36 Skylark Avenue

a rare vagrant

Blown away

A feather a day lost, we walk our merry way,
but are there any feathers left on our own final day?


Real, glowing raindrops, imaginary snowflakes.
Less than an inch of glass, an alternate universe billions of miles away.

How I met Josef Kazda

Josef Kazda. A name I never heard before. I was walking in the beautiful little alleys of the Zlatá ulička (Golden Lane), part of the awe-inspiring  Pražský hrad (Prague Castle). Number 12. was unfortunately closed, but it somehow called attention to itself. There was a caption with this peculiar name, and that he was an amateur film historian. I really wanted to at least peep through the window, but I couldn’t make out anything with my pure eyes, it was too dark inside. The idea suddenly struck me to take a photo through the window with a relatively long shutter speed. I could finally take a look at his face, after all.

This is where I would stop usually. But right now, researching for the post, I had to wonder once again. Not only did the camera help me discover something that was hidden from my eyes, it also uncovered a fascinating little piece of history. As I have read it in Camerasharp magazine, Kazda was an amateur film historian, who, in the very house in front of which I was standing, saved scores of pre-WW2 Czech movies by hiding them away from the Nazis. Should you once walk down the Golden Lane, you’ll see that Number 12. somehow manages to radiate that it has a mysterious history. And this shot looks like one frame from the movie about the curious case of Josef Kazda.

My first attempt at a contest with a photo essay – Takeaway Szeged (2nd prize, text in Hungarian).
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Village life

I travelled more than 1000 kilometres in the last two weeks, from my new home to some places I already know well, and to some that I’ve only seen a couple of times, like this little village – Balc/Bályok, Bihor County, Romania –, hidden away from the buzz of modern life. (Although on the streets elderly people keep talking about their Facebook-presence.) Becoming a mountain man is something new for me, something I’ve got to adopt to, so it was reassuring to see a scene that was hundreds of kilometers away in a village that I saw for the first time just a year ago, a scene which nonetheless could have come straight from my childhood in my village. When was the last time you walked the streets barefoot?

Sunday afternoon in Budapest

Probably the last sunny Sunday of the year, with so many people enjoying themselves. Feels like being part of a vibrant painting.

Y no new posts?

In the last one month, I was pretty preoccupied with moving from Szeged to Pécs. Now I’m in my new place, but I really had no chance to get into the relaxed state I like when I’m working on the blog. Yet, the camera was one of the items that never got packed away during the whole process of relocation: it was actually busily used. I wanted to capture the strange, uplifting yet ambivalent vibe of the very final day in my old den. Some of the shots will probably make it to the blog, but I wanted my friends to see the whole series (in a way to say good bye to them), so they have been posted in a facebook album, which is available below. Some busy days are incoming, but I will come back 😉

Posted by Csaba Maczelka on Sunday, September 3, 2017

Still life harmony

To the lighthouse

I arrived in the little sea-side resort after a long-long train journey through beautiful hills and valleys. My backpack was heavy, I was sore from the hot weather, and my legs were burning from the miles of walk in the city last night. When I left the station, I saw the first seagulls, and they were talking to me. ‘Follow me’, they chirped. And I yielded, and walked off the last bits of my legs. The sea was calling.

This was the second time I was at the sea. How can something unusual immediately feel like a lost home recovered?

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