Anecdote from the photographer. Once a certain airline decided to conduct an advertising campaign: on the central streets of Simferopol, agents offer… - Viktor Pinchuk

A trip without a camera to the African tribes for me is the same as giving a person who has lost both legs the boots he once dreamed of.

The celestial omen shone the mind. The gate of the azure vault unfolded, among the clouds, in the halo of sunlight appeared the Lord, Hanuman the Most High. «I trust you with a responsible mission... — annunciate holy God — from this day forget about comfort and coziness, leave your whims and desires... Your Ego is gone, you do not belong to yourself, taking a vow to serve the muses. From now on, you are the wind of the Sudanese deserts, the fog of the New Guinean Mountains, the heat of Kenyan night and the tropical rain of the Indonesian archipelago...»

I was about to go to bed when the commandant knocked on the door again. He brought a plastic bottle with a cut-off top, explaining by sign language that it was «parasha» (chamber pot — Aut.). Thanking the kind man, turned to the wall, trying to fall asleep. I almost succeeded: got to the waiting room of the land of dreams, when an armed convoy suddenly appeared. (About stay in the Kubul prison)