I was born too many years ago in a corner from the European ‘finisterrae’, in the place where, as they say, all the paths end. I grew up in Caracas, a city that smells of rotten fruit. That is my inheritance: the Atlantic Ocean and the Caribbean Sea. Of both I retained the belief that we are aquatic animals and we must accept that the drift is the unique possible destiny, maybe the unique categorical truth. I make photos because I stopped writing. The photos are always an atavic and smaller form of writing. I am an amateur and don’t believe in my ‘ars fotografica’. The photos never bark, the photos never smell, never resonate. The photos are never written words.
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