Nostalgic Modulor

What pieces or projects have you been working on lately?
My recent work has been somewhat introspective. I want to represent how humanity dissolves into spaces, what traces it leaves behind; that process between interacting with a space and no longer being in it has occupied much of my thinking, and now I direct my eye toward that.

What did you learn (or unlearn) while working on them?
That there is often more human presence in a space when it is unoccupied than when it is inhabited. The fact that, in its solitude, we imagine someone strictly situated in our minds transforms the abandoned setting into one where each person holds a fragment of the other through imagination; something like a nostalgic modulor.

What words, ideas or emotions were going through your head?
The idea of exile haunts me. I had a personal experience that pushed me toward isolation, and that word lingered; I also kept thinking about the word “glitch,” because every space, no matter how normalized, always had a flaw or error—a glitch that can only be perceived by certain eyes.

Were there any conversations, movies, music, or books that made their way into that work?
I think a lot about Lost in Translation, about how, even though the protagonists kept each other company, there was always a shadow surrounding them—perhaps from another time, perhaps the shadow of their absent partners. In a world without drama, that trip to Japan would simply be a tourist journey for couples; if they had merely crossed paths, it wouldn’t have held much significance precisely because of the happiness of having each other in that ideal setting. What I mean is that, in the happiest or saddest moments of your life, that thought always arrives: “What would become of me—or of this moment—if that person were here with me?”

I also return often to the music of Andy Stott; he seems like an expert at creating these kinds of situations I want to represent, but through melody. When you listen to his synths, a kind of emptiness becomes evident—one that only we know how to fill.

What's been the most difficult thing you've faced recently in your creative process?
For me (and perhaps for many artists), one of the most difficult challenges is how not to sell out while creating, because when working commercially I feel that one slightly betrays one’s own vision. But I understand it completely: you have to make a living, and I would probably betray myself a little—whether to exist comfortably or to have the opportunity to gain new perspectives—but only a little.

What is your favorite restaurant and what do you recommend we order?
I’ll give you two options: a chill one and a less chill one. Restaurante Basilea in Santa Marta, Colombia—order the pescado presidencial, it’s absolute. The more bizarre option would be Casino Caribe in downtown Medellín, Colombia. Go up to the second floor, next to the slot machines at the back, and order the regular hamburger; it’s wild to eat while watching people gamble.

If your life were a movie this month, what would it be called and who would write the soundtrack?
In February the flowers die would be the title, thinking that some things will wither, but others will become beautiful fields of opportunity to live life. For the soundtrack, I’d combine Jóhann Jóhannsson for his sense of drama, Nicholas Britell for a classy touch with contemporary chords, and Trent Reznor to bring strong energy to the most frenetic and powerful scenes.

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.
I personally love the work of Jóhann Jóhannsson. There are two albums that changed my life and helped me understand that not everything needs to be literal—for example, Fordlandia. After learning its context, it immerses you abruptly in what it narrates and in how the force of nature never allowed even a drop of rubber to be extracted from the Brazilian Amazon. His album IBM 1401 a User’s Manual contains one of the most dramatic pieces I’ve ever heard; I feel that translating those melodic scenarios into photography has shaped me as a person.

As a photographer who moves across many terrains, it’s difficult for me to reference other photographers in terms of image, but for me Martin Parr , as an observer of life, has been incredible. In his photographs, he always found a way to navigate sadness and transform it into something almost utopian and happy.