Photography has been an efficient tool for me to make peace with the unfolding of events in my life until now. It paves a way for me to be part of the lives of people and be close to someone else. Perhaps, develop a friendship, a sense of solidarity and proximity, maybe love. I never had any linear path towards representing my past nor do I feel that photography can truly depict what I go through daily and what my life has been so far. Yet, it is the closest medium I feel I can use to talk about my own reality and that of others.
It has been an intense experience of living and being with others to overcome my fear of loneliness. The ‘Fragments of the Dying Man’ is the shedding of these morphed identities, the countenance, the grief, and it is the celebration of the life that still has a heartbeat.
Celebration is too happy a word. The soul is tired and the body weary. Not happy. Just the pulse of life in between encounters with new friends who trust in you and share their journeys, their desires and my own past that is a void.
Photographing leads people to share their most intimate experiences and some break down in the process. This journey is a Zeno’s paradox: The closer you get to someone, the more distanced you become. It is in these contradictions that I thrive and live my reality.
How photography creates a fiction around us? Me and the other, and how through this fiction, of promiscuous exchanges, we get closer to understanding what it means to be here. The narratives are simple, often repetitive, with people acting on their own whim, being the actors and directors of the stage of desire, trying to understand their body and the spectrum of their human experience through being an image. Clothed, barely or nothing at all. A subtle vulnerability that becomes the symbol of an unspoken strength and sexual power.