Little things that feed the flame

Leave a comment

Tickle My Soul. The Sacred Innocence in The Photographs of Alain Laboile

His subject is the ordinary days of family life. And yet his photographs capture something so deeply beautiful and vulnerable it hurts a little.


Photography by Alain Laboile


Photography by Alain Laboile


Photography by Alain Laboile

Alain Laboile is a French photographer I have discovered very recently, and I am absolutely smitten by his work. Living in an old house in rural France with his wife, six children, and no telly, he skillfully captures the fleeting beauty of childhood, the simple happiness of being together, the quiet connectedness to nature.

As I look at his pictures, I feel Continue reading


The People Are Back!


A good while ago, I shared my daughter’s first drawings of people. They appeared mysteriously, out of nowhere, and then ceased to be in the same mysterious manner. After those drawings that I shared, she never drew people again. I asked her to try a few times, but she blankly refused. So I abandoned the topic.

Yesterday, I was trying out this new recipe for our Sunday breakfast. It was taking me a while, so the bored girl got out her markers, some paper, and started working away to pass the time. And all of a sudden the people were back! Six months after the first incident, once again without prompting or anything to explain this timing, she started drawing people. And this time they were not just random faces, but the people she knew very well – our family!


“This is my Daddy. My Daddy is beautiful.”

View the pictures →

This gallery contains 4 photos


Where is Home?.. Musings of a Migrant Soul

Where is home?.. Seems such a simple question. But it has not always been for me.

When I graduated from high school and went away to study, the answer was clear. Home was back at my parents. My younger sister was living there, most of my friends were still in town. And, since it was only a two-hour journey by train, I visited at least every month. However, children are meant to grow up and make a home of their own. I suppose, mine ended up being a bit more fragmented than usual. I made new friends, new connections, settled in. Eventually even got married. Home was this new place that I was crafting for myself. Only the crafting did not last for long.

Eventually, I followed my husband to Ireland. Being abroad and away from the tiny spot in space that was mine, my ‘home’ suddenly expanded to encompass the entire country. I missed my family, my friends, but also the language, the culture, the sense of everything being familiar and easy. My husband was next to me, but my personal history and identity stayed behind in another country. Home was not just this person or that, Continue reading