“Hope” is the thing with feathers, said Emily Dickinson. She titled a book with that. She wrote about hope as something that has wings, that perches at the soul, that never stops. That she heard at the most freezing of lands and the strangest of seas. But that never, in any extreme case, demanded a crumble of her.
“Hope” is the thing with feathers, said Emily Dickinson. She titled a book with that. She wrote about hope as something that has wings, that perches at the soul, that never stops. That she heard at the most freezing of lands and the strangest of seas. But that never, in any extreme case, demanded a crumble of her. And if Emily Dickinson saw these images that are illustrated with her poem, she would say that crumbles were not made from her words, but instead gave themselves entirely to a story that is not an external reflection: it’s a visual testimony of something that perches permanently at the soul of the human being. That bird of Emily called hope. Creative direction and photography by Alessandro Esposito. Styling by Pablo Patanè.
Translated from Vogue Portugal's Hope issue, out September 2020. All credits in the original articles.Texto em português na edição em print.
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