A beautiful morning in Washington. October 2020.
Semiahmoo
in photographs
A beautiful morning in Washington. October 2020.
A beautiful morning in Washington. October 2020.
New York, September 2019.
Creating a meaningful body of work takes time -- a lot of time. We need to be patient, believe in yourselves, and keep looking for images everywhere, everyday.
Remember that photography is a long term game, something we need to do as often as possible. Because even the tiniest contributions add up.
Norway, October 2022.
Chicago, December 2022.
From the video Photographing a blizzard in Chicago.
Galicia, January 2019.
From my new book Memorias na neboa.
Madeira, November 2021.
I've been working on some old photos. I just got to the ones I made in the magical forest of Fanal, in Madeira. It's been more than a year and a half since then, and I still get goosebumps when I see those images show up on my laptop.
Even though going through so many photographs takes quite some time, I really appreciate the fact that I took that many. Take the ones above as an example: the same composition, captured several times with just slight variations.
While always important, this is even more relevant when there is an interplay between the subject and other elements, or when there are two or more subjects (like in these images, you could argue).
All of the photos above could've worked just fine, as they all captured what I saw there. Two stunning trees entangled in a beautiful dance. The small variations I captured here don't make that much of a difference and yet, I always find one or two that I like more the rest, for whatever reason.
That's why I find it so important to take multiple shots of the same composition, with tiny variations. It can be very hard to decide which one is the best one in the field, especially when the conditions are changing by the second (like they do in Fanal).
As I usually say, if it feels right, shoot it. Make the call later.
Norway, September 2022.
I'm so excited to announce my new book, "Memorias na néboa" (that's galician, it means "Memories in the fog"). A collection of over 100 images made in and around my hometown.
I'm very proud of this volume, the result of years of work and hundreds of walks with my camera in hand.
Madeira, November 2021.
From the video Photographing the magical forest of Fanal, in Madeira.
Indiana, March 2023.
“You can’t connect the dots looking forward; you can only connect them looking backwards. So you have to trust that the dots will somehow connect in your future” - Steve Jobs
Unlike many other photographers, I don't have a specific mission to accomplish with my work. No bosses, no clients, no guidance of any kind. I have no idea what I will be photographing next week, let alone in 5 years.
With this incredible flexibility comes a huge amount of doubt: where to go, what to photograph, where to share it, which camera I should use. It's all to me, and it can be a heavy burden at times, as I second-guess myself very often. Did I make the right call?
It's hard to see the path when it's being carved right after you. Only when I look back (contact sheets are great for that) I see it clearly. It's not a straight path but a very windy one, with plenty of detours and diversions. But it's a path.
I don't know here it will lead me, if anywhere at all. All I can do is to have some faith, to embrace the unknown of what lies ahead, and keep pushing.
In the end, it will all make sense. Or so we hope.
Oregon, September 2020.
I just sent out issue #49 of the newsletter I host on Substack. I'm trying my best to make it a weekly occurence but don't be surprised if there are some gaps here and there.
In any case, just a friendly reminder of yet another way to stay up to date with my work, and thoughts.
Put the camera away and enjoy the moment. Or so they say.
Certainly, there are moments when we should drop everything and just take it all in, especially when there's interaction with other people.
And there's no better way to worsen the experience than sharing the pictures right away, while you are still in that moment. That's why I don't like phones for photography.
A standalone camera, though, will never take you away from the moment. It will only enrich it.
It makes the experience better because it is through the camera that we try to find what makes a moment especial, a face beautiful, a place memorable. We examine what we have in front of us through the camera, and see things we wouldn't have otherwise. It makes us pay closer attention.
This is the gift photography gives us: a tool to see what we weren't able to see before.
Galicia, January 2022.
Being in good physical shape is a usually overlooked skill in a photographer, especially those who do most of their work outdoors.
The 3-month-long road trip across Norway I embarked on last year definitely took a toll on me, as I went from walking / running more than 10 miles a day to sitting in a car most of the time.
Even though I do a lot of road side photography, being in good shape means more stamina and mental clarity. Something I've clearly been lacking during the last few weeks.
This is hard to measure objectively, but I have noticed that I tend to make better images while on some training program, or immediately after. When I let myself go for a bit, the quality of my work eventually follows by going down.
While this winter hasn't brought as much snow as I was hoping for here in Indiana, I've been working hard on other aspects of my photography (like my contact sheets and my upcoming book "Memorias na néboa"). And that includes getting my body ready.
It's been just a few weeks of training; outside and, when the weather is too nasty, on the treadmill facing an empty wall. As weird as it might sound, I'm convinced those hours spent staring at nothing in the garage will translate into good images in the months to come.
Remember: photography is something you have to do every day, and that doesn't always means taking pictures.
Norway, November 2022.