The dreamlike aspect of a disaster and its aftermath. The epics of a sigh. Search and intention. If yesterday I looked at the world that surrounded me with naturalism and objectivity, today it is the subjective and, even more, the intuitive gaze that prevail. I photograph in order to praise an idea, a fable or a lament.
An electric landscape. It is an instant of eternal silence. In this nothingness where fatigue reigns I find my existentialist monologue and also a scream. That of a man who feels alive. Alive, to give myself the freedom to create this imagery of wind, shadows and breaths, and illuminate everything with the indelible light of an afternoon session show.
These images are fragments of a new imaginary of my own. I deform, compress or enlarge a parallel register that I strip of any references and I steal away from time. There are flowers from the grave and crows. There are beings stitched by scars and melted in lead. A city in the background. A dramatic vision of San Carlos that, forgotten of itself, raises to the sky its towers of a modern day Jericho…
Before your eyes, with opera breaths and circus soul, the ferocity of my anachronism. A fierce expressionism.