Photographs of objects, situations, symbols that we try to associate with an idea that has nothing to do with the original as we try to emancipate them from the ephemeral moment, the edges of the document are blown apart, its traces and shadows are trapped, like a game of images…or magnets that take us back to reality. And that is how…we get close and we start again, we start to look, to look inside and fly (in the mind, in dreams, in a shudder…) until we break free…and we transcend their gaze.

These photographs try to imagine places- not our own singular space, the magical and repetitive time (many are outside historical memory (maybe quantum) and outside a geopolitical context)- and migrating towards the dream of memory, the desire to see images of death and violence exposed like an implicit desire (violence is so fascinating and our lives are so normal, sitting in front of the TV), it has more to do with the scandalous and the obscene than with real information.

If on one hand, we do not want to twist or falsify the story of others, -which is also the story of humanity, because it exists in time and moves across spaces that are more still and civilized than barbarism- on the other hand, it is possible that the recipients are hyenas, kinder and more plural than the photographers in their command of photographic technique. This is very closely intertwined with the two-dimensional dichotomy of photography. It can be understood as “an art of conceiving or an art of perceiving”: one for reflection and the other to awaken consciousness. Here, the objective is to explore the image with our gaze and extract (death? Pain? Lies? Silence? Violence?). In daily life, memory, knowledge, feelings, what we don’t see through the media, what is hidden, what we accept as a rule, what comes, what goes, what remains, what is still to come…in the end, it’s not an objective interpretation, it’s arbitrary, random and who knows, maybe even implausible.

They’re not images with or of violence, they’re a sham or maybe an imitation because what they represent is “the act of seeing” and not the expressed “physical action” that is manifested. There is no narrative content in its leitmotiv, the images are fragmented, sometimes they have no contextual coherence or they have no context that can support collective memory; they are like the strange and imaginary dreams of a film script that intends to play, suggest, and in the long term expand these singular events to the field of aesthetic decisions. This journey, which excites feelings and passions as a point of departure and reference, that distances itself, autonomously from the objects symbolically possessed in their disarticulated forms, in an attempt to isolate and discover those disarticulate fragments of daily life.

Maybe this is symptomatic of a society that distances itself from reality, which claims an ever increasing number of victims, because illusion has been transformed into a real image through the ghostly shadow projected onto the bottom of a modern “tele-cave.”  Understanding reality as a process of identifying signals that are acted out in the same way as a dice is thrown.

And that illusion that photography evokes as “the art of absence,” widens reality beyond the necessity of seeing it as a representation of what is real, of a concrete moment in instant photography, it is like the scar of an injury, the shadow of an object, traces of sand, it’s there. It’s a cut in time and space…and it’s not because the image is caught like a fragment of the universe that is doesn’t reveal a perception of wholeness; it’s an image that is distinct from the “original body of sin,” but that exists outside itself and is identified with it.