The Photographer is Present
Fallen Angel With Broken Wings
Being born. Newborns remind me of fallen angels with broken wings, who for a moment understand the world, like in Borges’ Aleph point, and after that lucidity and profound vision come back to the surface and cry for the first time.
I recall my childhood as somewhat lonely. I felt like I was observing more than participating, and I began to draw.
As I woke up to life, the need to peek out was an irresistible temptation, but my defenses were still high. I alternated in taking risks and retrieving.
Becoming an Adult
As I became an adult, I began to understand the priestess in me. Tarot cards fascinated me. There were vibrant colors in my days.
Pregnancy. Waiting for the egg to hatch, bringing back my wings to pass it on.
Caring. The responsibility and weight of life.
Seeing the world through the others. Caring for the oppressed and demanding justice, despite understanding that the world is so contrary to my and our values. Like a Brazilian song says, the world is a mill that grinds your dreams slowly.
Accepting that the only certainty in life is some sadness and pain. Making the most of the good moments. Letting it be.
Framing my life by looking at my past. Contemplating. Understanding. Becoming focused. I am here now. I am present.
The second half of the game is ahead, and I see myself contemplating death. But it does not scare me. It makes me productive. As humans, we share the concept of making our presence remain in this world when our body is gone. That’s the beauty of choosing to stay alive.