Rings of Saturn

What pieces or projects have you been working on lately?
As an architect by profession, I find myself leaning—sometimes consciously, sometimes unconsciously—toward taking photographs with that sensibility. For that reason, this time I’ve decided to fully embrace that perspective and rely on it to create a photobook about the design and construction process of the most recent house I worked on. Part of this project involves keeping a written log of what I observe and what happens on-site with each visit, while capturing with the camera the changes in the land, in nature, and in the stages of construction.

On the other hand, I’m working on a more abstract project in which I’m interested in reconciling with the value of my own photographic archive in order to begin sharing it. This project has to do with embracing the everyday, accepting its beautiful and quiet power; and with a personal process of self-recognition and patience throughout the process.

What did you learn (or unlearn) while working on them?
More than unlearning, I think I’ve been focused on relearning—learning to trust my intuition again, what comes naturally to me and catches my attention, my judgment and my gaze.

Silencing the critical, “educated,” and theoretical voice when exposing or framing feels strange, even uncomfortable, but that is precisely what I’m working on. It’s easier to adhere to rules and judge based on imposed, defined, and clear canons, but it’s also suffocating—at least for me and for my eye, which doesn’t naturally see through those parameters.

What words, ideas or emotions were going through your head?
Curiosity; success; fear; nostalgia.

Were there any conversations, movies, music, or books that made their way into that work?
The book Momo by Michael Ende, which I’m currently reading, appears in these reflections to reaffirm for me the power of simple actions. In the book, Momo, the main character, has the “superpower” of truly listening to people, and this has major implications for everyone who interacts with her. This premise reminds me that for something to be extraordinary, it doesn’t have to be different—it has to be genuine.

I would also like to mention Taipei Story, a 1985 film directed by Edward Yang. It doesn’t have a grand plot or striking shots; it simply portrays a couple where she is obsessed with the future and he with the past, which keeps them in constant dissonance. Neither can live in the present, and that is their tragedy. The beauty of this film lies in the subtlety of the dialogue, the discreet balance of the shots, and the ordinary relationships of the characters.

What's been the most difficult thing you've faced recently in your creative process?
Letting go of the search for “the image” or a type of photograph that doesn’t come naturally to me. Constantly judging myself for working differently from how I think I should. Also, being in a constant struggle with myself in which I don’t know whether I’m trying to assign value to “bad” photos, or taking it away from “good” ones.

What is your favorite restaurant and what do you recommend we order?
La cantina El Bosque in San Miguel Chapultepec. I recommend the marlin quesadillas and the milanesa.

If your life were a movie this month, what would it be called and who would write the soundtrack?
Rings of Saturn, and the soundtrack would be by Nick Cave.

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.
Wolfgang Tillmans is a classic for a reason. I like his way of portraying the everyday, of documenting his surroundings. He seems to me a great example to follow in trusting your intuition and presenting it without fear.

Another photographer is Peter Hung Liao, a friend with whom I’ve taken multiple trips and observed his way of working: intense, free, and distinctive. I like how he frames and sees things that, even when we’re in the same place, I don’t see; he reminds me that what makes a good photographer isn’t the places, but the ability to capture them through one’s own gaze.