dim light sets in, like it does everyday. An ocean apart, a century in between.


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Break of dawn

October 4, 2017

– Gotland Workshop –

Part 3 of 3


It was a misty morning when we headed to Bottarver Garden. Across the blurred window, the tall grass danced at the sound of the wind and the landscape painted the scene with quaint farms and ancient mills.

Bottarver Garden is the epitome of the Swedish history. You could say it is one of those places that stood still over the centuries, sheltered from the times we briskly live in. The farm museum was a representation of weathered generations. The chambers, carefully decorated to embody that aged feeling, were at our disposition to walk around, move and make our own. So I played around with pots, pans, and aged bentos. I and Kati did, at some point, our very own version of a farm setting, photographing it as a book memoir of some kind.

Olivia set a table for a demonstration of her plants. She is kind of a nature wizard: her knowledge about the plants, roots, and scents is absolutely incredible (I believe it is not the first time I have said this). She told us about foraging, preserving and how to use them to your benefit. It is really eye-opening to understand how sustenance can grow around you while you are not looking.

It is something that forever changed my relationship with food and I only wish I could learn more with Olivia in the future. I would gladly become her nature apprentice!

The day followed with the slowness it demanded and the rain threatened to besprinkle the green fields while Krissy styled a picnic table outside. Using the textures and props from the farm, she composed a story of comfort foods around a table where we would all coalesce. The weather did not comply though! As soon as she was over styling the set, a few showers cast it and we were left with just a few moments to take a snap and imagine how nice it would have been to have sat there and laugh over lunch. Instead, we ran inside, carrying what we had in our arms and invaded the parlor with baskets and towels. We then enjoyed it as it was meant to be. Somehow, all those delicacies, sprinkled with drops of water, tasted heavenly – as if the experience of running around in the rain added up to the already amazing flavors. We spent the afternoon around prodigious foods like that provincial tomato tart, pinky beet salad, and the cheeses. And always finding enjoyment in the simplest things.


Back home, we relaxed over a cup of coffee, wine, and warm chats. Krissy lifted the veil behind her Lightroom secrets and Olivia directed a workshop on how to do your own natural soaps and lip balms using coconut butter, beeswax, and other goodies.

Outside, the day started slipping away, welcoming the night and the melancholy of realizing that this was the last night we would all spend together in this abode we built.

I always grief over anticipation. It is difficult for me to let go of something so special, that feels so much like home, and to people that I have come to know and cherish.

The last supper was held in the dining room, over a fuzzy candlelight and smiles. The feast contemplated one of the best ever butter fried gnocchi accompanied with grilled plums and burrata.

We talked about social media, our frustrations, and achievements. Enumerated people whose work inspired us and endorsed new emerging ones. We said goodbye to Sam, who had to leave a day early and closed for the night, a little bit saddened, a little bit fulfilled, a little bit overwhelmed.


The last day woke me up from a dream of endless days enjoying Gotland and delaying me from getting back home. I packed my bag – that had finally arrived the day before – and came down, taking my time, dragging my body and thoughts.

I had a morning appointment with Krissy and Olivia, to talk about my expectations, my work and everything in between. It is great to see the perception of other people of your own struggles, especially those whose work you have been admiring for so long. To hear their thoughts and validations, makes you want to test yourself; makes you want to go that extra mile and exceed your own outlook.

The hours passed fugaciously while Linda prepared a banquet of cakes to commemorate the occasion. Krissy styled a table of cheeses and rose wine, bringing a little light to an unwieldy day. I grabbed my camera and framed those last moments, worrying if there was something I had missed in this short-lived farm, as if time could cloud my memories and I would not be able to recreate it by heart.

I moved around to detail the trees, the way the shadows dress the walls and the wind made that swing rock. I retained the colors of the doors and the gestures of my new (now) friends. Thankfully, Linda called for me, relieving me from this brooding.

The feast was starting in the gazebo with a table of the most unbelievable cakes I have ever seen. They all spoke of childhood memories, joy and friendship altogether. The light coming from the wooden framed windows illuminated the plates one at a time, giving them the attention each deserved. Meanwhile, Linda poured caramel with the smoothness that only she has mastered. The white linens and white frostings, combined with the sharp nordic light, put in evidence the blissful moments we shared all those days.

After some tasting, it was time for goodbyes.

I put on my cheerful countenance and told a joke or two to temper my doleful soul. Embracing my friends, I made promises of future visits and new memories and took one last look around before parting from one of the most happy places I have had the pleasure to live in. Everything there was meticulously designed to change you, bring out the best in you, shake you inside and wake you up from the containment you have put yourself into. And that is priceless.


I came to this workshop as an adventurous at heart, not knowing what I would take with me. I always had the feeling that I was meant to change something in people’s lives. I knew I would never invent a cure for something rare nor find a quicker way to travel the universe, but I perceive some joy in finding the poetry of simple things; in creating beautiful worlds where people can escape to; and maybe that is my trait.

I find out I am writing a visual story where I am not myself but instead a creation of someone better, more delicate and inspiring. A vision of her – being her my better self.


Final Notes:

Thank you Live @melgarden, Jen @jen_hamburg, Kati @blackwhitevivid, Sara @shisodelicious, Eleni @thefoodiecorner and Aslaug @aslaugsnorra for your creativity and joy; for sharing your knowledge and being so kind.
To Sam @thebotanicalkitchen, my life doppelgänger: you are pure light, my dear friend.
To Linda @linda_lomelino, so sweet, caring and humble, you make it even more easy to admire you.
To Krissy @cottagefarm, always so calm and sharp, I do not believe I have ever encountered someone that gets me like you do. I am forever glad to have met you.
To Olivia @adelasterfoodtextures, for making me dream, every day, for believing in me when few did and for being one of the most talented people I have ever met.
To you all for making it worth it! Every picture, every minute, every breath.


– A

Awakenings of the soul

September 19, 2017

– Gotland Workshop –

Part 2 of 3


The quietude gave way to the commingle of strange voices; they came from all over as representatives of their very own corner of the world. I could see that twinkle and restlessness in their eyes, some greeted friends from other ventures and others with the joy of newly found ones. It is a grand thing to be in the midst of like-minded people. It is as if we all knew the language, we all wondered about the same things and came for the very same reasons.

Minutes turned into hours, with no apologies, the dim light embraced the air and I could feel the cold Swedish wind on my face waking me up. I confess that my attention got briefly scattered as everything was happening faster than my indolent demeanor could register.

In a wink, I found myself riding away on a chariot in the forest with Gotland horses, and on the next having hors-d’oeuvre in an ancient mill. I was elated by the scenario up to a point where I wished I could step out of my body and glance at the beauty of what was being created around me. Everything was meticulously styled for an abiding memory: the pale colors, the Prosecco, the truffled cheese – it all fused together in a perfect cadence.

Inside, the table was set and the glasses glittered while the candles where being carefully lit by Sam. The florals climbed its way up to the ceiling as a prolongation of the forest outside in a feast of vines and branches like a summer supper beneath an orchard.

I have been having a hard time finding the exact words to describe what went on then. The menu contemplated an endless number of dishes genially prepared by Olivia. The talent she puts in her dishes is beyond anything I have encountered in my life, it is as if they are a mere container of a story that is set to enliven you far beyond the concept of food.

The desserts perfumed the wine and elevated the communion. We told stories of a lifetime, laughed over whimsical thoughts and accommodated new friends. I realized then, more than ever before, how much I absolutely love food and how special it becomes when entertained in a gathering of beautiful people.

The house was filled with scents and the blurred light embraced us to bed, as the next day was an early start on route to Visby.



The morning sun copiously entered the small window of the room I shared with Eleni and Aslaug. I woke up to an unceremonious smile and a whirlwind of ideas about the day before and where I want to go next.

We were greeted in the garden to a beautiful breakfast done by Krissy. She is the master behind the scenes: that kind of lady born in textures, light, and shadows, floral arrangements and an effortless graciousness. This breakfast was the sum of it all, a style of intention. Crunchy crackers, cheese, and jams while Linda poured some coffee and caveats life as something worth living. I was content.

Visby, the island capital, is a walled city encompassing a small village with narrow streets, quaint houses, and shops. We walked freely, marveling every corner, every door, and frames. The private gardens, opened to my prying eye, withheld the mundane. They are the ones I long to see whenever I stroll around a town such as this, to take a snap, unsolicited – I know, shame on me!

We took a drive around the island and beheld the majestic nature unspoiled in the backyard of Sweden. Its colors and proximity to the sea shaping the tones to its will.

I am forever drawn to the north, to the cold and the soft blues, which is quite a contrast to the bright light in the southern Portugal. But for some reason I cannot explain, I always tend to direct my photography that way, like I am eager to find it here.

Hotel Stelor was the perfect portrait of a Swedish farm hotel where a delicious meal, set in the garden with local produce and a warm chat, awaited.



Back at the house, Linda prepared a demonstration of pie in the making, for us to photograph and learn. The backstage of Linda’s work is a marvel to look at. The concept of light, storytelling, and elegance that she brings is exactly what you see in her everyday work. There is no artificiality, no misleading, just pure talent. Linda played with the ingredients like an artist with her canvas. Her grace, that at a few times looked like a dance to the sound of River – Leon Bridges, was something to be appreciated without the camera in hand. I sat back in bliss, in that room filled with the last rays of daylight. I did take my shots, of course. I did it in the remains of the day when the hustle was done and the music echoed again in the empty room.

The night arrived without me noticing. The fire was crackling in the other room, bringing comfort in the form of burned wood, something crosswise time and place, just like home.

The farm dinner was placed in the kitchen, where we sat, ate and drank until the fire ran out and the tiredness took place.



The ceramics are from Västergården  and the Glassware are designed by Brostecph 

You can check the Hotel Stelor here

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