I met you late in a bar. Everyone else had left. I could see your face, but not the one you pretended to be. Deep inside you the memories of a life lived between moldy walls and worn down doorsteps. As though the colors had had to give way to all the shadows in your life. Like a landscape covered in fog. Your life was never a fearless journey through paradise.
Despite it all; you are wearing your nicest dress. Cleopatra may arrive, and Emperor Augustus as well. At least Che Guevara, right? You dreamed about conquering the world, building palaces and castles inspired by Medici, Michelangelo and da Vinci. Anxiety is multifaceted.
You are the nomad living in the exact same place year after year, chasing opportunities. You are truthful and true. A myth and a reputation. When meeting you I realize I have fouled myself. Like another herring in a shoal of herring, I have lost track of my dreams. To be honest I don’t really want to hear your story. The only thing I dear to see is a human tragedy. I take a picture. A photograph with no exit strategy. I am carrying a shield to prevent the pain to enter. Like an actor in a play, I hide my own life in others’ lives. Freedom is a heavy burden for those who are not free.
Other people’s suffering is revealing. It is my revenge for my own losses.
LIFE IS BEAUTIFUL –
ALTHOUGH WHAT WE GET TO SEE IS NOT BEAUTIFIL
“I drive my red Ferrari in Toscana at sunset. Next to me is Madonna, cuddling my neck and telling me I am the nicest
boy on earth”.
You would rather be a vagrant in your own life, than a tenant in someone else’s life. You will probably not find your freedom in our collective identity. The folded hands are powerful. We - with our cultural preferences - know what is best… for you.
We come running to assist – but who are there to be assisted? Your life is a ghost in the mirror we are revenging. In our desperate attempt to free us from ourselves, we want you to become like us. Why didn’t we just break the mirror as an honest way of freeing ourselves from our crushing identities? However, like the rational people we are, we would probably just buy another mirror to keep chasing the ghost. Despite all, craziness may be rational. While believing we are creating a better world, we are in fact detaching ourselves from it… and ourselves.
More than anything I want to get inside, but the photography is keeping me on the outside. Like the family albums putting our lives on hold. On hold for the next holiday on show. As a spectator, I can see the absence of my own participation.
I repeat my life, day after day, in order to avoid the difference that could have created some meaning. I live my life as a photography. My fear of choosing myself prevents me from defining my own reality.