A man like anyone else, good, drunkard, according to his wife, was sitting on a bench in the main square of his town in the wrong place at the wrong time, when two rival drug gangs confronted each other, taking by accident his life. This happened in a remote rural area in the central part of Mexico, Jalisco State. A place where traditions from a century ago are preserved, as it is the case with this burial documented by several pictures throughout the process in the family home of the deceased. Traditions in the most remote areas refuse to disappear altogether, undergoing minor changes.
I like to travel and encounter the world with its streets and its people, but the part that corresponds to my interest, my vision and philosophy of life. My photos are a look at someone’s world, a journey into their space and their life; an attempt to build a story without affection, as part of a social commitment. I present different visual stories that intersect in the streets and in their plurality create a certain connection; a new sense. These images can be regard, a hand, a detail or a full scene; a fixed temporality that captures movement. A piece of something that states a vaster spac
