As an architect, my biggest challenge when taking photos is avoiding the habits I'm used to seeing in my profession. That's why I look for empty but perfect spaces and magazine-worthy compositions that I have imprinted in my mind. Although I sometimes fall into the very trap I want to avoid, I'm surprised by the results when I manage to steer clear of it.

Creativity is a path that is built individually, but also collectively and indirectly. It is crucial to remain humble and remember that differing opinions do not invalidate your work.

Walking among bees, I accompany my father on his field explorations; I rummage through the family album rescuing photographic images of the incipient work in beekeeping, and through writing I recover anecdotes from the memories of my parents and my sisters.

Whenever I work on a new exhibition, I learn a lot about how to analyze and view my own work, and I just exhibited some pieces that speak of nostalgia, that feeling we have when we see a photograph, and the feeling of wanting to return to that place or that moment. 

I got into the habit of going for walks with my camera, inviting my friends to be in the photos, and asking neighbors if they wanted to take a picture. Basically, anything that would motivate me to take a photo instead of waiting for inspiration to strike.

I unlearned the need to control everything. The film taught me that chance and intuition can be more powerful than precision. That an accident—in history or in life—can reveal a truth you didn't know you were looking for.

The first thing I thought was, "What story do I want to tell?" At first, I didn't know. My mind went blank, trying to force an idea that just wouldn't come. Over time, I understood that stories aren't something you search for; they appear when you least expect them, or sometimes they find you.

The concept sometimes veers toward pretension, and I deeply want to move away from that. Pretension is something that isn't. Reality, on the other hand, is what it is. A photograph of public transport holds many stories. Laughter. Tears. Despair. Haste. It can be everything to someone.

Every encounter, however small, unexpected, or significant, opens the possibility of creating shared universes. I believe that each person is a habitable planet with their own strength, rhythm, and language. I explore what happens when these worlds meet and collide.

There's something important about preserving an archive and reviewing it years after creating it. The process of digesting the images is crucial. Looking at them over the years and confirming that you still like them, and even like them more, is a superlative creative experience.

This painting carries a really warm energy. The four shapes represent my client’s four children, and the black form — like a woven net stretched across the canvas, unbreakable and strong — became a symbol of family bonds.

Documenting my travels on film connects me in a different way: it feels like meditating in motion. Each shot forces me to pause, to truly observe, and to make conscious decisions. And when I finally receive the photos, it's like opening a gift: moments that feel even more precious because they weren't immediate.

The feeling that everything is slipping away, that we're here today and we don't know about tomorrow. That idea haunts me, but instead of paralyzing me, it drives me to capture. I photograph so that the moment doesn't completely escape me, to remind myself that every second has meaning, even if I don't yet understand it.

I learned the value of spontaneity in my creative process. This project wasn't planned; I coordinated the session at the last minute, and it came together in just forty minutes. A meticulous plan isn't necessary to create something meaningful. 

Over time, everything begins to transform. Work that starts as one thing often changes course, points us in new directions, and, on more than one occasion, ends up being better than the initial idea.

Patience is key in everything, both in daily life and at work. You have to develop an eye for details that not everyone sees: that's what makes a professional.

In analog photography—like in the rock—what we commonly call "mistake" is actually part of its essence. I can't control everything, and this sport and the camera remind me of that: savoring the result of embracing the unknown. In part, it's about learning to unlearn.

The conversation behind my creative process stems from a question I was once asked in a seminar: to describe in a single phrase how I want my life to be. I replied that I would like to live near the sea, far from the crowds, creating without growing old.

I've been working on a personal "project" to return to what made me fall in love with photography in the first place: analog photography, a project of self-exploration and reconnection with a more innocent and intuitive perspective. 

In general, that exhibition and the comic are about doing more things, simply seeking to feel aligned with my work and my ideas and not depending on or seeking feedback from social networks or the internet.

I work on a zine, where I combine photography with thoughts. I learned to connect with words. Photography has been there for me since I was a child, but words have been harder for me to capture, and especially to share. 

The intimate and personal nature of the subject matter made both the recording and editing process light and honest. I found inspiration again, trusting the simplicity of letting go, and remembering that video is a bridge to connect with what truly resonates with me.

I've learned that exploring one's origins is incredibly powerful. There's a very strong and natural rush of energy in exploring one's roots. You discover things you didn't know before, but at the same time, when you discover them, they feel very familiar.

I've learned to value myself, to separate reality from fiction. A couple of the exhibitions I'm planning are a reinterpretation of previous expressions, a new version revisiting them from a different perspective.

A visual project that showcases the values ​​and world of Mexican boxing culture: faith, resilience, and community. I've continued to explore the possibilities of how to showcase its essence in the most authentic way. What began as a photographic series has evolved into a video.

Throughout this time, the great challenge has always been to develop an observation technique that allows me to capture moments stealthily and without altering the reality of those involved. I've found more and more confidence and freedom in doing so.

From the beginning, I was clear that photography shouldn't just be an accompaniment to the text, but a language of its own. My intention is for the project to be realized primarily in analog photography, given its ability to convey the passage of time, waiting, and chance.

I like to immerse myself in the smallest details, those textures and shapes that no one normally notices, but which, up close, become a silent language of nature. I love observing my surroundings, going for walks, and finding unexpected things to photograph.

I don't have to take photos just for the sake of taking them. We live in a world filled with digital files that we never see again, accumulating deep within algorithms or our devices. I've learned to take photos with intention and contemplation.

I wrote so I wouldn't die completely, basically that's what it was. This book was born at the moment I realized that absence had become a kind of home, and that the only way to survive was to learn to inhabit that gap without seeking to close it.