There is a little of me in each single picture. Photographs tell other people’s stories and also a little of my own one. It beholds each experience I have lived. There is a trace of each journey I have undertook.
All those who I have portrayed throughout my photographic experiences are somehow part of the pictures I take thereafter. In each picture there is a little piece of myself.
The more I pour pieces in my images the more they come back to me.
Within each scene I capture there are at least two individualities, one each side of the camera. Somehow just as like for a tale there is a narrator and a reader.
In each single picture there is a little piece of myself.
I do not take a picture because I have to. It’s my own will driving me, feeling the conjuring of all elements within frame converging to an ideal moment, a form of perception manifests itself spurring me to capture the moment triggering the shutter, diaphragm closes seizing the scene. Ever hectic light somehow seems to freeze and arises an all surrounding silence. It’s a kind of magic, and each picture I take feels like chanting a spell. In each single time a little piece of myself is part of these charms. All is an effort to have the portrayed stories telling themselves, I struggle to be in control of what available light provides to the scene and master the timing of what is occurring in front of my camera but each single time circumstances will prove themselves unpredictable.
If this little magic takes place an overall balance is gained, each single element fits in its appropriate place and all is harmony.
Hunting for this kind of magic is a privilege, witnessing it and gifting it to someone else is my driving effort. Sort like finding and gifting a little piece of myself, in order to seek and find the more of them each single time.