Confronting tuberculosis at the age of 17 forced me to live a life in isolation for a long period of time--part of which was associated with stigma; part with my own fear and shame of not having lived fully and losing time. After the suicide of a lover, to live again was the only way out.
Tragedies shape the human in you.
The act of photography is a pretext to getting closer. To reconcile. To continue living a dual life: One, in a vulnerable position of solitude. The other, within the personal space of strangers. Some of those strangers(who) stay. Some fade away.
Fragments of the Dying Man is a diary of fragility, loss and desire.
It oscillates between Isolation and Intimacy. Day and Night. What’s in control and what’s not. The lines are blurred.
Much like the life lived, the images are soiled, weary, damaged and fragile. Desire, illness and death become one.
This journey exists in solitude, in lands that are vast yet confined with so little happening, looking outside for love and sometimes inside, often photographed by strangers. But who is looking at whom? All merge into one another. It’s a faint reminder of a tragic past that haunts again and again. It’s a past filled with anger and despair.
At the end are my encounters with the strangers with whom I share spaces, all the while moving around. Those that gave me a shelter, those like me. Encounters and spaces. Confined, intimate and visceral. Much like me, everyone I desire through an image lives a life of ambiguity. Some are erotic performers, some survive by selling their sex, some work odd jobs, only to survive in a fast- changing capitalist society that is slowly consuming us all. For me the identity is not based on what the person does to exist in a world where power dictates social norms and moral codes. Different worlds struggle to exist, finding a way out only through the camera, without the fear of being judged. Some have been abused, some bullied, some in a deep sense of anguish, exploding through the feeling of desire and being desired. Some alive, some not anymore. 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.
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, people acting on their own whim, being the actors and directors of the stage of desire, trying to understand their body and identity. Clothed barely or nothing at all. They imagine to be fetish, and this is what gives them control. A subtle vulnerability that becomes the symbol of an unspoken strength and sexual power.
The Fragments is based on disavowals. It plays with the ambiguity of our identity and the masks that we put on to perform for the camera and in life. Those photographed are aware that a camera is observing them , sometimes they become part of the voyeuristic exercise, and perform, sometimes just be. In its experience with sexuality, the “queer” body and space , it strives to look beyond “presupposed zones of identity and representation”, to think of the anonymous, erotic and uncertain forms of “sociality”- death, disappearance, fragmentary, passing of people and places.
Through this, I try to live up to my own questioning of desire and the inarticulate form that sits between proximity and promiscuity and is maybe called love.
I seek the other in this constant pursuit of desire, pleasure, fear, doomed to fail, and ultimately, I find my own reconciliation.