Para

A lanky man sporting a typically Colombian hat attracted my attention. He ambled about timidly, trying unenthusiastically to sell the few flowers he held in his hand. He confessed to me later that he regularly steals the flowers that provide him with his livelihood from the Tabatinga cemetery. I invited this man to have a coffee with me and this was the start of my friendship with Para.

As we talked, I was astonished to learn that he was highly cultured and I was fascinated by his story. He spoke to me, amongst other things, of classical literature, contemporary art and anarchist movements. He told me about his voyages through Latin America and confided that he had lived for four years in New York before returning to his homeland in Medellin, Colombia.

To escape the paramilitary who had ordered his execution, Para was forced four years ago to leave his ranch in Medellin. Born into a wealthy family, with whom he is now estranged, he has chosen to live far removed from “the greed, ambition, rivalry and vanity of that world” and has exiled himself in Amazonia where Para is waiting for the Colombian government to grant him a small piece of land promised to him as part of an aid program for war victims. Weighed down by depression, alcoholism and crack addiction, Para expects nothing from life other than this small patch of land where he can “build himself a humble cabin, read Baudelaire and garden”. While waiting for state assistance, which for bureaucratic reasons has already been delayed by several years, Para sleeps on the pavement, in abandoned shacks or in the homes of people who take pity on him.

I’ve regularly spent time with Para over several months and his gentleness, his generosity, sincerity, intelligence, solitude and sorrow continue to astonish me. The following photos were taken one afternoon during which we walked for several hours on the desert-like beach of Tabatinga while discussing everything and nothing. I continued the formal research that I had previously started: I overexposed my subject and tried to create new textures while using improvised filters. The lack of information produces, in my view, a strange atmosphere and adds to the ambiguity and the paradoxes contained in the images. The details disappear, giving rise to a stripped down composition that seems to poetically express the web of melancholy, lassitude and despondency in which my subject is ensnared.

Serendipity

In another series, I simply took intuitive and random photos of the port. I photographed lights, hues and scenes of unknown people, without trying to plan my compositions, and without trying to give my images documentary value. I took some images without looking through the view finder and others, without adjusting the focus on my camera. The photographic elements, for the most part, seem to be in the process of dissolving into space, which in my opinion evokes mirages, illusions and reminiscences.

The Mules

From morning to night, the workers of the Port of Tabatinga bustle about loading and unloading cargo. They are obliged to walk many kilometers through the muck while carrying remarkable loads. I took a series of images of these workers but was disappointed with the results. In my opinion, my photos, composed with too much care, do not in my view inspire much awe or curiosity.

I decided to reframe my images by closing my eyes and using the “crop” tool in the Photoshop program. The fact that I couldn’t see allowed me to create compositions that would otherwise have been impossible for me to imagine. This exercise demonstrated to me how much my compositions have been insidiously and unconsciously shaped by the photographic techniques used in advertising, the media and in cinema.

Papi

Indigenous to the Quechua tribe of Peru, Papi recycles aluminum cans that he finds on the shores of the Amazon River. The port residents are sympathetic to him and save their beverage containers for Papi. Apparently flattered by my interest in him, Papi guided me around the port and shared his daily life with me.

Given that he speaks neither Spanish nor Portuguese, we had to communicate for better or for worse with hand signals, by miming and with the use of facial expressions and gestures. Since it is impossible for me to tell his story, I can only share through images my fascination with this spontaneous, handsome man who has an incomparable joy for life.

Dayani 3

Afterwards, I wanted to give an opportunity for direct expression to my subject, so I asked Dayani to provide me with his own photographic view of the Port of Tabatinga. For a day, I loaned him an old automatic camera, that was slightly damaged but still in good working condition, that I always carry with me. I was secretly hoping that Dayani’s photos would contain technical errors that would give the images an artistic twist. I was a little disappointed to see that the images were more or less technically perfect. However, several of his photos were captivating for what they revealed about Dayani’s ecological preoccupations. Dayani photographed a large variety of garbage and dead fish that had washed up on shore. He also photographed some workers who, because of the dry conditions, are forced to walk hundreds of metres over a swampy beach in order to deliver goods to the port.

The images that I chose were ones that seemed more spontaneous and I linked these photos with the wishes that some of Dayani’s customers had expressed that day. I hoped that the results would expand the scope of interpretation by creating an ambiguous relationship between environmental and human drama.

Dayani 2

During our second meeting, I again set the ISO setting to maximum and used a slow exposure. As a result of this technique, the background details were erased which helped to emphasize the destitution of the landscape. I also used pieces of garbage that I found on the ground, such as transparent plastic bags and plastic wrap, to use as filters which I placed over the lens. I was delighted to find that with this technique I could produce many different effects and unusual textures.