The room: a photographic series. (and the story behind it).

Portray the colors of loneliness, and the nudity not only of the body but also of the soul, and the space in which the body inhabits, together with its soul, spirit and mind.

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"Will be beautiful, what is internally beautiful ". - wrote Kandinsky.

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To find in the exterior, the beauty of the internal is the great feat of art, that is, of the artist. Even so, Venezuelan dancer and choreographer Julie Barnsley on dance says that neither a photograph nor a film manages to capture the unique moment in which the movement of the dancing body connects with the deepest vibrations of the spirit. I imagine that moment as the unique moment of the embrace, or the kiss, given with real passion, to which art can approach and portray it in a sensitive and unique way, but although visualization can revive those emotions, there is always a minimum absence between the real act and its representation.

When I met Luis I was captivated very soon, not only from his features, but I felt that there was something inside him that was beautiful. They had told me, almost like a joke, that he cried with Tarkosvky's films, but what I felt was a great empathy. My intuition spoke to me. I wanted to get close to him. That's how I wrote to him on twitter, without getting answers. Then by messages, and to no avail. However, I tried some several times, always without an answer. But one year later...

I went to a class of a friend, in college, and there he was: Luis. I was obviously attentive all the time to his answers in the class, and his movements, and then when it finished I decided to talk to him, I was afraid that the conversation was uncomfortable, but contrary to that, everything happened very fluid. And that's how I asked him to take some pictures (naked), and he accepted it. A week later...

I was, in front of Luis, in his room, seeing him without clothes and finding through his skin a consolation of this existence, which often tires. The day was so light and comfortable for both of us, I did not want it to end. (Note: even so it ended). The day passed, and for each stage of its advance, the space of the room became to different colors. We had a phenomenon of unrepeatable light. And there, I was in front of all that, in front of everything that Luis was at that moment. And so, I cuould portray, through those colors: his loneliness. I remember Luis talking to me about the yellow color, and its value in him. The yellow color, for him, was the color that best represented that room, and his stay on it. Since this color represents waiting, it is a transit color, between one thing and another. Between one state and another. He lived alone, in Caracas, a constantly austere city, in a rented room. Nothing was his, only himself. And sometimes ... You know, one gets lost.

Luis and I connected in an incredible way, he had confidence in me, and I contemplated his existence and he moved me in a way that had not happened to me before. He told me about his life as if he wanted someone to hear him and that's it, no more. And in reality, sometimes one just have to hear, or just want to be heard and that's it. And that's it!!!!. And I understood it. And besides, I also understood him in images.

Often I also have nerves when I'm going to take pictures of someone. With the passage of time, we both stopped being nervous. And sometimes, we stopped taking pictures and started talking about not only his life, but our passions, tastes, desires, he read me some of the things he writes. He showed me the music he hears. I was entering into his entire mental universe because he opened it to me. And it was not only limited to his emotions, his emotional state. But a whole wider spectrum. And I recognized myself on him so many times.

I developed a great affection towards him. But the day of the photos finished and nobody knows the future, you know. But after that we kept seeing each other. Yes, our meetings were given, like that, without expecting anything. We saw each other several times, we could review the photos together. He liked many photos, others not. We were able to spend more time together. And hear us one to another, hear us a lot. But at the same time, we did not understand each other, but we made us company at such a strange moment of our lives; that in which one feel growing; getting to adulthood like a rush. That's how we developed a relationship, one day we kissed, although he always affirmed that he liked women, and I respected that. But it happened. In the end, I've always believed in free love, and it's true that sexuality is a constant ***discovering yourself ***

And we were like that for a while sharing those colors and that loneliness. Being alone, but together. We were special people to each other, and we came to love because of that. But, in the end, everything was really intangible, and an idealization of everything.

I understood it later. After several adventures between him, me and someone else (someone else who I love very much too), but that's the story I would give for another whole post ...

These photos (this experience) conjured something in my life, without them I might not be at all who I am now. And he either. And once again I reaffirm myself in the power of art and photography to disrupt lives ... or maybe it is life moving itself, and one uses art as an excuse, I don’t know, I don’t know. What I know is that to discover the loneliness (and wounds) of someone else, is to see one's too. And go healing, eventually. With light, and colors.

Now Luis and I are friends. Although not close friend. But I know that he is okay, that he has found love, and that he loves. And that's great news always.

These pictures are a very important part of me, forever.

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Here is a short video I made of Luis that day:

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Something curious about this post is that it was actually going to be the previous post. But when I started writing, I went through other paths ... you know that I have to let myself be carried away by the mind at times, and always by intuition.

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I hope you enjoyed this post, watching these photos and reading this story.

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