I love you so much, dad

What pieces or projects have you been working on lately?
I love you so much, dad is my first photographic series conceived and developed consciously. It did not emerge from going out for walks, taking random photos, or spending time with loved ones, but from a process of observation directed toward my father. Last year (2025) I turned 30, and during the second half of my twenties I experienced, with the man who gave me life, a process of change and deep connection that I never thought I would reach; our relationship at 24 was not the best.

However, during the pandemic, isolation forced us to live together: for the first time in 24 years, he spent time at home. At first, it was uncomfortable and strange to see him there for so long; I felt as if he were an alien. I had just graduated from university and, although I did not have a stable job, I was trying to find my place by filming and photographing parties, renting equipment, and developing personal artistic projects. After the pandemic, my work was almost nonexistent; from time to time I would get a job for about 3,000 pesos a month, and then nothing. My father regretted having allowed me to study that, and I asked him to pay for a master’s degree; he replied, “What for? So you still won’t have a job?”

He was not an absent father, but we did not spend as much time together as I would have liked. Still, confinement and forced close encounters allowed us to understand each other. I showed him that I could move forward, and he supported me without hesitation. This project did not begin when I started photographing him, but rather in 2023, when, crying while we were alone in the car, I told him, “Dad, I’m not happy.” He answered, “Then what are you doing here? None of this matters, leave it all behind and pursue what makes you happy; that’s the only thing that matters.” I love you so much, dad does not seek to portray him as the man he is, but as I see him, through my gaze and admiration, from love. Now he accompanies and holds me, telling me every day, “You need to rest; work and money are not everything in life.”

What did you learn (or unlearn) while working on them?
Until then I had worked in film, advertising, and online content, but I had never undertaken such a personal exploration, not even when writing. The approach is very complex because it confronts deeply intimate fears. It changed my way of working: I want to do this project because it matters to me, so discipline and organization are fundamental, but at the same time it is an exploration. Writing and then seeing whether that can function as images, planning immersive spaces that generate images of images.

There were long pauses because I researched form more deeply, not for form itself, but so that it would serve the project. I understood that form is useless without substance, and that people will not care about technique; if they connect, it will be because I made them feel something through my experience. As a child, not many photos were taken of me; I think my father never took one of me. I have a few with him because he paid for Polaroids of me at circuses and churches. Photographing him now, over a long period of time, while he goes about his activities—now that the camera and my presence are no longer foreign to him—has helped me understand that growth is mutual, and that the relationship is as well.

What words, ideas or emotions were going through your head?
Love, excitement, joy, anger, frustration, sadness, and fear. Fear because my father has aged, and at a time when we were not getting along very well —combined with the pandemic— I understood in therapy that death is part of life, and that perhaps he and my mother will leave before I do and complete their passage on this earth.

It frightens me to know that my father is not eternal, that he has grown older and I have witnessed it, that he is no longer the invincible man he was when I was a child. But, as I have told him in these new processes, welcome to this new stage: it is not an ending, it is the beginning of everything good and new that is to come. Rather than reconstructing my memories and my gaze toward him —not by portraying him but by creating the avatar of my father— in the present, as we remember, his life unfolds, which is not new: it is life itself.

Were there any conversations, movies, music, or books that made their way into that work?
A lot of music. I think I am more inspired through sounds and sonic spaces. I began with medicine music, because that is where I encountered the song that also wants to name this project: “…show me what you know so I can teach you how to play, lift me with your hands so I can reach the sky, never leave me alone, I love you so much, dad…”

What's been the most difficult thing you've faced recently in your creative process?
Over the past two years, my father underwent two surgeries, not serious ones, but one each year. The first was more complex in its recovery; however, the shock of a second one so soon filled me with fear, so I stopped the project. I have only recently resumed it, as I write these words, but I believe that time and this situation have been a significant challenge. There is another, smaller challenge related to the technical aspect: I had always wanted the entire exhibition to be in black and white, but now that I have taken color photographs, I am still thinking about how the whole project is being reconstructed. The technique is mixed, analog/digital, but I feel that chemical photographs create a more emotional space by lacking the immediacy of seeing the image right away.

What is your favorite restaurant and what do you recommend we order?
There are two, and both have already closed. Near my home, in the town of Tlaxcala where I live, my father used to take us to “El Mesón del Corredor,” a fairly gourmet restaurant for a childhood in the early 2000s. They had a very good arrachera; before I learned that arrachera is considered a common cut, I loved it (in fact, I still do). They also served a finely chopped garlic sauce in olive oil with peppers, something like a salsa criolla or chimichurri. At that time I was a child, and my town was not very globalized, so for me that delicacy was something out of Santo Toribio, Tlaxcala. The other restaurant was a pizzeria I frequented in my twenties; that is where I developed a taste for margherita pizza. It was very good—not the best—but it was a place where I could afford a pizza I really liked for little money. Unfortunately, it went bankrupt during the pandemic.

If your life were a movie this month, what would it be called and who would write the soundtrack?
January 2026 feels like the beginning of many things I do not want to know yet; I prefer to be surprised by everything. I have an adventurous yet home-loving spirit, so The Gloaming would do the soundtrack, and the film would be the start of a trilogy, beginning with: “The true beginning of my path into the dark night of the soul.”

Recommend one or more artists you follow who inspire you, and tell us what you like most about their work or their way of working.
Vivian Maier work for her way of creating self-portraits and intimate portraits of the people in her city. Alonso Ruizpalacios is, for me, the best Mexican director working today; I like how he writes and portrays everyday yet deeply interesting characters in his films. Silvana Estrada is doing wonderful things with her music; I hope that someday she will write a song for one of my films. I love her vocal and instrumental ability, as well as the way she speaks honestly about her processes. Finally, Gustavo García Lezama, founder of Galez Tribe, creates therapeutic and medicine music to accompany very complex processes; he is a great human being and teacher.