my uncle was 25, an antique dealer, and bought a house with two floors. with an old farm, tara lived and studied here before tara emigrated to paris and america. I sat in front of these old foundation walls for a week, old stones arranged for a well. my uncle was amazed and said always: look at me look at me, i laughed and said the old man is always here, he goes and comes, he goes and comes, today he is here again with my friends. I showed him the photo later, he said; you're not blind, but apparently lonely, tara said leave him, otherwise he'll be annoying with tandorosti photos