Although I have always been interested in the universe of photography, it emerged as a professional possibility late in my life, at almost 30 years of age. Becoming a photographer was only possible after resolving other personal issues.
Photography is a channel of expression for me. From the very beginning, I was certain that only through photography, and not through any other way of interaction with the world, I could express my inner experience.
Gradually, I discovered that photographing my daily life, the ordinary life that surrounded me, created a space for diving into the untouched universe of my soul. To discover poetry in the banal is to discover the magic of life. Only by going deeper into my inner universe, down to what is essential and original in me, can I find universal codes that speak of other people’s lives.
Helena has been a part of my visual-imaginal world for a long time, before we even became lovers. Discovering her soul and falling in love with her were also possible because of photography.
Photographing and building a poetic recounting of our life together has always been as natural as it is vital. The intimacy and complicity of our relationship allows me to rely on it as a path to access core elements of my experience. Her mystery is a channel to access my mysteries. Her shadows are my own shadows. Her sensuality, our sensuality. Our strength, our fragility.
It is in this tangle and in this immersion that I construct my visual diary and try to find ways that can also communicate and construct poetic experiences in others. Helena stopped being my partner and lover to become a personage of an imaginary, first my own, but, in afterwards, who knows, a universal imaginary.
“…Describe your sorrows and desires, the thoughts that pass through your mind and your belief in some kind of beauty – describe all these with heartfelt, silent, humble sincerity and, when you express yourself, use the Things around you, the images from your dreams, and the objects that you remember. If your everyday life seems poor, don’t blame it; blame yourself; admit to yourself that you are not enough of a poet to call forth its riches; …”
Rainer Maria Rilke