They walk, they pass, they talk and cross, they grow up and have fun, they are a thousand years old. In the busy street, they hurry. They are different, and besides, the eyes are turned in themselves, they are what they do, they radiate. Hillel Winograd mixes with their singular history. He waits on tiptoe, he dances in expectation, he kneels. The time of a pose. He captures the snapshot of a moving, moving Paris. He captures the enchantment of the meeting with the intimate, the meeting with the tiny, the meeting with the unnoticed of the other.
Hillel Winograd is a photographer. The man is marginal. He stands at the edge of the world, in perpetual search for balance. He never stood in the evidence of speech. It is silently and quietly that he considers reality. He waits for his turn, surrounded by a grace that emanates from him. He gleans the precious moment, the slightest detail where the splendor of life shines through. He says, “Making a photo is like catching the ideal.” He holds to life, and he sticks to it.